Thursday After Work...

I went to get an MRI at Proscan, which happens to be located in Paul Brown Stadium.

I entered the black gate where the players enter.





As I waited for a Proscan employee to rescue me from the bowels of Paul Brown Stadium (she said it'd be about ten minutes) I ate a snack from a machine filled with cheese danishes, donut sticks, Hostess cupcakes and cherry fruit pies. Not very healthy snack options for our athletes I don't think.

I noted the direction of the "Bengals locker room and interview" and "Photographer check-in" sign as I ate a bag of Cheetos.





Then I was picked up by this sweet ride and was driven about 30 feet to the Proscan office. I guess some people needing MRIs can't really walk.





After my appointment was over the nice girl who came to get me kindly drove me around the inside stadium in the golf cart. For fun. On our journey I saw several Ben-Gals going to practice, one of whom had long, bouncy dark hair and was wearing a black sports bra and leopard print boy-short underwear. And tennis shoes.

"That girl is in her underwear," I said to the Proscan girl as we drove past. "I wish I could get a photo of her six-pack."

Alas I didn't get a photo of her, but I did get this photo of the field.





Then the Proscan girl warned me about this dummy, which she said always freaks her out when she drives past. I can see why.

What To Eat For Dinner on Debate Night

Given these tough economic times, spaghetti seems in order. Spaghetti with meatballs... made of wolf shot from a plane.

And TUMs.

Mmm... Cupcakes

Up until a few weeks ago my running shoes were exactly where they landed when I took them off after getting home from running the relay. Right here.

They only moved after three months of sitting there because I moved, and I figured the guy moving in to my old apartment wouldn't appreciate my Mizunos lingering in the dining room. (Or would he?)

But I guess I'll have to dig them out of the box they're still packed in. This via IM today with two of my "friends." I'll call them "Missy" and "Adam."

Missy: Run with me. I'll be by your house at 9.
Me: PM?!!! It's dark.
Missy: Sack up Gina. It's gonna make people cry we'll be looking so good!

Me: Dang. I just got told to "sack up"
Adam: Haha! hope you have some warm running clothes. it's going to be cold and dark.
Me: If I get hit by a car it's totally your fault
Adam: I give it 2 weeks...if it begins
Me: OH NO YOU JUST DIDN'T
Adam: you two talk big, but I know you're a couple of cupcakes.
Missy: AAAWWWW SHIT. it's so ON
Me: New life goal - to beat adam in a race.
Missy: dude, i am going to club his knee
Me: tonya harding-style. If that doesn't work i'll just sign up for a race under his name and walk it - i'll destroy his reputation!

Adam: So when does this running adventure begin?
Me: like i'd tell you
Adam: don't be bitter pumpkin pie
Me: stop calling me confectionary names

The sad news is, I'm feeling more and more like my muffin top cupcake spillith over. I'll be sure to wear my reflective arm band.

Black. Fiiiiin.

Would you wait in this line for Black Finn? What if there was a dance off?

The only thing I knew about Black Finn prior to last night was never to go there.

"It's awful. And scary. Don't go there," friends warned.

It's also the subject of one of the funniest news briefs I've ever read - the one where the shirtless, shoeless dude (who's also covered in vomit, natch) is passed out on a sidewalk downtown unable to utter anything but "Black Fiiiin." (Sadly this story is no longer available online. Foolish. Because I bet it could rack up some excellent repeat hits numbers.)

Knowing all of this, of course I had to go!

And so it was that last night was the perfect storm for Black Finn. My friend Lori, who didn't know any better, was in town and my friend Jay was DJing.

We roll up about 11:30 and for serious y'all, the line out front was snaked all the way around the building. For Black Finn? Umm... all right.

But we know people who know people, so we hit the ally entrance - that's the VIP entrance for you fools who don't know. Mmm hmm. Very important people. And we find the very important people in the ally acting like how you'd think people at Black Finn might act. Yeah, like that.

Some chick was using her scarf to pretend-strangle some dude while the two of them yelled at each other, but in a playful "We're the VIP entrance entertainment" kind of way.

Anyway, like I said, we know people who know people so we skirt these fools and get in.

Aaaaand whoa. I can totally see how you might end up shirtless and shoeless and covered in vomit by the end of the night.

Lori got frisked on the dance floor by some striped shirt wearing dude, who she told her name was Gina. Real cool, Lori. And I got karate chopped in the back by some 6'7" giant who was in a dance off. It was an accident, but still. That shit hurt.

That's the other thing about Black Finn - dance offs. And lots of them.

Need less to say, it was awesome.

Sad

Some people are just familiar. It's like you've been knowing them your whole life as soon as you meet them. They're good people. A good soul. A long-lost friend.

The fire chief of Fairfield is like that to me. He must be 30 years my senior, but we got on like peas and carrots when I was a reporter there. We easily and quickly developed a professional friendship, and then a personal friendship. I spent hours in his office gossiping, then 20 minutes talking business.

I would sometimes find myself competing with Cincinnati's news stations and the Enquirer during big stories. I reported for the underdog then, the small paper of just 35,000, while the others had bigger mastheads and expensive cameras. Didn't matter though.

When big stories hit as they occasionally did, and the rest of the CIncinnati media that normally ignored Fairfield descended, the fire chief would part the fray for me. He ushered me into his giant red SUV many times so I could get to fire and accident scenes, and we'd drive right past the rest of the swarming media, and he'd never even act like he was going to roll the window down for them.

Suckers, I thought as we drove past. Ha!

He used to say, "You're not my ex-wife. You can't talk to me like that," whenever I'd boss him into giving me information. So whenever his secretary would tell me he was busy and couldn't pick up the phone I'd have her tell him it was his ex-wife, and he'd pick up, knowing it was me of course.

The last time I saw him was at a surprise anniversary party for him. I hadn't seen him in a few years and when he walked in and saw everyone clapping and staring at him, he paused for a minute, walked straight over to me and gave me a giant hug. The kind of hug that kind of lifts you off your feet for a minute.

He introduced me to his daughter at that party, and a few weeks later I had the pleasure of hanging out with her and him at a restaurant in Fairfield. She and I chatted at the bar and she told me how much she loved her job as an ultrasound sonographer.

Yesterday I was browsing Cincinnati.com for weather headlines and saw this one, and read that his daughter was killed. She and her husband both died during the wind-storm when a tree fell during a fund-raising motorcycle ride for Fairfield families of military personnel who have died in Iraq.

