we're going away this weekend

jparks: "damn, I'm not going to see SciFi Friday until Monday. Stupid vacation"

me: "awww no, dammit how shall we survive the weekend without watching SciFi Friday?"

jparks: "what?"

me: "I mean, there are no words to describe how upset I am about missing SciFi Friday. I'm heart-broken. No, devastated. We might have to cancel the trip."

jparks: "Are you making fun of me?"

me: "No, seriously, can we get our deposit back for the inn? No SciFi Friday, I'm so distressed, I can't express it. I know! I'll get Panic! at the Disco to write a very emo song about this situation. Only they can truly express how I feel."

jparks: "you are so annoying"

Mission accomplished!

loosen your purse strings

Come on people, it's around payday and I know you can spare a few bucks for breast cancer. If you cough the money up now you probably won't even miss it. I know you can spare $25 or $10 or $300, if you want to be a big spender. Come on folks, don't let me down! Click here and save boobs with me.

Update: Yay for Whitney, Miranda, and Laurette (my mother in law) (how weird is that? I have a mother in law!) for helping me save boobs! Boo to my own mom, come on! Cough up some money!

2nd Update: And now yay for Kathy as well!

food is the great comforter

A friend of mine, Mr. Mike Schleifstein, is doing a 24 posts in 24 hours, blogging marathon today to honor the Katrina-nniversary.

In one of his many posts Mike talks about the Katrina diet and how many people lost weight during the past year. I so wish someone had told me about this Katrina diet because it sounds so much better than what I did over the past year, which was gain weight, and then gain some more weight.

While camped out at our friends' apartment in Houston there wasn't much for jparks and I to do besides eat. The levees broke? Hand me another pop-tart. The roof is coming off the Superdome? I'm going to need another piece of cake. Looting? All over the city? At hospitals where I have friends stuck? And the looters have guns? I'm going to need another full meal. With some extra dessert. And maybe a milkshake to wash it all down.

Once we moved to Austin I started a baking phase. "My life isn't that bad, see I made cupcakes! 4,595,861 cupcakes! And now I'm going to eat all of them!"

Thankfully I'm busy enough now that I don't have time to cook or bake. And I'm working out pretty frequently. Hopefully I'll be back to my Pre-Katrina weight by the second anniversary.

Happy Katrina-nniversary

Katrina hit a year ago today, meaning a year ago my life began to take a bizarre loop I never planned for, never saw coming, and am still trying to deal with.

To recap, first Jason and I hauled ass to Baton Rouge where we spent a few hours getting some sleep for the long trip to Houston. Did I mention that we got lost in the contraflow? You know it's not as easy to navigate as our local government led us to believe.

We then got back on the road to Houston where a very nice couple let us stay with them. Us and our animals. For quite a long time. Did I mention this couple is a couple of saints? Looking back I don't know that I ever thanked the saints for letting us crash in their spare room. Thank you Dan and Erin for tolerating Jason, myself, Lily, and the two cats. I'm especially thankful since Jason and I sat around all day watching CNN and getting pissy with each other since we had no idea what was going on at our house and in our city. I have to admit we weren't exactly the most pleasant houseguests, but you guys never made us feel unwelcome. My saying thank you will never express how truly wonderful you were to us and how we would have been up Shit Creek without you guys.

After camping out at Dan and Erin's for a bit we headed to Austin, which was to become our semi-perminant home. We stayed there for 8 months before moving to the golden state of California.

When people would ask how I was doing after the hurricane my stock answer was "Well, we lost everything, but Jason and I are alive and our animals are safe so we are pretty lucky." But I can now say, thanks to some therapy, that although we are safe, I am upset and feel robbed by Katrina. Why did it take therapy for me to admit that? It seemed so greedy to me, so ungrateful, and so disrespectful towards people that suffered more than me. Jason and I might have lost our possessions but so many others lost so much more, what right did I have to be upset? It turns out, a lot. I didn't ask to be whisked away in the middle of the night to not be able to return home for almost 2 months. I didn't ask to lose my job. I didn't ask to leave New Orleans. And I have every right to be upset and angry and hurt. And still, a year later, not a day goes by when I don't ache for New Orleans more than I will ever be capable of explaining with words.

I miss snowballs. I want to walk down Magazine Street. I want to be able to go to the French Quarter because I have nothing else to do. I miss magnolia trees. I miss CC's and PJ's iced coffees. I miss that no other place ever makes me feel like I'm home and I belong there. I miss being a local and knowing how to say Tchoupitoulas (see I can even almost spell it). I miss the people. I miss the culture. I miss my friends. I miss my family. I miss knowing my way around town.

