Confession Sixteen: I Miss First Day of School Outfits

In my family, we use any reason to shop.

You name the occasion and we have justified an outfit for it (Special thanks to my Mom and her best friend, Ms. Visa!).

One of my favorite reasons to shop, as if I have ever really needed one, was THE … FIRST … DAY … OF … SCHOOL … a practice that would last until at least my freshman year of college. From pre-K through junior high THE outfit was selected, worn with pride, and counted down until I could wear it again. I actually believe brides exist that found their wedding dresses much quicker and with less pain then my first day of school garb.

This outfit would remind people who you should be friends with, where you could sit in the cafeteria and once we got older, proved who was going to be the “choice hottie” that year. (I swam at the shallow end of the school’s pool)

Yes. This much consideration was put into this one coordinated effort and later in life would turn into an entire week’s worth of ‘new threads’.

Hopefully at this point you all are realizing what a cool kid I was, and for many of you, it might be surprising to think that I ever actually did my hair and make-up each morning on top of accessorizing – daily! How else was I supposed to nab a cute upper class boy friend? Once I stopped caring about answering that question, I embraced breaking dress code for the simple reason of wearing a hoodie EVERY DARN DAY.

With all of this in mind I would like to point out that today is CP’s first day of school – being the supportive girlfriend that I am, I watched one of the greatest “education” pieces ever created – BILLY MADISON – to celebrate last night. He, like Veronica Vaughn, will be going to teach, not to learn. CP has seventh graders and we may only have one full year under our belts together on his teaching resume, yet his stories never cease to amaze me. He has kids who carry cell phones (of course!), Vera Bradley purses, and can’t keep track of their voices from one moment to the next. I didn’t get my phone until I went to college, Vera and I became friends after I was legal to vote and there are days I still feel young enough for my voice to crack for no good reason.

I am not sure where the summer went – didn’t we head to Starlake, like, a day ago, to see DMB? – but, consider this my good luck for everyone involved in academia this year. I am going to miss you all.

With that I leave you with another great ‘Overachieving’ career moment…

“I’m Six Months Pregnant …”

The football press box never has a dull moment. Yet, it is a sacred place where one should not be boastful (especially if you are in Boston losing by 100 points due to 67 interceptions.). Depending upon the school, churches are louder than the football press box.

For those who have never been in one, the press box is literally a place like none other. One minute you are grabbing someone coffee – the next you are laughing as your partner in crime is on the sidelines asking some walk-on his name – the third you may be announcing “PurpleMonkeyDishwasher” on the internal PA.

The memorable phrases I have heard in these often media filled sanctuaries could create one of the greatest books ever … if only I would have written them all down at the moment they happened.

My favorite phrase needs never to be written down – only to be repeated with as much gusto as only a fiery red-head could deliver. This sentence was uttered when our punter booted a wind-aided kick that rose in the air only to fall at a much quicker rate – about 15 yards from where he had started.

After that boot, (if you could call it that) one of the distinguished females in our department, who is also one of the women I have respected (and was intimated by) the entire time I have been associated with the University, blurted (and I mean pissed off woman power ) “I can kick farther than that and I am six months pregnant!” Tina Fey could not have timed a more perfect, and accidently comedic, sentence.

I laughed – hard – it was that funny.

To this day I thank God she laughed too – and still does!

Needless to say, our kicking game was suffering one season.
As a matter of fact, it was so bad, our kicker was nicknamed after a Sesame Street character.

Confession Fifteen: The End of an Era is Upon Us All

No losers (er, I mean loyal readers, all two of you!) – my title is not meant to signify that Mark Spitz has been dethroned by Michael Phelps freak-like success in Beijing. I am pretty sure ESPN, NBC, ADHD, the BBC, SI, TMZ and every other media acronym has this subject covered. (Can you sense what I have been doing instead of writing blogs?)

The era I am referring to is that of my occupation and being a staple around my alma mater … i.e. my first ‘real-live-action-big-kid-job’ came from a magical land I worked in as an undergrad and later moved on to spend two years in as a Graduate Assistant in the same building (DPS y’all!). Not wanting to really overload on the change department, I returned for a full-time assistant job. (Three more football seasons and I am a bonafide townie!)