She was young. In her late-20s. And they'd just had a baby about six months ago.

I can't fathom what agony my dear friend is in. It just doesn't seem right. Doesn't seem right at all.

Everyone Knows It's Windy

Stella got - JACKED UP!

Last night I showered by candle light. It was very romantic. It's like I'm dating myself.

I also ate Taco Bell by candle light. I know what you're thinking: Gina treats herself right, mm hmmm.

The wind knocked the power out at about 3 yesterday and it still wasn't on this morning. I imagine I'll be throwing out everything in fridge when it comes back on. So long chicken and ice cream!

In even sadder news than the ice cream - Stella got knocked over. I went outside yesterday evening to find her on her side, her cover still on her. She didn't cry though.

(Thanks to The Association for the super catchy song and title of this post.)

Lipstick

End of Summer Harvest

Seven Years Ago Today

I lived in O'Bryonville with Craig. He called me before I went to work and told me turn on the TV. I did. I was stunned. Angry. Heartbroken.

I went to work at the Running Spot. We had about five customers all day. At the morning meeting we sat silent for a few minutes. I choked back tears. I hoped for the best.

To this day when the clock reads 9:11, I say a little prayer. For peace. For solace. For everyone.

What I've Been Doing

I moved. And got a new bookcase.



The cats are settling in.



This is the view from the kitchen counter.



I've been eating homegrown tomatoes at the counter.



Had my photo taken with my boyfriend Barack. At the Marion Mall.



My mom made peach cobbler with peaches from my late brother's peach tree.



But what I've really been doing instead of blogging/returning phone calls/unpacking is playing with my new iPhone. It's pretty much the best thing EVER.

Almost Dusk

On the new balcony.

The Olympics Are Over?!

Whoa! Where was I?

A week or so ago, when I realized the Olympics were coming to a close, I started thinking about some of the Olympians I had the good fortunate to interview as a reporter. Good memories all. I'm sure I'm leaving out a few, but here are some highlights.

• Lloy Ball, volleyball player extraordinaire. I was an intern at the Journal-Gazette in Fort Wayne. We met at Frisch's. He ate a fruit a cup. I don't remember what I ate but it wasn't a fruit cup. It was probably biscuits and gravy or something heinous.

He had several tattoos even then and was 24 at the time. One of the tattoos was his girlfriend's initials on his chest. You got to be pretty bold (or stupid) to get your girlfriend's initials tattooed on your chest at 24. But I think he married that girl. And it looks like they have several kids. Good for him.

• Becky Jasontek, synchronized swimmer. She was super chatty and friendly. She was in the Aflac commercial with the synchronized swim team during the 2004 Olympics. She told me there was a duck on set during filming but that mostly the duck in the commercial was computer generated. I was so disappointed.

• Paul Hamm, gold medal winning gymnast. I interviewed Paul in the midst of the controversy surrounding his men's all-around gold medal. The International Gymnastics Federation wanted to take it away because of a scoring error with another gymnast; Paul was having none of it. The interview was for a pop culture piece we did at CiN and one of the questions was what song was he into at the moment. He said Tom Petty's "I Wont Back Down."

• Rau-Shee Warren, flyweight boxer. He went in 2004 and again this year, and both times got knocked out in the first round. Too bad. He was favored to win gold this time around. No matter. This isn't about how he did. He was a tough interview and gave mostly one word answers. Getting anything more from him was like pulling teeth. He was young, so it's not uncommon.

But his sweet mama, Paulette, was a great interview. I adored her. She was raising him solo and could not have been more proud of that kid. When he got knocked out in 2004 and I called her for a follow-up story she said she told him after the fight, "That's ok baby. This is one fight. Someday you'll be fighting in Vegas and everyone will know who you are." I loved that she dreamed big for him.

• Ron Siler, flyweight boxer. This kid came up hard. ( NyTimes story here and a better story here from the San Diego Union Tribune.)

I interviewed him and his dad, who raised him, and spent time with them both in an oppressively hot gym with two boxing rings located inside of some school in Mt. Auburn. (I couldn't find it again if you gave me a million dollars.) He'd been let out of jail early from a felonious assault charge. (He pleaded guilty to hitting a constructor worked in the back of the head with a hammer). Yet he was the kindest, sweetest and seemingly gentle person. I couldn't believe he passed away his time punching people. He also referred to me only as ma'am, even when I asked him to call me Gina.

He had four kids and I when I went to his house with a photographer to interview him again and take photos he was too embarrassed to have us in his house, so I interviewed him on the front porch instead. No one rooted for that kid harder than I did. He lost in the second round.

Citius. Altius. Fortius.

Boxing Things Up

My only goal this past weekend was to pack for the imminent move on Saturday.

Guess how many boxes I packed?



UPDATE: I dig that most of you figured I packed 0 boxes. You all know me too well! But in fact, I packed 3. That means eight of you win - and get to help me unpack!

Someone To Count On

The handsome groom.

If you got married in the past four years and invited me, it's likely I wore this dress to the occasion. I've attended a dozen-plus weddings in that time and probably wore this dress to 90 percent of them.

Each time I think this is the time it's not going to fit anymore. It's certainly not getting any bigger, but miraculously it keeps zipping up. Thanks Ann Taylor sale rack.

Last night I wore the dress to my friend Michael's wedding. Jules took me as her date, and we agreed it was one of the nicest/sweetest weddings we'd been to in a while. It was certainly the biggest wedding I think I've ever attended. There must have been 300+ people there.

You got to bring your A-game to Michael and Andrea's wedding though - it was like a runway show of adorable dresses. Had I known I'd have maybe gotten a new dress.

I'm one of the sickos in this world who actually likes weddings. Some are more memorable than others and I think many of the traditions are mindless and esoteric, but that doesn't stop me from appreciating white wedding gowns and eating the cake.

But I digress... I meant to write this about something the priest said.

In the midst of the prayers and readings and Bible verses the priest said the reason Michael and Andrea were there was because they'd found someone they could each count on. Everyone just wants someone they can count on, he said. Someone to be there. Someone to rely on.

It was simple but eloquent. And that kind of sums it up I think - at the end of day we just want someone to have our back. I thought how Michael spent 18 months in Iraq and how it must have been great comfort for him to know he had someone here who he could count on... count on to miss him, want him home and pray he was safe.

So congrats to Michael and Andrea. The church was beautiful, the reception was rockin' (loved the open bar, thanks guys!) and the cake was delicious.

