The Longwinded Way of Saying I have Nothing to Say

I was struggling to find last night’s football game entertaining when Roethlisberger is the QB for my fantasy game and my defense (Dallas) had already given up a million and four points to the Eagles earlier in the day. Instead of focusing on the game (and feeling my blood pressure rise – I save that for all communication with DirectTV (still ongoing by the way)) I noticed two things that had little to nothing to do with football but kept me entertained for at least a short while, namely:
1. Why does Al Michaels insist on pronouncing ‘huge’ as ‘yuge’. There’s an ‘h’ there, Bucko. (He also pronounces ‘Houston’ as ‘Yuston’.)
2. Did NBC utilize its entire budget when bidding for the rights to broadcast Sunday Night Football, leaving them with no other alternative but to recycle the Olympic Theme Music for use on football? (Has anyone else noticed this?)

Since I only had two points, I didn’t really think that was worth blogging about. So I was going to blog about the things I learned while trying to complete my paperwork that will grant me “Secret” clearance from the government (which will allow me to continue working on the same exact reports that I’ve been working on at work for the past 10 months.) Here’s what I’ve learned:
1. I have no friends. Having to list a reference that can verify that I’ve lived at each listed residence for the past 5 years; list a reference who can verify you attended the college or university you claim to have attended and list 3 personal references that basically cover the past 7 years of my life without having already been listed elsewhere on the form and NONE of these references can be related to me….? Yeah, no friends. (For the few of you out there who agreed to help me out with this, my deepest and most sincere gratitude. I’ll pay you for your friendship later. Remember, don’t mention that one incident sophomore year, or that time we burnt down the neighbor’s house while I was living in the apartments, or….)
2. When you finally come to terms with the idea that you have no actual friends, in a last-ditch-effort to fill the one vacancy on the form that you cannot for the life of you fill otherwise, you will try to contact an ex boyfriend. Yes, you will. And you will try to word your email so that he might not misinterpret your request for his name, address and phone number to think you want to stalk him. And you will try to act remarkably disinterested in where he is or what he is doing, but not so disinterested that he won’t respond and give you this one last NECESSARY REFERENCE. Whew. Let’s hope the government doesn’t frown upon having a Canuck as an ex-boyfriend. (It’s okay, Dad, don’t panic about this one.)


But see? I still only had two points for that blog, too, and two points does not a good list make. I know. I am a professional list maker.

So, then I thought I could tell you about the dream I had last night. I was trying on wedding gowns with my mom. (pause here to note a couple of things: a) yes, weddings do seem to be cropping up in my dreams more than my comfort zone enjoys lately and b) my mom has been gone now for over a dozen years and 3) (if you were a fan of Mad About You, you should love my counting system) I had a tiny wedding the first time and my mom didn’t help me pick out that dress, either, but this was dreamland where NONE OF THIS WAS ODD). Let me continue. My mom had found a very elegant Mother of the Bride dress. It was a beige linen long straight skirt with long slits up each side. The top of each slit was adorned with some sort of pearl and ribbon accent that actually looked really awesome even though it sounds really cheesy. It came with a short, cropped, double breasted sort of jacket and looked simply amazing on my mom. (Mind you, this isn’t at all the sort of thing my mother would have ever worn.) Me? I was trying on some gypsy skirt made out of green crinoline that had some sort of green ribbon going around it in 3 or 4 wide circles. It was hideous and mostly see-through and all I kept thinking was, “This will never do – everyone can see my horrible legs!” Which is true, but a bit odd. The strangest thing, however was that in the dream I was not actually engaged, and while I don’t remember explaining it to anyone in my dream, I understand that I believed the proposal was imminent and that it made perfectly reasonable sense to shop for the dresses while I was visiting my mom instead of waiting for him to actually ask me first and THEN shop for the dresses later when I’d have to make special arrangements. No word on whether this wedding was also with Charlie the pastry boy from Iowa or not. But since we know that during the actual wedding (or the reception, that is) I wear a periwinkle blue dress, maybe this dream was a pre-quel?

But see? My wedding dream now has a sequel so that came in two parts, but without a third installment (yet) so that didn’t seem really worth mentioning.

I could mention how my neighbor (not the noisy one downstairs, the one who brings her daughter over each morning for me to take to the bus stop) showed up 15 minutes earlier than ever this morning and scared the crap out of me while I walked from my bathroom to the kitchen in my robe with my hair up in a towel (to get warm, wrinkle-free, clean clothes out of the dryer).

So all I’m left with is how I was so wrapped up in thinking about our excursion options for the Disney cruise (Do we parasail? Kayak? Snorkel? Swim with dolphins? Blow all our funds in the arcade with Bear? All the above? Ditch it all together? (just kidding, Dad!)) that after I took the neighbor kid to the bus stop this morning I drove nearly 10 miles towards work before remembering that LM WAS STILL IN THE CAR and should have been dropped off at school, oh, roughly , 9 ½ miles ago.

Yeah, I think it’s definitely a Monday.