At first I felt like I had abandoned the city when it needed it's residents the most. And some days I still feel like that. But other days I know being there would be more difficult. Having to see how slowly the city is being rebuilt, seeing how many restaurants are still on limited menus, how many stores have closed up and moved on. But if I were given the chance to go back tomorrow I would take it. I would go because since I've left New Orleans it's like a piece of me is wrong. The piece is not missing, but it's also not fitting comfortably in its place. My heart aches for something it used to take for granted.

Yeah, I am a little homesick.

Tropical Storm Ernesto can't hurt me

It's very weird to have a tropical storm about to enter the Gulf and I am not freaking out, running to Wal-Mart to buy candles and canned goods. I am concerned and I don't want it to head towards New Orleans (what a horrible way to celebrate Katrina's anniversary, having to hunker down and deal with another hurricane) but it's still really bizarre to know this hurricane can't hurt me. I know my stuff won't be lost again, that I won't have to grab my animals and head to Texas, and that I don't have to worry about finding a new home when I don't even know if my old home still exists.

I think it's even more weird that I kinda miss preparing for a hurricane. It's better than living in constant fear of an earthquake.

for an extra $5 I could have gotten a happy ending

Today I went to see an acupuncturist thanks to some lovely back problems I've had for quite awhile. Jason suggested I go see one, but never thought I would actually go. I never thought I would actually go. And honestly I don't know if my experience today counts as a real acupuncturist visit.

First we talked for a bit. It turns out the doctor I went to specializes in infertility treatments and she was concerned for me and my aging eggs. She said after 30 it's really hard to get pregnant and stress takes a huge toll on your fertility. After this I got undressed and she brought in the massage therapist. They stood and looked at my back for a few minutes discussing, in Mandarin, the state of my muscles. Finally the doctor said "You have much stress all through your back. And you have neck pain. You are so young to have so much stress. I've never seen someone your age with stress like this. You better not wait until 30 to have kids." Great, I totally won't stress about that.

This uplifting message was followed by an hour of sweet, sweet torture. The smallest, skinniest Asian girl I have ever seen, laid into my back with such force I honestly thought I was going to throw up. You know how most massages are about achieving a point of relaxation that makes you want to fart? This one was not like that. This one was about beating my muscles until they yelled UNCLE! and let go of the tension for the first time ever. It was painful but wonderful; I don't know that I've ever felt so relaxed.

Did I mention while this was going on I had electric currents shooting through my legs? In place of needles sometimes electric currents are used to move the qi around in your body. Seeing as I have a crippling fear of needles the doctor thought this would be a good way to ease me into acupuncture. Honestly this was the most enjoyable part of the visit; the doctor put a heating lamp on my feet so they were toasty warm and the currents were really low. All I felt were small muscle spasms every once in a while and it was actually kind of relaxing. Hmmm, I wonder if electro-shock therapy might be good for me, in real low doses of course.

You'll notice no needles were actually used today, and this was probably for the best. I have another appointment next Friday and the doctor and I agreed to three needles being inserted into my hands and back. This means I have a week to build up enough courage to survive the fact that 3 needles will be inserted into my body. Holy crap, I need lots of courage. Or lots of whiskey.

it was a good day

Or at least as good as a work day can be.

Yesterday jparks and I went to Crate and Barrel and used a gift certificate to buy a fancy new wine tower. Afterwards we went to dinner at an overpriced Indian restaurant, which was really good, but $15 for lentils? Next time we know to check out the menu before we take people's restaurant suggestions.

I also managed to raise a fair amount of money for the Race for the Cure. It's not all showing on my page yet and if you didn't donate you really should.

And that was our super exciting night. Very tame, but relaxing. We also discussed my possible job options for the future. Jason won't let me become anorexic and then become a stripper so I guess I need to figure out another plan.

help me save boobs

Tonight I signed up to run in this year's Susan G. Kormen Race for the Cure. Not familiar with Race for the Cure? The mission of The Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation is to eradicate breast cancer as a life threatening disease by advancing research, education, screening and treatment. I am asking that everyone reach into their pockets and make a donation to help support this great charity.

You can make a donation here on the green "Support Regan" button. Or you can email me to get my address to mail a check. Either way I need to get the donations in soon, as the race is September 24th. Not much time to get me to my fundraising goal of $350, but I know we can do it.

Googlers, you are very lucky because for every donation over $50, Google will make a matching donation. Basically you get to feel twice as good about your donation. And come on, if you work for Google you can afford to spend $50 to save boobs. You'll need to turn in a form to Google requesting they match your donation, but rest easy, this can be done online and I can help.