Speaking of the reception... Unless Andrea has a severe outside pitch a-la Mark Mallory, I'm about 80 percent sure she intentionally threw the bouquet at me. I ducked of course.

Oh wait, what's this? Oh it's me in that dress again...



Only at a different wedding.



And another wedding - this time with a sweater.

Some People Have Real Problems

I was riding high on a deep misery last night this morning, feeling sorry for myself because I hate my new apartment. I decided I hate everything about it - the ceiling, the light, the windows, the light in the windows, the kitchen, the floors. Everything.

I was making myself pretty miserable thinking about it.

Omg, the ceiling is so wretched I'm going to drown myself! The windows are so old I'll probably freeze to death... Oh good, I'll be out of my misery then!

Then I got a text from a friend reminding me that some people have actual problems. So I've stopped feeling sorry for myself. And like my boy DP says, I'm an excellent decorator. So whatevs - bring it on ugly kitchen!

And anyway, the new digs has a fireplace and is just 25 steps from my current apartment (read: still walking distance to Graeter's.)

Falling Down

Tuesday morning I fell down in the parking lot walking to my car. Laptop, purse, coffee. Purse contents spilled out. Thermos tumbled to the ground. (Thank god the coffee didn't spill.) The parking lot at my apartment is mostly gravel and grass, and I planted my heel on a rock and went down before I knew it.

Good morning to me!

This happened a few weeks ago too while I was on my cell. The person I was talking to thought I'd been in a crash. "Nah, I just fell down. Where was I?"

Then I started cracking up and looked for blood.

I got nothing to show for these falls. I land on my knees and wrists, but I've yet to have hardly a scratch from them, even though it hurts. Is a bruise too much ask? How about a rock in my hand? Geez, if I'm gonna fall down at least give me something to show for it. (She says as she gets hit by car next time.)

My wobbly left ankle is to blame. If I hit any sort of uneven ground on that side I'm liable to tumble or make an even bigger scene trying to stabilize myself. I went to several doctors in January about this, to no avail.

My next strategy is acupuncture. I went to acupuncture about 5 years ago for a different falling down problem caused by nerve damage. I scoffed at the idea of it working, but had run out options for correcting it. Much to my surprise, the leg weakness that then caused me to fall down subsided and I stopped having to pull myself up stairs with my arms.

Trust me, no one was more surprised it worked than me.

I always thought acupuncture was something that might work for other people, but certainly not me. My problems were real, damn it. They were concrete. I had nerve damage in my back, causing leg weakness. My quadricep was starting to atrophy. Real stuff man.

One doctor told me I had the "strength of an 80 year old woman" (he's lucky I didn't kick him in the face!) and that a hyperbaric oxygen tank (I thought maybe I'd see Michael Jackson!) was my only option. I would have had to go 4 hours a day, five days a week. Then it was only a maybe if it would speed nerve regeneration. Ummm... sounded awesome.

Then my rock star idol doctor, Marcia Bowling, suggested acupuncture. Hahaha! She's funny, I thought.

But by the second visit I thought I felt strength returning to my leg. Surely not, I thought as I ascended some stairs without having to pull myself up them. I am imagining the strength. It's a placebo effect.

I went about 5 times before the problem was solved. Insurance didn't cover any of it. All $600+ came out of pocket. It was worth every penny.

For my latest problem my strategy was deciding a few months ago that I don't actually have ankle weakness. It's psychosomatic, I decided. Except it's not when I fall down, like on Tuesday morning. It seems pretty real then.

So I'm going to try acupuncture again. I'm not convinced it will work, but then again, I don't have to be. We'll see..

Michael Who-Phelps?!

So Busy I Can't Stand It

Nearly dead.



Magically alive again! Elapsed time: 24 hours.

The summer has been chalk full of exciting events, most noticeably my first balcony garden. Tomatoes, cucumbers, red peppers and several wave petunias for splashes of color.

It was hard work watching my dad plant them. It's even harder to watch them grow, then get within inches of death because I forget to water them. I always think it's the end for them, yet they continue to surprise me with their hardiness. It's amazing, and I'm not sure if anyone else has figured this out so I expect my blog traffic to explode with this tidbit, but they magically come back to life with some water!

All you budding green thumbs out there write that down.

This tenuous relationship with water might explain the lack of fruit on the cucumber and red pepper plants, though. The tomatoes are thriving, but no fruit on the others. I have my fingers crossed their late bloomers or fall vegetables or something like that. (Surely my neglect can't be to blame, can it?)

Anyway, it's pretty busy around here occasionally watering plants while apologizing profusely to them.

And look, these romas aren't even holding it against me. I've got two ripe ones already.

Flashin' Light, Light, Light

A few months ago Ronson, Kari, Tabari, and the Tall Drink of Water and I all decided to drop way too much money for floor seats at Kanye, Rihanna, Lupe Fiasco and N.E.R.D. Then the show got postponed and Rihanna dropped out.

Sad. Because I had been practicing my Umbrella-ella-ella, eh eh eh cadence all summer.

The show finally came 'round Friday and it was fabulous of course, even sans Rihanna.

Kari noted the fashion - lots of Glow In The Dark tour shirts, white shutter shades and hoochy "dresses from Deb."

Kanye's theme was that he's on a spaceship that crash lands on another planet and he spends his time between songs talking to the spaceship computer trying to figure out how to get home and how he'll score with the ladies on planet wherever he landed. (There was also a talking blow-up doll at one point and a dragon/dinosaur/godzilla thingy that ate him.)

The acting/chatting with the computer was hilarious, and poorly acted Ronson thought. I was entertained mostly because I think if I was a big musician I'd probably have people sit around and think up elaborate and ridiculous things for my shows too. So it was fun.

The songs were mostly from Graduation, and Kanye brought the house down, sweating and dancing and singing and talking to his computer. I loved every second of it. But Flashin' Lights is my jam, so that was my fave.

Kanye also performed a very sweet and emotional version of Hey Mama, and I was a little choked up by the end. Afterwards he went and sat on his spaceship themed stage under a soft stage light and drank water from his canteen (in keeping with the theme, I'm sure).

Then... and this is where it gets weird (yeah, here is where it gets weird, nevermind Kanye talking to a giant projector screen that's supposed to be a computer) the piano chords from Don't Stop Believing come on. Kanye is sitting stage right under soft lights not uttering another word and a Journey song starts playing.

Everyone is feeling kind of emotional over Hey Mama and probably thinking about their own mamas and then... Journey.