More or less, I had a safety blanket - only this one is covered in hoodies instead of silk like my childhood ‘bah’ (Umm my ‘bah’ rocked you like a hurricane! Sigh, to this day, I would like to believe my ‘bah’ did not have the same fate as everyone's favorite workhorse Boxer. - "Animal Farm" people! Keep up please!) In a little over a week I am going to be reliving my third year of life and the blankie is going to be a memory; only this time I get to keep the remnants (hoodies galore!).

Harriet and Peaches, my co-workers/partners in Oreo crime, recognized this soon-to-be reality and were kind enough to put together a retirement party for me this weekend.

Shenanigans.

They might want more details but my lips are sealed except to admit I blew out a flip-flop. (In my defense, it was partially broken and I thought the magic of hot glue would keep it together. Oh so wrong!)

Knowing that my industry revolves around top ten lists, I would like to present one that would celebrate my top moments of the past three ‘grown-up’ years. I wish I could actually rank these (PRINTABLE ONLY) moments, but it would be way too darn hard so I am not going to. :o)

More or less the next few installments of my lovely banter are going to be filled with my favorite brain wrinkles.

This is one of my top …

“She Moves Her Body like a Psycho”
Last season Baby Bash's song “Cyclone” was big on all women’s team pre-game warm-up playlists.

We heard it everywhere … all season … at least once a game.

Granted it is a catchy tune, but I have never loved it more than the day Coach called me over from my spot on press row to settle a little pre-tipoff dispute.

Keep in mind Coach is absolutely AWESOME (I adore him and laughed often this season) and is usually ‘hip’ to pop culture.

The stress of the game we were about to play must have gotten to him – I was literally called over to prove if the lyrics to the song were “She moves her body like a psycho” or “She moves her body like a cyclone”. The sparkle in his eye and the dance moves in his seat made this probably my favorite question the entire season (and I was asked a lot of them!).

Upon telling him the correct lyrics included a weather pattern and not a mental disorder I received one of his trademark disagreement noises (AAAAAGGGGHHHSSSHH!). I then asked the obvious, “How does one move their body like a psycho?” and was not disappointed. Flailing has never been so cute/funny/scary/memorable!

To this day I hear that song, think of Coach, and laugh. Love it! And, oddly enough, that scene happened prior to one of our worse losses but was still one of my favorite moments of the season. (We still went 26-8 last season and won the regular season league crown ... obviously losses didn't happen often.)

I am not so sure we sang before too many other games. Weird.

Confession Fourteen: JCPenny Ads = NOT COOL!

While watching CBS my anger management monster reared its ugly head. Granted most people would have been annoyed by Two and a Half Men (Charlie Sheen is sort of creepy if you ask me!), but my blood boiled as the JCPenny commercial played over and over again. (I would love to know exactly how much was paid to run that commercial 27 times in a single hour?!)

You may have seen this advertisement – the entire commercial tries to copy the classic the ‘Breakfast Club’ and needless to say THEY DID NOT SUCCEED!

First, whoever suggested JCP should take this route this Back-to-School season is an idiot. Remaking a John Hughes classic in 30-seconds is just as big a slap in the face as the wanna-be-American-Idols rendition of “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” – Simon Cowell where are you and your black t-shirt when we need you most? Was it Paula that allowed this copycat to get a record deal? If so take this as further proof she needs a pretty white jacket, with stylish, long wrap around sleeves and some big shiny buckles on the back of it – just tell her they are totally in this season!

Next let’s discuss the “characters” of this commercial – Oh, nevermind, we can’t because there aren’t any! I have total issues that the young lady portraying Allie Sheedys’ character is wear a Le Tigre dress while pouring the sugar on her sandwich! WTF! I also feel like I can guarantee everyone out there reading that the kid who portrays Anthony Michael Hall’s character thought the director of the commercial was a crazy person when he was asked to sit on the desk and pull the strings of his zipper hoodie. I am extremely annoyed just typing these thoughts and I would like to briefly point out the reason that movie is so great – unlike a normal day in high school - is the movie celebrated the differences of the kids stuck in detention - not their need to wear the same labels!

Now, if you can, please explain, in detail how dressing like everyone reflects any part of that movie. (Guarantee even the BEST BS’ers fail that essay test!)

So far, this abomination remakes a movie that should not have been touched, even when Dawson’s Creek made an honest attempt to, allows the wrong voices to sing a great driving song, and casts a group of dress-a-likes to make a mockery of very classic scenes.