No donation is too small, as every penny helps fund research that will affect the lives of millions of woman around the world. It takes only a minute to make a donation but that minute could extend a woman's life for many years.

I'm a newlywed, shouldn't I be more chipper than this?

I’m feeling a little blah today and I'm not really sure why. Could be that the weekend was so much fun that going back to work is a hard slap in the face. Could be that I didn’t sleep well last night and am just really tired today. Could be that a few small things have been bothering me, slowing eating holes in my mind that other thoughts get trapped in, leaving me to obsess over the silly small things.

One thing that has really been weighing me down is the state of my life. There is really nothing glaringly wrong with it, just more of a "is this it?" shadow lingering over it. I love my husband, I love my friends, I love my shoes, and I really love my animals, but some things just aren't what I thought they would be.

Together Jason and my's combined income is high, yet we can't buy a house. Crap, we can't even buy a condo. I love living in California and at this point in time we don't have any choice but to live here, but it pains me to not own a little spot that is mine. A place I can paint in any color I want or hang a picture without worrying about having to patch the hole in a year. Or a place where if I have the option to not have beige carpet. Stupid, crazy expensive real estate.

And then there is my job. Yes I get paid well, yes I like my boss, yes I'm happy to be working for a nonprofit, changing the world for the better, but is this really what I saw myself doing when I was a kid? I don't remember thinking "when I grow up I want to sit at a desk and file invoices and answer phones." Even now I keep thinking, "I should be doing something more creative than this." But what? I can't draw, sing, play an instrument, act, dance, direct, or mime so what does that leave me? Sitting at a desk answering phones and filing invoices. I need to accept this is it. ugh.

I guess I'm going through a really early midlife crisis.

drunk on Taboo

Last night was a wonderful dessert party at Joe and Miranda's apartment to celebrate Jason and my's elopement. We had a great time hanging out with friends, eating tons of cake, and drinking lots of champagne. And of course we played my favorite party game: Taboo.

If you've never played Taboo, you're really missing out. And if you've never played Taboo with me then you're seriously missing out. When I play Taboo all of my common sense, dignity, and volume control go right out the window. Jason even stated very matter of fact-ly "You are drunk" a couple of times but I wasn't, I was just playing Taboo.

My favorite guess from last night's game was this (and let me apologize now to the easily offended):

"I hate when you come up behind me and do this!"
"donkey punch!"

I can't believe my guess was not correct.

not a good sign

This morning upon compellation of brushing my teeth, instead of leaning over to spit out the toothpaste I simply opened my mouth and allowed the toothpaste to drip all over my face and down the front of my shirt. Why? I have no idea. It was like all of a sudden I forgot how to brush my teeth. Or how to lean over and spit. Or how to function as a human. I had to change shirts and wash my face, and after that take a moment to absorb just how idiotic the whole situation was.

I hope this is not an indication about how my weekend will be. If it is, I probably should just stay in bed, away from toothpaste.

chocolate coma achieved

Last night Jason and I went to a Toad the Wet Sprocket concert with some friends. The concert was great, we loved the venue, and we saw Glen Phillips' daughter twirl around with her dress over her head. (Glen Phillips= Lead singer of Toad, his daughter was maybe 5 and was very cute dancing around to her father's music). After the concert we went to La Fondue for dessert and this is where the evening took a turn for the worse.

La Fondue wants you to think it is a culinary delight nestled in cute downtown Saratoga, but in reality it is a den of gluttony created to give people stomach aches. Don’t believe me? In their bathrooms they have an industrial sized bottle of Tums. See, den of gluttony. The problem was that I didn’t know La Fondue was a stomach ache waiting to happen, I thought it was a cute culinary delight. And when we ordered our chocolate fondues I indulged. I indulged quite a bit. Okay, I went all out and ate more than one human should be allowed to. You know how the fat guy in Seven was forced to eat until his stomach popped? Well, I was one chocolate dipped rice krispy ball away from that point.

Don’t get me wrong, the fondue was wonderful. But maybe it should have been less wonderful so I wouldn’t be forced to eat a boat load of it. By the end of the meal, I was heading straight into a cranky, chocolate coated coma. I was filled to the brim with chocolate, marshmallows, and snickers bars (yeah, they give you snickers bars to dip in chocolate. Overkill? Yes. Awesome? Hell yeah!) and all I wanted to do was sleep.

When we got home I whined about my stomach for a few minutes and then crashed into a sleep that contained some incredibly bizarre dreams. My favorite dream was about Jason being completely bald on top of his head and growing in the sides really long so he could do a comb over. But it was a really greasy, gross comb over but nothing anyone told him would change his mind about it. He loved his comb over and wasn’t going to get rid of it. One night I tried to clip the comb over to a normal length and he woke up and was upset. His beloved comb over was almost no more! So all scissors were locked up at night and he would hide the key. I woke up around this point, probably out of fear, and had to roll over and check his head. Hair still there? Check.