Then this spacesuit clad backup singer starts with the first verse. "Just a small town girl, livin' in a lonely world, she took the midnight train goin' anywhere."

And I look around thinking, Really? Don't Stop Believing? This is shocking. Am I being punked?

But then I start singing of course. I mean, how can you not?! It's Journey! It's Don't Stop Believing, come on! And I look and everybody is singing it, including Kanye who is still sitting alone and without a mic, just mouthing the words along with everyone else and his spacesuit clad singer.

It was definitely a highlight for how strangely awesome and random it was. Afterwards I thought, "Wow. That JUST happened."

The last was song was Homecoming, because somewhere between the talking computer, godzilla, the blow up doll and an hour and 45 minutes of songs Kanye's spaceship got fixed and he moseyed on back home to Earth.

Thanks for the ride Kanye!

Doctor's Recommend CiN Weekly

Today I was privy to the monthly faculty meeting of Children's Hospital's researchers. You know, the big dogs. The ones who attempt to cure diseases and stuff.

After the meeting I was introduced to this doctor, who gave me a firm hand-shake and enthusiastically said, "CiN Weekly!"

According to his web bio he went to Harvard Medical School. I bet he was totally riveted by my staff answers.

Real Tomato Ketchup, Eddie?

Folks, this is huge. Great American Ball Park has chosen an exclusive ketchup, and omgHelmetSundae could not be more proud that this versatile and essential condiment is getting its due.

Ketchup + exclusive = Finally!

Congrats to Red Gold Premium Quality Ketchup. Your blend of tomato concentrate and high fructose corn syrup has wowed the suits and the fans. I stripe my hotdog in Red Gold Premium red to that!

What's more, this condiment story gives a shout-out to my hometown:

"The tomato processing company has a corporate headquarters in Orestes, Ind., located about 150 miles northwest of Cincinnati and midway between Marion and Anderson."

Yeah y'all, Marion makin' the news by proxy!

omgHelmetSundae has been silently demanding (and by silently I mean not writing about it at all) that the Reds take a stand on this condiment issue for some time. Now that that's settled it's time for the Reds to step up and declare sprinkles the official helmet sundae topping of GABP.

Castellini? Griffey? BP? Dunn, you look like you've eaten a helmet sundae or two. Thoughts on sprinkles?

Thanks A Lot Mother Nature!

Sure there's a tree on that car, but the real highlight is you can see my petunias and vegetable planter!


Shattered glass.

Usually I call this spot on the street the "money spot" because it's right outside my apartment. But it sure wasn't the money spot this morning when this tree landed on it.

Normally I like storms but last night's was scary - I don't want to say I was hiding under the covers but I may have been, umm... consoling the cats who were under there.

There were some harrowing tales of survival in my building at work today, too. We had only partial power all day (which was fine with me, no overhead florescents = awesome), but apparently the elevators were down at one point.

Omg! The elevators were down! Dear sweet Jesus!

Fortunately it was back to life by the time I got there. And it's a damn good thing because I work on the 10th floor!

So I'm on the elevator this morning and this poor girl is talking to one of her colleagues saying, "Oh my god. I can't believe the power went out. I spent all day getting stem cells out of mice yesterday... 16 mice... 32 femurs... 10 hours."

Then she'd shake her head. I'm not sure the process by which you get stem cells out of a mouse femur, but it seems to take a long time.

Thanks a lot Mother Nature! First this poor unsuspecting Saab gets crushed by a tree, then it's possible that this chick's stem cells unfroze or melted or coagulated or whatever happens to stem cells when the power goes out. That's just great!

TGIF!

Not a very good photo, but whatever.

In celebration of the Tall Drink of Water's new job - and because he had a gift card from cashing in his National City points (fancy!) - we went to Morton's tonight to clink our glasses and eat steak.

I very rarely eat steak, and when I do it's usually at Jeff Ruby's or the Precinct for a special occasion. So now all steak I eat is judged against a Jeff Ruby's steak. And let me tell you, none of them come close.

So, my official review: Tonight's dinner was nice, but it was no Precinct.

The highlight for me was seeing a dude pouring A-1 onto his steak. Gasp!!! But I felt the same way... my steak could have totally used some A-1.

Afterwards we checked out the Cincinnati t-shirt fest at the square. I was able to secure another Cincinnati Transit Shirt from Wire & Twine . It's my fave shirt ever. And the designer is fierce.

Tonight At 11 - New Shoes!

I was strolling around DSW tonight when I saw a suit-clad Kit Andrews walking down the open-toed heels aisle. She's tall! And much prettier in person. I feel bad about calling Skeletor now. But for real, HD is not doing her any favors. Her skin is not nearly as thin and stretched as it looks on the nightly news.

Of course I rushed over to the Tall Drink of Water and was all, "Omg! Kit Andrews is here and she's crazy tall. Walk by her so we can size up her up for my blog."

Then I think I kinda shoved him.

So we mosey over to the heels pretending like we're not on a mission to get into her aisle and I touch some fabulous open-toed silver beauties (they didn't have my size) and as we're getting closer TDW starts arguing it's not her.

"Dude, it's her," I tell him.

"Dude, I don't think that's her. She's way prettier than Kit Andrews."

"You're right. Maybe it's not her. No wait. It's totally her."

So we're walking down her aisle and right at that moment she gets up from trying on shoes and says into her cell phone, "Were you trying to reach me?"

We get passed and I ask TDW, "Did you get that? How tall is she?" And he says he didn't really notice because he was sizing up her voice instead of her height and concludes, "It's her. I can tell by her voice."

"Ugh! I already knew it was her! You were supposed to be seeing how tall she is! Is she taller than you?!"

"Hell no."

"What do you think, 6 feet in the heels?"

"Yeah. Probably."

So anyway, sorry Kit about calling you Skeletor all these years. You're an attractive woman in person. My bad.

Then we walked over to Old Navy where I bought a dress that TDW described as "totally unflattering" and "tarp-like."

Also, I still haven't done laundry.

Clotheslined

You know that point when you haven't done laundry in so long that you're wearing underwear you haven't worn in 2 years and probably should have thrown away anyway?

Well, I passed that point a month ago.

I haven't done laundry in months. Months. I don't even remember what clothes I have anymore. I've bought new underwear and wore them all already. Un-prewashed.

I'm a day away from having to wear suits to work. By Saturday I'll be wearing bridesmaids dresses. Next time a friend tells you "Oh, you can wear it again" what she means is you can wear it when you haven't done laundry in months and don't have anything else clean.

