Cupcake McFrosticles

Last week, I thought I would be productive and change my name officially after 5 months of marriage. It’s surprising how easy it is to do. No one questions your sanity, your motives or your name (and it’s FREE!)

I really considered changing it to something involving cupcakes and She-Ra right there on the spot. The only thing stopping me was all the subsequent paperwork I would have to complete to do so: taxes, bank accounts, etc.

With common sense dominating the greater part of my morning, I changed only my last name to include a hyphen and my new married name. And keep in mind, when I say common sense, I mean, there has to be a grander way to shame my whole family. A social security card isn’t one of them.

Regardless of practical revenge grounding my name musings, I walk up to the counter, paperwork in hand, and promptly pass the clerk my Living Social cupcake coupon.

D’OH!

It’s soon apparent that I need to clean my purse, and my Id is sabotaging any efforts from my Super Ego to retain some level of normalcy. Luckily, I DID have the correct paperwork in hand, but I still felt a fool. A cupcake lovin’, disorganized fool. Luckily still, they let me change my name regardless of my mental level of output for the day.

So, Social Security Office, thank you.

Sincerely,
Princess of Cupcake-Power

Tags: cupcakes, derp, living social, name change, red velvet, Social Security, tucson

The Best Laid Plans of Trish and Monday.

Yesterday started with good intentions. After a long, arduous weekend filled with work, I walked into Monday look for a break.

Not so much.

Punctuated with surprises throughout the day, some pleasant and some not so pleasant (both work and personally) I was ready to take out my frustration in spin class.

Again, not so much.

I couldn’t get anywhere within a two-mile radius of my class due to event parking. And yes, I DID consider walking to my exercise class, those looking for irony here, but that would have made me 20 minutes late. A sin not to be trifled with in a class run by a trainer with a military background. Not. Happening.

Deciding not to be defeated, I headed home with visions of workout videos and Wii dance in my head. I was determined to undo the morning’s breakfast sandwich snafu.

Again.
Again not so much.

I drove home, 40 minutes through traffic, only to realize my husband has the house keys. That’s a longer story, so we’ll just cue the Napoleon Dynamite sigh. Also, said husband isn’t due home for another four hours. Sighing interjected with a few eff bombs.

What now? Why, I finally admit defeat. Monday has claimed its prize. So, I venture to El Molinito, determined to turn my frown upside down with a margarita and enough carne asada to provide me with temporary amnesia. And it’s at this point I realize, all in all, not a bad day.

p.s. The waiter keeps calling me baby. I beg Tuesday to bring me good tidings.

Tags: Carne Asada, Eff bombs, El Molinito, kaaaahhhnnn, Monday, Napoleon Dynamite, zen?

Sadness.

Obviously, Tucson was subjected to an enormous tragedy this weekend. It’s difficult to put into words all the feelings, emotions, thoughts, shock, panic and heartbreak that are occurring simultaneously. Unfortunately, the healing process is being overshadowed and drowned out by the deafening noise of political pundits. So I won’t even touch that topic here or discuss all else that has gone wrong in the wake of this event. I refuse to add to the noise. My focus is elsewhere…

But I will say this: I’m incredibly proud to live in Tucson. The heroes who reacted in such selfless and brave ways to minimize more loss at this tragic event, are nothing short of angels. Since that awful day, I’ve witnessed an outpouring of love, sympathy, and empathy throughout the Tucson community as we band together to make sense of all that is senseless.

This laid-back town of Sonoran hot dogs, killer cacti and cowboy boots, is right where I belong. I stand with the victims. I stand with their heartbreak. And I stand with all of Tucson because there is always an opportunity to rise from the ashes, heal, and become stronger than ever before. So let’s be stronger.

This is my Tucson. And I love it.

Ok – enough words, time for action.

Tags: love tucson, tucson, tucson shooting, tucson tragedy, tucson victims

I want one calendar.

