Thursday, June 17, 2010
Bless This Dress
Remember this dress that we were all just dying over a few weeks ago? Well, it finally restocked and I ordered it. And, guess what, it will be at my house when I get home from work today! I knew you'd all be as excited as I am. A dress debut has been scheduled for this Sunday. No, wait. Better make it Sunday July, 4th, since I have to teach Relief Society. That will be the debut of all debuts this summer!
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Just when you think you couldn't possibly get any dumber...
... You go and do something like this.
WARNING: This is a PG-13 post. Not suitable for children.
My department at work has been slaving away on a project that has consumed every spare moment of our lives the past two months or so. It has caused me a lot of stress, a lot of late nights at the office, and a lot of working at home over weekends. It has been so stressful that many people in our department have come down with illnesses and repetitive migraines.
Well, as of last Wednesday day, the project was "finished" and sent out the door. I have spent the last week or so just decompressing. I've amazed myself with how much I was able to sleep over the weekend. I am worn out. I keep forgetting things . . . really important things. This brings me to today's story.
I woke up late and was rushing to get out the door. After all, today is a very important day at the office—Taco Tuesday. I took a quick shower, threw some make up and clothes on, and grabbed my fixins for tacos. Off I went. I rushed into my office, a little later than usual. I put some things in the fridge, arranged the bowls and food on my desk, and sat down to work at my computer. When I turned in my chair to reach for something, I felt unusually free and unconstricted. Then, it hit me: I'm not wearing a bra. I could have died! I immediately broke out in a nervous sweat, grabbed my phone, and ran out the door, far away from the building. I called my husband, and in an effort not to wet my pants from laughing, I begged him to interrupt his productive morning and bring me a bra! That's what every many dreams of hearing from his wife.
So here I sit at my desk, breezy and free . . . awaiting the arrival of my article of under clothing from my sweet, sweet husband, and praying that no one comes in to my office to talk to me, or to ask me to help them walk around the building and greet people. And I felt it was appropriate to blog about this at work. I mean, when does something this stupid happen. There you have it. I have no shame.
Ladies, let's all meet after work and burn our bras!
Update: Houston, we are a go and functioning normally now.
WARNING: This is a PG-13 post. Not suitable for children.
My department at work has been slaving away on a project that has consumed every spare moment of our lives the past two months or so. It has caused me a lot of stress, a lot of late nights at the office, and a lot of working at home over weekends. It has been so stressful that many people in our department have come down with illnesses and repetitive migraines.
Well, as of last Wednesday day, the project was "finished" and sent out the door. I have spent the last week or so just decompressing. I've amazed myself with how much I was able to sleep over the weekend. I am worn out. I keep forgetting things . . . really important things. This brings me to today's story.
I woke up late and was rushing to get out the door. After all, today is a very important day at the office—Taco Tuesday. I took a quick shower, threw some make up and clothes on, and grabbed my fixins for tacos. Off I went. I rushed into my office, a little later than usual. I put some things in the fridge, arranged the bowls and food on my desk, and sat down to work at my computer. When I turned in my chair to reach for something, I felt unusually free and unconstricted. Then, it hit me: I'm not wearing a bra. I could have died! I immediately broke out in a nervous sweat, grabbed my phone, and ran out the door, far away from the building. I called my husband, and in an effort not to wet my pants from laughing, I begged him to interrupt his productive morning and bring me a bra! That's what every many dreams of hearing from his wife.
So here I sit at my desk, breezy and free . . . awaiting the arrival of my article of under clothing from my sweet, sweet husband, and praying that no one comes in to my office to talk to me, or to ask me to help them walk around the building and greet people. And I felt it was appropriate to blog about this at work. I mean, when does something this stupid happen. There you have it. I have no shame.
Ladies, let's all meet after work and burn our bras!
Update: Houston, we are a go and functioning normally now.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Throw me a bone
We are going to play a game. A blog game.
I love writing. I really do. But quite honestly, I've been so mentally exhausted lately from working all hours of the night, I can't think of anything fun to write about. So, I need your help. Simply leave a comment with a word, phrase, name, event, or lyric. I will then use what you posted to create a blog post. It may trigger a memory. It may give me reason to go and find an outrageous video on YouTube. Or it might strike a cord with the poetic side of me, which is yet to be discovered.
So, let's recap. You take a moment to post something, anything, and I will take a few more moments to post something that will be a feast of word or images for all. By doing so, you just might change someone's life . . . possibly even a completely random stranger from New Zealand who Googles "Miranda Raison" and somehow find my blog. Just think about it . . .
[Mom, this includes you. I changed the settings so anyone can comment.]
I love writing. I really do. But quite honestly, I've been so mentally exhausted lately from working all hours of the night, I can't think of anything fun to write about. So, I need your help. Simply leave a comment with a word, phrase, name, event, or lyric. I will then use what you posted to create a blog post. It may trigger a memory. It may give me reason to go and find an outrageous video on YouTube. Or it might strike a cord with the poetic side of me, which is yet to be discovered.
So, let's recap. You take a moment to post something, anything, and I will take a few more moments to post something that will be a feast of word or images for all. By doing so, you just might change someone's life . . . possibly even a completely random stranger from New Zealand who Googles "Miranda Raison" and somehow find my blog. Just think about it . . .