I'll be lookin' goooood grocery shopping in this.

I shared this laundry sitch with a friend/colleague who warned me, "You'll know when I haven't done laundry. My clothes get progressively nicer. I'll be going commando in my old prom dress."

They Don't Make 'Em Like They Used To

I can be ridiculously sentimental sometimes. So yeah, I got a little misty watching this movie trailer. More about the film here.

And more about the man here, via Frank Rich Kelly's excellent eulogy.

That reminds me, my subscription to Modern Drunkard, the funniest (and I'd also argue possibly the best) magazine in the world is either lapsed (right, like they're gonna remind me to renew) or they're face down in a ditch somewhere and can't get the next issue out.

I suspect Hunter was a subscriber.

Comic Sans, Grape Stems & Hollywood Diets

Random excerpts from chats and emails this week:

• She hasn't eaten solid food in 2 weeks. She's on this diet where all she consumes is water and a special "tea" made of fresh lime juice and cayanne pepper.

• I have to tell you about single life. Well, I guess that wouldn't take long - it's boring.

• Judith, I've known you for 20 years, you've been a great influence on my life, blah, blah, blah. But I'm gonna have to let you go. Your font choice SUX. p.s. Gina said so.

• That would have sucked almost as much as getting "Bret" tattooed on the back of your neck.

• They were good friends, when they weren't drunk and beating the crap out of each other.

• Stamford--which kind of feels like a weird, east coast version of Dayton, OH. Even the mall is still kinda 80s. (Hello, carpet and glass elevators.)

• There were some seriously skanked up chicks. Like super tight tube dresses and stripper heels. B-A-N-A-N-A-S. And I saw some very disturbing/weird dancing as I walked past Cock and Bull. Cock and Bull!

• I have a hard time believing that it was a mistake eating that chocolate chip wheelie ice cream sandwich.

• My sources tell me that, during my absence, a certain web-bloggin', habit-quittin', ice-cream-lovin' web content research person was "borrowing" my cubicle and that this person happened to be snacking on the aformentioned healthy snack. I'm making no accusations; I'm just sayin'.

• The most eventful thing was taking a hike in Ault Park, and somehow getting off the trail and ending up in no man's land on Red Bank Road!

• I bet she totally bites your ponytail.

A million dollars to anyone who can guess the writer of each.

What Do You Do For Fun?

Tuesday morning a colleague who doesn't know me asked me what I do for fun.

It was disorienting. And I had no answer for him.

Then he asked me what my goals are.

Umm... Again, no answer.

I have a very boring life, I later told another colleague, to which she replied, "You do have goals! You want Paul to get someone pregnant, preferably a Latina woman, so you can have a baby part-time."

She's so right. Not only do I have lofty goals, but for fun I concoct elaborate schemes to reach these goals.

True This, Mostly

A few gems from my mom tonight.

1.) "Gina, let me tell you, there is no graceful way to get into an intertube at a wave pool."

2.) "Your cousin had cupcakes instead of wedding cake. Everybody got their own little cupcake. They're less messy and really cute."

3.) "You can't get a tattoo on your wrist. They could cut a vein and you'll bleed to death."

Roughin' It

I got tricked¹ into going camping² this weekend.

1.) And by tricked I mean I said, "Heck yeah I want to go camping!"

2.) And by camping I mean we stayed in a cabin with two hot tubs.

"Camping Lite" is what it's called, I believe.

Has It Been A Week?

This time last week I was washing dishes and cleaning up after Julie's going away, where we sacrificed meat and Boca burgers on the grill for her good fortune in New York.

When you sit beside someone at work for 40+ hours a week they get to know you better than anyone. And certainly Julie learned things about me in the two years she sat behind me that most people didn't know.

She listened to my stories, heard my phone conversations and was often the first person to hear what was happening in my life. And I learned a lot about her.

What was wonderful about sitting beside Julie was that she always had a hilarious reply to whatever the situation was. Be it trivial or seemingly important at the time, talking to Julie about it always made it seem better. She helped me sort things out and gave me another perspective.

She and Kari and I were the three amigos at our last job. And we had the odd fortune of all leaving at the same time, so none of us had to sit in our cubicle and miss the other. That was 8 months ago and still we start a new thread of emails every few days to catch up, talk about our weeks and make plans. It's remarkable, really, we've continued to do this for so long.

But now Julie's dispatches will come via her office in Manhattan and her new place in Greenwich. Thankfully she's already sent us one, letting us know that her cross-country trek behind the wheel of a U-Haul went safely.

I'm still in denial. I'm sure she'll be over in the fall once Thursday Office Nights are back on. You'll be there, right Julie? Julie?

Jules?! You there?!

(Sniff, sniff, is it dusty in here?)

Way Back

Like this, only smaller.

Joe and I go way back - all the way to Marion, Indiana, where I grew up hearing his voice from the stereo in our garage.

I'd be sweeping up saw dust or hammering boards together while my dad drank iced-tea and listened to the Reds games. He and Marty's voices were as recognizable to me as anyone's. Of course back then I was a little kid and didn't know who they were.

It wasn't until I moved to Ohio in 1999 that I heard Joe's voice again on the radio and tried to place it. That's when I discovered he was legendary in these parts and that he grew up where I was living at the time - good ol' Hamilton. Me and a colleague at the Journal-News used to take long lunches and go hit golf balls at Nuxhall's driving range in Joyce Park. It was like Joe was everywhere.

So needless to say I'm pretty excited for tonight's Joe Nuxhall figurine give-away. It'll look like the statue of him in front of the stadium, only smaller of course. (omgHelmetSundae will have regular figurine and snack updates.)

I've got more player bobbleheads than I care to count - still in the box, still encased in styrofoam. I never even open them. Couldn't care less about them. But I feel like I'll actually take ol' Joe out of the box, give him some breathing room, show him off a bit.

Yep. I've been knowing Joe for a long time.

WTF Is Going On In This Town?

First came the news that Western Bowl might close. News so tragic I cried as I thought about all the bowling pin shaped Miller Lite's I've drank there.

Ronson was so upset he threatened to chain himself to the neon sign.

Say it ain't so, Western Bowl! What about the Hoinke Classic? What about all those gutter balls good times we shared?

Then Kari sent me this story about a stabbing in the Levee parking garage. The Levee, y'all! It's all movies and books and ice-cream... and now stabbings. (Though really, as Julie pointed out, that parking garage it totally hostile.)

