There's no place like home

I don't have many Christmas traditions but every year, I insist on watching The Wizard of Oz before December 25. I've noticed a pattern in which I have a much better holiday the years I watch the movie than years I don't.

So, last night while watching TV, Dan and I had the following conversation:

Dan: We better watch The Wizard of Oz before we leave for Florida.
Jaime: Why? It'll be on TNT like, eighty times before Christmas.
Dan: Yeah, but I'm not risking a plane crash because we didn't watch your Christmas movie.

The fact that I'm utterly unhinged has finally infected my poor fiance.

Everyone together now -- "I could while away the hours/Conferring with the flowers/Consulting with the raaainnn...."

So, I'm feeling....

- Like I got into a fight with Mike Tyson (I Will Eat Your Children Mike, not Singing Phil Collins Songs In The Hangover Mike) in which his weapon of choice was a tire iron and mine was a kitten.

- Like a sumo wrestler is sitting on my neck.

- Like I'd probably marry the man who showed up with a hot buttered multigrain bagel (sorry, babe). Or a veggie fajita salad from Chipotle. That would be pretty great too.

- Like Fatty McButterpants.

- Like I need to own more cocktail rings. Preferably, one of those kickass plastic rose rings in a pretty shade of pink or yellow. Of course, I'm completely ignoring fact that they would probably look totally stupid on my child-sized hands.

- That I want to travel more. I've got these travel guides on my Google Docs -- a list of cities I want to visit and all the things I want to do when I get there. Frommers, they are not. My top three things to do in Austin, Texas -- visit the Stevie Ray Vaughan statue at Lady Bird Lake, visit Antone's nightclub and eat at Juan in a Million. Huevos rancheros, margaritas and mmmmmmigas!

- Like I need to reiterate the Fatty McButterpants thing.

- Like the U.S. is going to get their asses handed to them when they play England in the World Cup.

- That Tish and Billy Ray Cyrus are negligent halfwits for allowing their 17-year-old to get a tattoo under her breast.

He'll rip through us like tin foil!

So, how was your day?

We got into an accident this morning.

Thankfully, all parties involved are fine, but hearing your car crinkle like tin foil at 8:00 a.m.? There are better ways to start the morning.

It happened really quickly and the only thing I remember is thinking, "Oh my God. We're not stopping."

Damn you, forward momentum.

Thinking about it messes me up a little because I'm a big fan of playing the What-If game. The game in which you torment yourself by asking what if -- what if we hasn't been wearing our seatbelts and had flown through the windshield? What if the airbag had deployed and injured us? What if we'd been going faster? What if Dan was seriously hurt? What if it was worse?

That last one messes me up the most. That's the one that brews a tempest in my stomach, causes my heart to clench and stings my eyes with salty tears.

We were lucky. Nothing happened that can't be fixed. But the security of that knowledge doesn't stop me from playing the game.

I'm trying to laugh to keep from crying, though. For example -- this morning, Dan and I were dropped off to work in a police car and the entire ride to the office, people kept ogling us, wondering what two young professionals had done so early in the morning as to be stuck in the back of a cruiser. It was pretty amusing. Also, police cars? Not nearly as comfortable as I expected. Instead of cushioned seat, it's hard plastic that you slide around on whenever you make a turn. I imagine it's probably the least fun ever if you're drunk.

Here's to hoping your day was better than ours and that ours gets a little better.

Drive safe.

Running Commentary Wednesday - 12/2/09

Welcome to Running Commentary Wednesday. Here's the lowdown -- I am totally barefaced as I woke up late this morning and didn't have time to do my make-up, it's not even 9:00 and I've already launched into a Diet Dr. Pepper and I've got (Christmas) Baby Please Come Home stuck in my head.

8:03: Not stopping for coffee was a terrible mistake. Also a terrible mistake -- waking up late and realizing you have no defrosty windshield wiper fluid.

8:41: So, I've been thinking more and more about getting a tattoo. This is usually the sort of reckless decision made in your early twenties after one too many Jagerbombs, but I think it's time to put my crippling fear of needles aside and get some ink. The only idea I've go so far is a tattoo on my right wrist that reads 'Writer' but I've got two issues with that:

A) Holy pretension, Batman! Seriously -- what kind of douchebag has 'writer' tattooed on their body? There are only two ways I could justify this:
1) If I publish a piece of literature that outsells the combined total of the Bible, Harry Potter, Twilight and every John Grisham novel ever published.
2) If I somehow manage to become Ernest Hemingway. Papa was a bad-ass who could get away with something like this.
B) A tattoo on the wrist sounds particularly painful. More so than mostly anywhere else on one's body. Also, a wrist tattoo would probably be harder to cover up in a professional setting. But on the plus side, the skin on my wrists will probably never change.

Any suggestions/recommendations? Do you have tattoos yourself? How did you decide what to get? Do you regret the decision now?

9:08: In less temporary body modification news, I'm finally getting my hair done this weekend. I really want this (partially because I have a total crush on Rashida Jones. I mean, she's smart, funny, talented, gorgeous and she dated John Krasinski. What's not to like?)



but get the feeling I won't be able to pull it off, so instead -- caramel brown with honey-colored highlights. Hopefully, it'll look as delicious as it sounds.

9:20: So, there's been some controversy about Kate Moss', "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels," comment. To which, I respond, "Bitch, have you ever tried stuffing?" To which Imaginary Kate Moss Who Lives In My Head responds, "No, but I can you have..." and proceeds to poke my hips with a withered, bony finger. IKMWLIMH is kind of a bitch and I am in serious need of coffee and a nap because I've obviously lost my mind.

11:32: Does anyone else think that Jaimee Grubbs (Tiger Woods' alleged mistress) looks like a third-rate Shakira impersonator?

11:38: Dan and I made an executive decision not to put up a Christmas tree this year (as neither of us will really be around for the holidays) and I think that, coupled with the fact that we did all of our Christmas shopping online and that I've yet to indulge in a delicious red cup beverage, are affecting my sense of holiday spirit. Hopefully, it'll come rushing in full force when we hit up the Magic Kingdom later this month. If Disney can't get you feeling holly-jolly, you might very well be dead inside.

12:35: Dear Baby might just be the sweetest blog I've ever read. It's the weirdest thing -- every time I read an entry, I hear this really faint ticking noise. Hmmm....strange, that.

12:36: Calm down, Mom. Dan and I are still a little ways away from that adventure.

3:09: Why is it that the people you'd least like to see nude are the first ones to strip down to their skivvies? I just saw pictures of the Phildelphia Naked Bike Ride and I'm kind of amazed. Firstly because my puritanical sensibilities would never allow me to do such a thing --having your lumpy bits out on display for the entire city to ogle/judge? Mortifying. Utterly mortifying. And secondly, I'm amazed by the sheer number of people who are willing to rock out with their cock out/jam out with their clam out in 40 degree weather. Didn't these men watch Seinfeld? Are they unaware of shrinkage?