This morning when I woke up I still felt wretched from all of that chocolate. I thought I was a dessert pro, but obviously I am not. The sugar hangover this morning was just as bad as any other hangover I’ve ever had. I barely made it through the first part of the work day. And even after lunch and plenty of caffeine I still just want to go to bed. Stupid La Fondue.

dear Gap,

Gap, sweetie, could we talk for a minute? I know it's not often that I visit you and it's even more infrequently that we talk like this, so right off you should know this is serious.

I try to love you but sometimes you make it so difficult. Really, who wants a sweatshirt dress that is frayed around the edges and so short that I thought it was a regular sweatshirt at first? Not me, and definitely not my thighs. And really, capris for men? Obviously you don't want men to have sex because, ewww, I'm not going near any man wearing capris and I don't know any woman that would. Again, ewww.

But really my main problem is the fact that I bought some pants recently, nice grey slacks in the perfect weight (not too thick, not too thin) to wear to work and I had my heart broken by them. I clipped the tags off this morning all excited about wearing my new fancy pants and happily got dressed for the day. I got to work and was going about my business when I noticed it, a slight hole in the outer seam of the left leg.

Gap, did you get that?? A slight hole! Do you know what a slight hole turns into? A full blown hole. And from there it turns into me sitting at my desk with a strip of blindly white thigh showing. Gap, you've seen me in your fitting rooms, you know my office doesn't want to see my thigh, so why did you do this to me? If it was some sort of prank, I fail to see the humor in it. I expect this sort of thing from your younger brother, Old Navy, but you Gap, I expect better from you.

So here I sit, mad at you for your lack of respect for me. Mad because I trusted you and you violated that trust. Mad because I've been made a fool of. Mad because I honestly loved you and that love was unreturned.

Gap, I can tell you this, you may not love and respect me, but I know someone that does; your older brother Banana Republic. You can reach me at his house if you need anything.

hiding in plain sight

Something's new on this blog. It's very small and you probably haven't even noticed it. Any guesses?

still without audio enhancements

I might have been lying when I said I was going to post me saying my own name to clarify. Jason can't make the recording work and get it to link onto my blog. This is very sad because I was planning on saying "milk" too, which apparently I say really funny and weird-like. But I don't hear the difference between my milk and the rest of the world's milk.

This morning I was very grown up and I made oatmeal and coffee for breakfast. Then I sat down to eat my hearty breakfast. Not only did I eat my hearty breakfast but I did it at the table! Like a true human! It was incredible. I think I'm going to try this routine again because I wasn't hungry thanks to the oatmeal and I was caffinated before I got to the office. Sweet. I think I might even try to do one of my 15 minute work out dvds as well tomorrow morning. Wow, I can't believe I might become a morning person. That makes me want to vomit.

wedding pictures

Pretty flowers:

words to live by

My Grandad called me to say that he got my wedding announcement and to try to figure out if he knew Jason or not.

Grandad: "Was he the boy that came over once to fix my computer and he had a ponytail?"
me: "Yup, that was him"
Grandad: "Does he still have the ponytail?
me: "No, he started going bald and cut it off"
Grandad: "Good, because you can't be bald with a ponytail"

Such brillant words of wisdom from my Grandad, and they are just so true. I hate when bald men have sad little ponytails just to prove that they do have some hair left.

in case anyone is keeping track

I went to the social security office and changed my name to Regan Marie Parks today. This was not as scary as I thought it was going to be, especially after hearing other peoples tales of how wretched and miserable it is to change one's name.

And I'm sure some people are thinking I'm horrible for not keeping my maiden name in there somewhere, but for me that was not the right decision. Regan Weymouth Parks looked funny to me and Regan Marie Weymouth-Parks was too damn long. Plus, hypenated last names confuse me. Do people call me Mrs. Weymouth-Parks? Do my kids get a uber-long last name or are they just Parks? If I hypenate their names it doesn't sound right: Piper and Pippen Pickled Pepper Picker Weymouth-Parks. See, it just messes up the flow.

Mickey Mouse is stalking me

On Tuesday 12 people had come to my blog from Disney.com. By Wednesday that number had jumped to 20. I can't figure out how in the hell people are getting to me from Disney. I tired to search for my name, my blog's name, and a weird hybrid of my name and my blog's name but none of those turned up anything.

Ugh, I just want answers!!