And then Thursday came this - a shirtless, shoeless, vomity dude passed out on a sidewalk downtown, unable to utter anything but "Blackfinn."

Daaang. Blackfinn is off the chain, for realz!

Ahhh. I love this town.

Oh No She Di'nt!

The landlord, Jim, cares about only three things as far as I can tell:

1. A cold brew after work

2. His little dog

3. The lawn

And now look what someone did! Some chick drove her Saturn through the lawn yesterday after she got pinned in by a UPS truck.

The only thing worse would have been if she'd have run over his little dog while speeding through the lawn and stole the Bud Light bottle out of his hand as she went past.

I Love You, Motorola Flip Phone

I talked some smack about Flip Phone in the lunch line today and it repaid me later by falling onto the ground and not working anymore.

You might remember Flip Phone and I had an argument last summer.

Howard at T-Mobile suggested I try dropping it again because his idea to reset the master switch didn't work. So that's what I did - I came home, tossed it into the air and let it crash to the hardwood. And guess what? It totally worked!

Flip Phone is back to it's magical powers of calling, texting and taking photos. I heart you Flip Phone!

Things That Are "Boring As Hell"

According to my dad:

• Bowling
• The NBA
• Phantom of the Opera
• The movie The Passion of the Christ
• The Easter Pageant
• John Wayne movies (unless there is another big star, such as Robert Mitchum, Kirk Douglas, Henry Fonda)

B-A-N-A-N-A-S

So I'm driving down Compton Road tonight about 6, on my way from home my department's spring picnic. (Spending the day at Winton Woods grilling out is tough!)

And walking down the side of road are two little kids, a boy and a girl. Now Compton Road is busy and there is no sidewalk, so it was basically like seeing two little aliens walking down road it was such a foreign sight. Traffic was backing up to go around them and in front of me a big white windowless van (i.e. child molester van) was stopped behind them.

Hmmm...

The van was making me nervous because I kept thinking whoever was driving was going to stuff these little kids in it. Not to be all prejudiced against windowless white van drivers, but come on. It didn't look like a plumbing van is all I'm saying.

After the van passes and the car in front of me passes I pull up beside them and ask if they're lost. The little boy, who's wearing a bicycle helmet, tells me no, they're not lost but they're walking around until they find their house. I'm thinking there's no way these kids' mom knows they're walking down Compton Road, so I pull over. In behind me pulls over another car.

I ask the little boy if he's lost again and ask if knows his phone number. He tells me his phone number and I ask his mom's name. About that time the guy who pulled in behind me walks over to us and he and I look at each other, bewildered.

The little girl tells me her name is Isabella and his name is Drew and she's 6 and he's 5 and they were playing at the creek behind his house but then they started walking down the creek and weren't sure where they were. They were completely calm and unperturbed, just carrying creek sticks and figuring they'll wander home eventually.

So I call the little boys' phone number and a hysterical woman answers.

"Is this Natalie?" I ask. Now here I'm wondering what to say to a mom in this situation. Hey, your kid nearly got hit by 10 cars on Compton Road, better come get him! Or, Hey Nat, your little boy and the neighbor girl wandered off, it's all good though, I got 'em!

I said something like, Umm... I have your little boy Drew here on Compton Road. And she starts flipping. I mean flipping. I tell her it's ok, they're safe, they just seem to have gotten a bit lost. She tells me they play at the creek all time, but 10 minutes passed, then 20, then 30. She's telling me all this through tears of course.

I try to tell her where I am but I really have no clue where I am (I'm only there for a picnic, after all). Fortunately the guy behind me lives around there so I hand him my phone so he can tell her where we are.

As we're waiting I chat some more with the kids, they tell me where they go to school, how they got lost, etc., and the guy and I start chatting about how we were both freaked out by the van and how upset the mom must be. Little Drew hears this and asks me if his mom is mad at him.

I tell him she's not mad, she's just upset because she didn't know where he was and that she'll be happy to see him, but she might still be upset when she comes to get him. So he turns to Isabella, his Compton Road partner-in-crime and says, "We're just going to keep walking."

No-no-no, I tell him. Your mom is coming to get you so you have wait. I pat him reassuringly on his bicycle helmet and tell him again she's not mad at him. The guy next to me also reassures him that while mommy may be upset, she's just worried and will be happy to see him.

I tell the guy I just came from a picnic and that I work at Children's and he's like, "Oh! What do you do?" all excited like. I tell him. Then he tells me he's an "ER doc" at Mercy-something-or-other and shakes my hand. (I feel like I disappointed him by not being a doctor or something.) Just then a black Honda Odyssey rolls up and out jumps Natalie, tears streaking her face and saying, "I cannot tell you how thankful I am. I cannot tell you how thankful I am."

So I hug her. She doesn't hug me back though. I figure because she's so upset. Or maybe I'm just the weird girl who just hugs hysterical moms. Whatever.

So then she tells the two kids to get into the van. They walk toward the van and she tells us the creek is in their backyard and he's never gotten lost before and she was looking everywhere and she's trying not to cry and thanking us profusely and then here comes Drew again. And I'm thinking, "Kid! Lay low! Just be quiet. Your mom is gonna flip'!"

And what's Drew say in the midst of all this? He walks over, looks up at her with these big blue eyes and long dark eyelashes and says, "Mom, can I sit in the front seat?"

Oooh... You Got Served Wranglers

The Cyclones are in some sort of play-off game, and this guy was super excited about it. We high-fived him and clinked cans of $1 PBR about 20 times.

And the Cyclones won, because they... well, see above.

2 Legit, 2 Legit 2 Quit

I'm legal, y'all!

Now that I have that awesome song stuck in your head... I passed the motorcycle written exam yesterday. Missed two questions out of 30, but they don't count because they were un-motorcycle related questions. Such as, "If you refuse to take a road side drug or alcohol test what will happen?"

Ummm... C.

I actually found the motorcycle manual informative and useful, so it was no sacrifice to study it, but let's say you need to take the test a-sap - my advice is to pick C for any question you're unsure of. I'd say 75 percent of the answers were C on the exam I took.

Today Stella and I (since I can't afford a real Stella, I've named mine Stella to pretend) went for a long ride, and I suspect we'll be spending the day together tomorrow and Monday too.

58 Pages O' Fun!

I'll be cramin' all night for the big exam tomorrow.

Lolita, Light of My Life...

Let me start by being honest.

