Mother Nature …

… is threatening to mess up my weekend travel plans. With SNOW. ICE. WIND.

I am not amused.

We’re (R&me) headed to Vegas for a long weekend. A well-deserved long weekend of people watching, good food and drink, and pseudo luxury.

The weather dudes — including my favorite local meteorologist, aka @DopplerTim on Twitter, have been messing with my mind since yesterday morning. I’m in a tizzy. Rita’s highly annoyed at my expectations of travel doom. My co-workers might even be a bit afraid.

Have I mentioned how much I hate the weather in the Ohio valley recently. URRRRGGH.

All I have to say is someone better be around to pick up the non-refundable pieces if I can’t leave town Friday morning. Follow the fun if you care — I’m @lynttweets on Twitter. (No feed on the blog… messes up my template).

Friday Night Ramble.

R’s out ghost hunting — seriously, I don’t make this stuff up — tonight. So I’ve settled in to catch up on blogs, play a couple dozen games of Bejeweled Blitz and watch some equally mindless TV.

I’ve landed on  What Not to Wear, mainly because if I let myself watch one more HGTV show this winter, I’m going to give in and do the glass back splash despite knowing it’s a trend that’ll soon pass.

The show itself is troubling. Some of these women do look scary. And yes, I question anyone who wears pj pants to work or the grocery. But then they’ll be tossing someone’s favorite sweats and I’ll be like, hey… that’s just not… nice.

I’m quite certain I wore sweats nearly every day of my sophomore year of college. I was lazy, occasionally hung over, confused, broke, trying to come out, and a bit too pudgy to attempt designer jeans. They were white and had the word Kentucky running down the left leg in big, Ky blue block letters. I’m sure on some level I thought they helped me disappear. Undoubtedly, especially from behind, they did nothing of the kind.

Post college I wore a pair of navy sweats until they had holes. Then I layered them over leggings. Coming home and slipping them on after working in a corporate environment that required full-on business attire was the best part of that period of my life.

Then I started dating the jock. Her sweats became my sweats — except she really sweated in hers so that was a bit icky on some level.

Sometime during this phase I discovered Adidas and Nike, and became a bit of label snob when it came to my own preferred lounging attire.

For the past several years I’ve been on a yoga pant kick. I even took a yoga class or two, just to earn the right to wear the pants. I’m now fairly certain they’re the perfect item of clothing, especially in black.

There’s just something freeing about the perfect pair of sweats. What not to wear. Or not.

“How Do I Turn It On?”

That’s what R said when she picked up my Kindle this morning. He he he. It’s amazing how happy that makes me.

She gave me the device for X-Mas. I was amazed it was still in its packaging and I got to do the set up myself. ‘Cause you know, it’s an electronic device. And in this relationship, she’s the avowed expert on those sorts of things.

Typically, electronic gifts or purchases arrive in my presence fully set up and functional, and I’m ordered to sit down and view the tutorial. The iPod, the new TV, the laptop, the new coffee maker.

I don’t think she’s figured out that it’s my lack of patience that makes me so willing to let that happen.

Happy times. Now must go retrieve Kindle…

Another Date With Jillian.

It’s a date with her, so I’m taking procrastination to a whole new level.

So much so that in the last hour I’ve let former President Clinton convince me to give money to Haiti earthquake relief, done a load of laundry, had a snarky conversation with my girlfriend, and had a 20 minute conversation with the HOA president about the upcoming board elections. Only one of those things made me feel good.

As much as I dreaded going back to work in the new year, I’m pretty sure what I was really dreading was the annual ‘get healthy/get active’ pledge. Sure, I hooked up with Jillian before the holidays. That was a strategic decision. I figured if I got in the habit before January 1, it wouldn’t be so bad.

So much for that theory. I fell down the stairs mid-break and couldn’t bend. Still can’t, I suspect I’ll find out if I ever actually get my ass out of this chair and head to Wii wonderland. And the accumulated three weeks worth of guilt over every single glass of wine and guacamole-laden chip is about to send me back to therapy.

Why do we do this to ourselves? Why can’t someone declare July the month we all make resolutions to get fit and healthy? The holidays would be much more enjoyable. And January far more positive.

Seriously — we sweat and subsist on rabbit food for a month only to be confronted by Fat Tuesday on the calendar? I’m just sayin’…

Seriously WordPress?

I just lost a post I spent the last hour writing. That’s twice that’s happened lately. Hello, Blogger? URRRRGH.

Gaydar. Hello, is this thing on?

I think my gaydar is on the fritz. From lack of use.

First, it’s winter. Lesbians hibernate in this neck of the woods from December – April.

The book group I loosely participate in (I’m picky about what I’m forced to read, what can I say?) canceled for today and it almost caused me to hyperventilate. I read the  book (hated it from the intro on because it reminded me too much of the reading list from my college Women’s Studies seminar…) but was looking forward to being convinced otherwise.

Second, I’m convinced there’s no ‘new blood’ that’s joined the local tribe. Hello — it’s Cincinnati/Northern Kentucky. No one moves here for the sheer joy of it. You’re either born and raised here and choose to never escape, or you come coupled from the get go and join the ‘unseen’ tribe.

I love my (our) friends. Really. Wouldn’t trade them for anything. They’re highly entertaining. Especially those with new puppies, those buying/selling houses and those contemplating parenthood. They feed my soul. 

But January just makes me itch.