One calendar to rule them all.
Gollum has promised to take care of it forever. However, Gollum’s phone syncing capabilities leave much to be desired. I just want to input a birthday, anniversary or what have you, without the difficulties of re-syncing, re-installing, and re-duct taping it to a screen in order to make the blasted thing work.
At this point, my grandmother has two birthdays. She may be excited for double presents, but I can guarantee, not for double age.
My fix is to go back to paper. But these hip new programs with shining widgets of fulfillment keep calling out to me. Reminding me that paper is a commitment only lesser beings fiddle with. So I’m sucking it up and throwing in the towel tonight. The fancy internet cloud better have this all sorted by morning, or I’m resorting to middle-earth tactics to get what I want.
Trees up in yo’ hood, knockin’ out windows. Woodland creatures assaultin’ yo’ gardens, hobbits causing mischief in yo’ shire. It could get ugly.
In the meantime, if you receive two Christmas or birthday cards this month, it’s because you’re just that important to me.

I’ve Relapsed.

You heard it here first. I purchased cable.
Incidentally, the TV is on mute and Graeme is watching his favorite show via an Internet channel.

There’s nothing like paying for something you’re pretending to use. I feel so unclean.

Tags: cable, first world problems, Life

Whew.

Is it really November? I think I need a slower calendar.
I’ve been noticeably absent for the past several weeks, but with good reason.

I got hitched! Graeme and I tied the knot on September 26, at the Stillwell House. 13 months of planning, two dresses, and one bridezilla moment later I made it down the aisle!

I heard over and over from friends and family, to really enjoy the day, because it flies by so quickly. And it’s true.

However, I was able to enjoy every fleeting second of it. From the moment I woke up (not from an eye punch) to the moment I placed my weary made-up face and false goopy eyelashes on that soft pillow and fell asleep, I relished every moment.

We just received the photos this week, so once I have a moment to sort through all the double-chins (mine), half-closed eyes (mine) and awkward, off-camera glances (again, mine), I’ll be sure to post them to my flickr account.

So far, married life is grand and nothing has changed except for the amount of metal I carry on my finger 9 hours of the day.

And if you ask me when we’re having babies, please understand the nature of my response in advance. It’s just the look of pain I give each time an ovary cringes.

Tattoodle Loo

Unfortunately, I don’t have a cool prison story to accompany this memory. Not that I did for others either…

Anyway, I’ve always been too incredibly fickle to desecrate my body with primitive adornments of the ink variety. Not only fickle, but frugal. $50 goes a long way in the refrigerated cookie dough section of the supermarket.

My fear of permanent ink may have also stemmed from the idle threats my Dad would always dole out regarding tattoos and cigarettes. Yes, threatening to turn someone over their knee at the age of 22 works wonders.

So of course, what better way to honor my father’s memory than by inscribing his siggy forever on my wrist? Perf.

I had thought about this idea for months and decided it would be my birthday present to him.

My biggest fear was selecting a parlor and a permanent location on my body (nothing tantalizing!). Luckily, my co-worker is a plethora of knowledge in all things hip. She instructed me where and, well, where to get tattoo. May 1st, was a perfect day to get a tattoo (pay no attention to the three-month timeline behind the curtain…). This had nothing to do with attitude or planetary alignments, but everything to do with payday. As long as withdrawals and debits are aligned, my attitude is no issue.

Waiting was the hardest part. Sitting in the lounge, watching customers come and go, perusing previous masterpieces all made for higher than expected anticipation levels. Did that guy really just get an entire sleeve colored in? Yes. Does it look gross? Very.

It was finally my turn. I sit. I watch needles. I watch needles as they are dipped in ink. I watch needles as they are dipped in my skin.

OWIE.OWIE.OWIE.OWIE!

I am now fully awake and completely aware my perusing hours are over.

Me.

Inked.

Me.

The girl who perfects swirls on her cupcakes is getting a tattoo. Or should I say muthafuggin’ cupcakes? I’m officially on the road to being a monumental badass (it’s all relative. shuddup.).

I start planning my biker bar hopping escapades and how I’m going to break in my soon-to-be new leather jacket. Does my hair look best peroxide blond and windblown? Or perhaps completely shaved? Do I know how to re-build a carburetor? Who will accept my collect calls from prison?

Ten minutes later and the tat is done. Yes, I said tat. I’m cool now, remember? It looks amazing and makes me feel two inches close to complete again.

Cartharsis. In a tattoo parlor. Try it.

So I saddle up the hog (read: entry-level 4-cyclinder Jeep Patriot in Rudy Red (birthstone!)) and drive to the nearest pub (read: grocery store) and seek out my latest victim (read: chocolate chip cookie dough).

As I’ve found out, there’s always room for a little of everything.

Except in prison.

Tags: cookie dough, first tattoo, inked, memorial, nerd, ouch