I am not the reader I used to be. Ten years ago, as a young Lit. student, I'd have embraced the challenge, searched out the foreshadows and allusions and anagrams. These days, not so much. I am a lazy reader now. And that's why Lolita has taunted me from my nightstand since February 18. (How do I know when I started reading it? Because I put a Post-It on the title page with the date to see how long it would take me to finish.)

Lolita beat me up. It was difficult, revolting and sometimes even exasperating to read, not only for the story line but also for the ornate language. I never wanted to throw it across the room in frustration, but I certainly let it languish by my bed for long stretches.

I felt like Nabokov and I weren't getting along.

I decided to tackle Lolita because the last few books I've read have been lackluster at best, ( horrid is another way I'd describe them), and being that Lolita is one of Jen's favorites and Jen is one of my favorites, I felt it was a good choice. And it was a good choice.

I'm happy to say I have read Lolita. My pop-culture understanding of the character Lolita and the novel couldn't have been more wrong. Lolita is a tragedy wrapped in a terrible love story. Toward the end it switches to almost a detective novel and about 100 pages from the end it becomes utterly heartwrenching.

It was the last 100 pages that sent me to bed early to pick it up again and then kept me awake afterwards, turning Lolita over and over in my mind.

There were plenty of times I wanted Nabokov to get on with it, move the story forward. I didn't pick it up for prolonged periods because I felt like nothing else was going to happen - this pedophile was going to continue to abuse this girl ad nauseum forever and ever. But as Lolita ages, it turns. She becomes more cunning, less accomodating and the conflict that before was between Humbert and society (or the reader in this case) becomes more of a conflict between Humbert and Lolita.

There were pages upon pages of the book that I read to no avail. I didn't understand what was happening, I missed clues and events and would have to go back. The language was so dense and the writing so intricate it was hard for me to follow. Like I said, I am not the reader I once was.

But there were passages that I know I've never read anything more heartbreaking, more eloquent, more stunning. One of these is when Humbert sees Lolita again after her vanishing three years prior. The description of his love for her during their final visit is so rife with heartbreak and truth it took my breath away. I've never read anything like it.

And when he asks her - defeated, wan and worn at age 17 - to come back to him, I felt sorry for him, actually felt sorry for this vile man, that she didn't.

And that is why I understand why Jen so loves this book. Because in the end, after everything Humbert's done to destroy this girl, Nabokov is capable of making you feel sorry for him. Sorry for this man, the man who listened as Lolita cried herself to sleep every night the minute he feigned sleep.

How We Do

This is Dan's photo, because he's a better photographer than I am.

The days were packed this weekend, but in a relaxing, low-key way. It seems the last few weekends have been full, so this weekend it was nice to sit back a bit, take it all in.

I realized Friday after work I had nothing to do. After the Ballet last Friday night and dinner at Nada - and eating out nearly every night for the last month - grilling and eating at home sounded so nice. So that's what we did.

Then I went completely insane at the bookstore.

It seems like it's been months since I've been to Joseph-Beth, one of my favorite places on Earth, so after dinner I strolled in and it was like being home after a long vacation. Oh how I'd missed you, JB! It was so exciting I wanted to touch every single book and read every one of them. Ok, so temporary insanity. There are a lot of crap books. (Hahaha. Buuuurn.)

Saturday was packed again, but in a fun way, with the crazy sold-out Reds game and Brandon Phillips bobblehead.

omgReds rockstar Dan and Gretchen hosted an all you can eat homemade helmet sundae bar on their rooftop afterwards, complete with four flavors of ice-cream, sprinkles, chopped nuts and.... drum roll, real live helmets!

omgHelmtSundae is still on a sprinkles high.

Post Traumatic Rick Roll'd Disorder

The sickest Rick Roll ever got dropped on me Saturday night. But not just me, everyone at Clique got an ear full of Rick Astley's freakishly deep man-boy voice.

It was brutal yet beautiful. I think I even danced to it. Possibly. It's all a blur now. But I do remember looking at Jay in the booth and thinking, "Damn. That was sick. You got me."

Then he made a motion like he was hosing down the dance floor, all fire fighter-like. I admit that if I was a DJ, I'd have done it too, so I kinda loved it.

This from the guy who once Rick Roll'd at me at 8:30 in the a.m. I couldn't click links for weeks I was so fearful. I still feel a little cagey.

I guess my question though is, is it normal to listen to the whole song when you get Rick Roll'd?

PA-POW

"LeBron James with no regard for human life."

Heee-lariously awesome.

Please Welcome Your New Course Snacking Champion

Yessss... Thinking back I was awesome.

Did you know they hand out snacks to runners during the Pig?!

Had I known this before I'd have run rather than cheered all those years.

Needless to say the Pig was fun! I was handed a Twizzler within 15 feet of starting my "sprint" to the finish and decided then and there, as I tore into that piece of strawberry grooved fun, that I'd snack my way through 6.8 miles. I'm the only person ever to actually gain weight while running.

In order I grazed on:

• A Twizzler, which I ate some of and then swung around above my head during particularly awesome sections of cheerers

• A piece of chocolate (Dove maybe?)

• A Hershey's Kiss

• An orange wedge (which I nearly choked to death on)

• Two Gummi Bears (one red, one white)

• A sip of beer (which I also nearly chocked to death on)

My race strategy proved brilliant, if not a little stomach upsetting, as I was crowned the winner of a brand new course snacking record.

Speech? Well... ok... First of all, big ups to God for this huge win. I gotta give a shout to my family for really being there for me, and of course my friends who helped me train for this difficult competition. Thanks for the Funyons you guys! But most of all I'd like to thank the fans and spectators because really, without you, I couldn't have done it. No really, I couldn't have.

In addition to snacking my other "race strategy" to high-five anybody who'd let me was equally rewarding. I didn't set any course records for this one but I feel like I made a few kids' days doing it, so it was totally worth it.

It's hard to chit-chat with fellow runners when you can't breathe, but one guy who was struggling along beside me during the final stretch turned to me and said, "Y'all ain't got a flat road in this town, do ya?"

I gave him a sympathetic look as we stared at the incline ahead of us said, "It ain't lookin' good, is it?" And that poor sap probably ran the whole marathon.

Aside from nearly getting my toe severed off, it was a lot of fun.

I had worried that running in it wouldn't be nearly as fun as drinking a latté and cheering is, but it was. It was way more fun. And hopefully I'll stop limping soon!

When Keepin' It Real Goes Wrong

Cassius is exhausted after doing the Piglet Fun Run this morning.

Since I won't be making my mark on the Pig with an awesome fast time, I've been thinking of other ways.