I want the cleanest toilet on the block

People keep asking what Jason and I want as a wedding gift. Thus far the best answer I can come up with is hookers and blow. I really would love some hookers and blow just to see how they come all giftwrapped with a pretty crackwhore bow tied on. But something tells me hookers and blow can't be shipped across state lines and I don't want people to get in trouble for illegal shipping me a phat hooker. Or a fat bag of blow.

There isn't much we really want. But what would be really nice is this. I kid you not, I would love a toilet bowl scrubber. Why? Obviously you haven't seen my toilet.

We've lived here since May and I haven't cleaned the toilet yet. It's not been for lack of trying, but without a scrubber it's pretty dang hard to clean a toilet. I tried to just squirt the toilet cleaner fluid into the toilet and let it sit, but that didn't clean anything. Then I remembered that I read if you dump a can of coke into the toilet the acid in the coke will eat away the filth. This tactic didn't work, and I wasted a can of diet coke. hmmm, I wonder if using diet coke rather than regular made the project fail? I haven't gotten to the point of actually reaching in and wiping the inside down with a kleenex because that would be gross, but I can tell you, we are headed that way.

So please, save me and my hand and buy me a toilet scrubber for my wedding gift. And then when you come to visit I promise to have a clean place for your butt.

live long and prosper, together in holy matrimony

Apparently my sarcasm here in the comments section was lost on a few people. couch cough Drew cough cough So just to set the record straight:

Jason and I were not, repeat were not married at the Star Trek Experience. The ceremony was not performed in Klingon and Spock was not my Maid of Honor. (But he would make a good Maid of Honor you know. He could get through the toasts without getting all weepy, and could do the Vulcan mind melt thing on the groom if he gets cold feet.)

I'm sorry I got your hopes up Drew. Apparently my sarcasm font was not quite working that day.

who knew hair cutting was rocket science

Friday afternoon I went and got a haircut. It's the Worst Hair Cut Ever™ and the woman that gave it to me should have her hair cut by a blind 5 year old that has never touched scissors before because that's the only way her hair might look as bad as mine does right this very moment.

Why does it look so bad? There are many reasons, including it looks nothing like the picture I showed her. Unless I accidently showed her a picture of a person that had just been in a brawl with a jaguar and the jaguar won. But I don't think I showed her that picture. That's typically the picture I bring with me to the vet's office any time Tangi needs a check up. It helps remind the vet exactly what they are dealing with.

The thing I'm most upset about was when she picked up a piece of hair along the crown of my head and held it straight up. I thought she was going to even out the ends, but was I wrong. Really really wrong. She snipped that piece of hair about half an inch away from my scalp. In one stupid snip of the scissors I became Ed Grimley.

So now I have to schlack my lovely cow lick with gel to make it kinda, sorta, lay down. I've already placed a call to the salon manager to complain. And so help me, if she chooses to not call me back there will really be hell to pay.

commence your freak out here

And if you're confused about why you are freaking out, give it a day or so, I'm sure it'll become clear.

who knew milk was such a hot button issue with me

Most people don’t know that I’m incredibly picky about milk. It has to be fat free and if it can’t be fat free then you might get away with serving me low fat. If it can’t be either of those then it CAN NOT BE WHOLE MILK. Whole milk is disgusting and foul and after drinking it you ooze dairy from your pores for days. If you serve me whole milk I can not be held accountable for my actions. Or anything that ends up broken.

I never used to be this way; I used to only drink whole milk. I couldn’t be bothered with fat free, or as I saw it cloudy water. In fact when my mom and I moved in with one of her boyfriends he insisted on having fat free milk and I insisted on whole. This led to the Great Milk Riot of 1997 and could only be settled by having two gallons of milk in the house at all times. I never could understand how my mom could have feelings for a fat free milk lover. And he also had bad taste in orange juice. At that time I figured love must make you really really blind if this was the man my mom had decided to be with.

But now the tides have turned. I am a fat free milk advocate and can’t imagine drinking whole milk. Except this morning when the coffee place got my order wrong and served me a whole milk iced latte and I didn’t realize it until I took my first sip at the office. My first instinct was to throw the latte against the wall because DAMMIT THIS IS WHOLE MILK, HULK ANGRY!!!! But then I realized that if I tossed out my latte I would be disposing of caffeine, caffeine I have to absorb to survive the first chunk of the work day.

So I drank the stupid whole milk latte, but not the whole thing because about halfway through I felt disgusted, full, and like my intestines were planning their own Great Milk Riot of 2006.

And that explains why today has sucked and it is 5:00pm and I still have tons of work in front of me. I hold the whole milk latte personally responsible and think it should come in and do my job for me. Stupid milk.