[Mom, this includes you. I changed the settings so anyone can comment.]
On this day in 2009 . . .
I spent my time exploring Florence and Siena, Italy. My friends and I had stayed the night in Florence the night before—in a "camp." It rained most of the night, which made for a muddy trail between the the restrooms, washer and dryers, and my tent. There were about a dozen people our age in the laundry room mingling and making eyes at each other. I sat on top of a dryer and wrote in my journal while I waited almost an hour for a dryer to come available. It was hot, muggy, loud, and there was a lot of drinking going on around me. Of course the boy who offered me a drink was surprised when I didn't take him up on his offer. After spending the day hiking the width of Capri a few times, I wasn't the friendliest camper in the place. I just wanted to do my wash and go to sleep!
I finally made it back to our tent where the boys (right, have I mentioned I traveled with two boys) were sound asleep. I climbed to my top bunk, laid my own personal, clean sheet across my bed, unrolled my own, personal camping pillow and blanket, and tried to sleep over the sounds of all sorts of young adults enjoying their time in Florence.
On the morning of the 6th, I ate my Belgium waffle smothered in chocolate, and then we were on our way to Sienna. We didn't spend a lot of time in Sienna. Andres explored a cathedral. The streets seemed unusually quiet. The buildings, like in many European cities, were built tall and close together with cobblestone roads. It was very easy to get lost here, every building seemed the same color to me. It was very bland and unappealing to the eye. But I think that's why I loved it. I found a quaint book shop with a small section of books in English. Here I purchased my copy of Orwell's "1984" to read on the trains. I read most of it. But as I've mentioned before, it felt like a slightly more graphic version of Rand's "Anthem." So I figured I need not finish it, since the message was the same—down with Big Brother.
We decided to find a shop where we could get some Italian gelato before our chances were gone. We found a corner shop that was buzzing with gelato customers and had the feel of a cute, little Italian gelato shop (which it was, duh). But for some reason, which I can't remember, the lady serving us was really, really rude. In fact, I encountered this a lot all over Italy. I don't speak Italian, so I'd give it a try in English first. When they couldn't understand me (and possibly when they realized I was an American tourist) they were rude to me. So I turned to my Italian-speaking friend to have him order for me. Then we took our treats outside and ate them as we sat at the foot of a statue. I don't remember why, but I remember not being able to get past how rude that Italian woman was to me.
Eventually, we made our way back to Florence to spend the night in the camp. This night, it was pouring. There was some big deal soccer game playing that night. Many of the campers gathered round a TV at the clubhouse area. However, I made my way to the showers, then to the washers and dryers. I sat on a dryer, painted my toe nails and read my new book . . . all the while fearing that I was going to be kidnapped and "taken" as I sat alone in the dark, with the rain pouring, and what seemed like a million strange men passing me by. But, as you may have concluded, I was not taken. I made it back to my tent alive.
And, THAT, was this day one year ago today.
I finally made it back to our tent where the boys (right, have I mentioned I traveled with two boys) were sound asleep. I climbed to my top bunk, laid my own personal, clean sheet across my bed, unrolled my own, personal camping pillow and blanket, and tried to sleep over the sounds of all sorts of young adults enjoying their time in Florence.
On the morning of the 6th, I ate my Belgium waffle smothered in chocolate, and then we were on our way to Sienna. We didn't spend a lot of time in Sienna. Andres explored a cathedral. The streets seemed unusually quiet. The buildings, like in many European cities, were built tall and close together with cobblestone roads. It was very easy to get lost here, every building seemed the same color to me. It was very bland and unappealing to the eye. But I think that's why I loved it. I found a quaint book shop with a small section of books in English. Here I purchased my copy of Orwell's "1984" to read on the trains. I read most of it. But as I've mentioned before, it felt like a slightly more graphic version of Rand's "Anthem." So I figured I need not finish it, since the message was the same—down with Big Brother.
We decided to find a shop where we could get some Italian gelato before our chances were gone. We found a corner shop that was buzzing with gelato customers and had the feel of a cute, little Italian gelato shop (which it was, duh). But for some reason, which I can't remember, the lady serving us was really, really rude. In fact, I encountered this a lot all over Italy. I don't speak Italian, so I'd give it a try in English first. When they couldn't understand me (and possibly when they realized I was an American tourist) they were rude to me. So I turned to my Italian-speaking friend to have him order for me. Then we took our treats outside and ate them as we sat at the foot of a statue. I don't remember why, but I remember not being able to get past how rude that Italian woman was to me.
Eventually, we made our way back to Florence to spend the night in the camp. This night, it was pouring. There was some big deal soccer game playing that night. Many of the campers gathered round a TV at the clubhouse area. However, I made my way to the showers, then to the washers and dryers. I sat on a dryer, painted my toe nails and read my new book . . . all the while fearing that I was going to be kidnapped and "taken" as I sat alone in the dark, with the rain pouring, and what seemed like a million strange men passing me by. But, as you may have concluded, I was not taken. I made it back to my tent alive.
And, THAT, was this day one year ago today.
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