Last week I decided if I really wanted to have fun with it I needed to give people something to talk about, something that really captures the essence of all out running. So I decided I needed to vomit right at the finish line. Even better if it was photographed by race photographers.

I figure this would really sell it to spectators that I ran hella-hard and that I'm a bad-ass. "Did you see that girl vomiting?! Whoa. That was awesome."

At least that's what I'd say if I saw someone vomiting at the finish line.

Tuesday night I was running down Zumstein and decided to "practice" my finish. I concentrated on taking long strides to make me look more graceful, landed on the balls of my feet to appear faster and held my gaze up.

I was looking the part, I think. I did this for about 200 yards, really selling it to the hundreds of spectators lining Zumstein... who were in my imagination.

No sooner did I stop and start walking did I get woozy and nauseous and nearly vomited during my "practice" finish. (God I'm a candyass.)

It was pretty unpleasant, so I'm rethinking my big vomity finish on Sunday.

Yet I can't help but recall the glimmer of pride in my track coach's eyes when we'd vomit after a work out or a race.

"Leave it all out there," she'd say. I never thought she was talking about puke, but looking back, maybe she was.

Health Food

Gotta stay in shape for the Pig.

Oh Bloody Hell

Let's not take this race too seriously, shall we.

The last few weeks I've been getting Flying Pig "email blasts," each one more annoying than the last.

"17 Days to the Pig!"
"16 Days to the Pig!"
"7 Days to the Pig!"
"6 Days to the Pig!"
"5 Days to the Pig!"

I'm quick to delete these pesky little bastards. Though not quick enough to prevent them from making me anxious.

The Flying Pig is one of my favorite things ever. I live for watching it every year. I get really into cheering for people I don't know, and even more into cheering for people I do know. I take photos , mobile blog, conduct post race interviews. I take spectating seriously.

But not this year. This year I'm running the relay.

I'm the charity case of my team.

One of my teammates just finished Boston with a PR. I'm like, totally honored to be on a relay team with her. Another teammate is training for her first Triathlon in addition to ohhh, just going out and running 8 miles on Saturday after being sick for two weeks. And my other teammate, Scooter Dean (he was a last minute addition after another coworker pulled a hammy - that's funny, saying that someone pulled a "hammy"), can easily go out and run six miles. This is a dude who I was surprised to learn owns running shoes.

Me, not so much. Running sucks. I suck at it. I've tried to make amends with running, come to an agreement that while I like the shoes and the feeling afterwards, I'm not much of a runner. I like to think I was much better before chemotherapy stripped off all my muscle mass, but that's probably just an excuse for always having been sucky at it.

I'm in two running groups. One during the week with work peeps, another one with friends on Saturdays. Of the 50 runs my training plan called for when I started, I skipped 21 of them, mostly during the weekdays. I figure if this whole running thing isn't followed up with a greasy dinner at O'Bryon's there's no point in me going.

The Saturday runs I attend because there's too much guilt involved in not going, but again, it's all about downing a latté and eating quiche afterwards.

"How was your run, Gina?"
"Who cares! Where's my vanilla soy latté?"

Last week one of the guys in my weekday running group said, "I can't really burn you about running Gina because I've never seen you run."

Ouch. I had to hose myself down with Solarcaine after that one. But it's kinda true. I go to running "group" during the week and never run with the group. I'm too slow. I walk too much. It's too humiliating. (Because in my mind I'm still the track star I was as a freshman.) And every time they pass me, I'm walking. Because I'm almost always walking.

Daaang, it's hot, I better walk. I need a tissue, I better start walking while I think about how to score one. Ooh, uphill - time to walk! This song is interesting, I need to walk so I can think about the lyrics.

Obviously I'm not very committed to actual running. But I'm very committed to the idea of running, so that counts for something, right?

Thankfully, my relay teammates could care less if I walked the whole thing. The Boston marathoner, the triathlete, the scooter-riding non-athlete - so long as I'm there to take the chip and put in my miles they seem to care less.

Whew. 'Cause that would be really awkward if they were hoping for a good finishing time.

I'm Going to Have to Operate

Click here for fun photos!

This little gem sprang up Thursday, the result of wilting heat and too thick socks. Then it sort of went away (bye, blister!) only to return bigger and meaner (hello again, blister) after my Saturday morning run.

If it doesn't go away on it's own by tomorrow I'm going to slice it open and drain it. (Don't worry, I'll post video for you guys.) I can't be carrying this thing around all week. I got new shoes to wear.

In other Flying Pig related news, there's been a run on Sport Beans, GU and gummi bears in the Hyde Park/Oakley/Norwood area.

Target is sold out of Sport Beans, the basket that once held them is empty and sad looking, while the candy aisle is suspiciously lacking in gummi bear quanties. Hmmm... The Tall Drink of Water said all the "good flavors" of GU (i.e. chocolate) are also gone.

I bought the last three bags of Lime Sport Beans at Bigg's yesterday. There were still two bags of orange ones though, if anyone is looking.

What I Did During My Beach Vacation

Cassius loves new shoes. Nine West heels are his fave.

Nothing. I did nothing.

I sat in a beach cabana and stared at the Gulf of Mexico for hours on end. And it was everything I dreamed it would be.

It was awesome, but not as awesome as the new shoes I got! The Tall Drink of Water was all, "How are you going to get them all into your suitcase?" And I was all, "Oh, they'll fit."

Then he was all, "Do you really need three pairs of red shoes? They all kinda look the same."

Then I broke up with him. Sad.

This is the first weekend we've been in town that my friend Lori hasn't visited. The first weekend she came down for girls night out at the Gypsy Hut. Hello, 80s night! And though we probably hadn't spent an entire weekend together since high school, we easily drifted back to those days - clowning, shopping, going out.

The next weekend she brought her kids and we went the Aquarium, which was waaaay more exhausting than dancing all night.

I'm not sure what to do with myself this weekend with her not here. She should come back to live. She did send me this hilarious text message while I was in Florida, though.


GIRRRL. I saw you up on BETs spring bling in your gold bathing suit from Old Navy. DON'T HATE.




(Said suit, which we saw while shopping and which I'd never, ever wear, unless I was at BETs Spring Bling.)

Via IM Yesterday

dear gina:
going to florida?
suck it!!
Best Wishes,
Steve

That's right, y'all. Gina Blogs is off to stretch out in the sand, nap in sunbeams and do absolutely nothing. Happy vacay to me!