Speaking of those kids – one of the girls, who I am guessing is a model who wanting to ‘break into the business’, is wearing a Nirvana t-shirt. I have the undying urge to play “Come as You Are” or “Smells Like Teen Spirit” in front of her – I swear everyone has heard those songs, that youngin’ HAS to at least be able to hum them. In order to make this game that much trickier, I am going to drop the name Dave Grohl and hope she relates him back to Nirvana and does not mention he is the Foo Fighters front man. For extra security I am going to remind her that I “don’t want to be her monkey wrench.”

When discussing this topic with the big sister she told me I take life too seriously. I say whatever! (This includes the pointer fingers up and the thumbs out – Cher Horowitz style!)

Please take this needless rant as a warning ... Don’t mess with John Hughes! – it’s that easy! If you really want the children of the '80's to band together and boycott I am sure we can do that too! People boycott Wally World for much dumber reasons then what I have presented in this blog!
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Total random side note –
Q. How hot is USA Silver medal sprint Backstroker Matt Grevers?

A. I think every inch of his 6-foot-8 inch frame is probably hotter than the last. Wow. Would I have known who he was had he not just won a medal in the 100 back, probably not, but I am so glad I know now. 6-foot-8 … seriously people do you understand that if I had met him before CP I could have wore whatever shoes I ever wanted; actually with CP being 6-foot-6 I still have ability. Regardless, dude with his West Coast surfer look, even after just getting out of the pool, HOT! And, unlike Michael Phelps he appears about as thick as a swimmer can get. O la la! Oh an our mid-western boy is a smarty pants who swam at Northwestern. (Yes, I totally googled him during the commercial break!)

Let’s take another look at him. … Oh so easy on the eyes.

Confession Unlucky Thirteen: Unlike Most, I Really Am Not Ashamed of My Age - But Please Get It Right!

As I have previously mentioned I am 25 years old.

Seriously people, I am pup, especially when you consider the age of the staff I work amongst, er, I mean the Earth. Yes, I was totally meaning to discuss geological time.

Today, as I was walking back in my office building (read: stadium) from running errands at lunch one of the nice young football players decided to hold the door open for me. “What a nice young man!” I thought to myself – in all honesty I like when the guys think enough NOT to slam the door in my face.

So I say “thank you” and smile then IT happened.

The young man, who was obviously a frosh - seeing as I did not recognize him - says to me:

"Hey, are you the lady that took our pictures for the website? When are they going to be up? "

Actually it wasn’t all that eloquent, but the fact of the matter is he called me THAT LADY?

What is this, am I 40? For goodness sake I have a Facebook account, darnit! I am young and fun!

Granted I should see it as a sign of respect, I guess, but oh, how old do I feel? I might as well suck down a Centrum Silver with a glass of Metamucil for dinner.

I feel as if this was one of those defining moments and Coco and I REALLY need to carry-out our plan to get an MTV show just to prove to everyone how young we are.

She has already made contact with their people and I think the email looked a little like this:

Dear MTV,

The Overachiever and I are way more awesome than any of the current programs that you have on your channel. We could be the next “Rich Girls”, “Girls Next Door”, “The Hills” or “Real World “ (PS – all of these require money so you are going to need to give us a lot!) (PPS – I know the “Girls Next Door” is on E! but you know what I mean MTV – don’t give attitude!). The only thing we haven’t done is get arrested but I am sure that if you let us loose in SoCal we could probably accomplish it without trying (PS – bail money must be written into the contract).

Thank you for your consideration,
Frick and Frack©

PS – TRADEMARKED!! Don’t steal MTV - -- I am onto you!!

PPS – The originators of that nickname are the only people allowed to call us “ladies” – and it must be proceeded by “HEEEEEELLLLLOOOOO”. Oh and it totally helps they are way older than us and will inhabit the Raisin Ranch before we do!

Confession Twelve: When I say MY Interns I am Right Because They Lived in MY Office

Its funny how things work out.

A little over a year ago I was working as a post-grad intern at a BCS school, then got a call to return to my alma mater for a full-time job where oddly enough I took over control of the undergrads. For those keeping track Brett Favre’s retirement lasted longer than my gig at that BCS school; in my defense, I did come back here to work with the winningest coach of his respective sport in school history so its not like the decision was 100% stupid on my part.

Within the same year of my return, my department was moved from one large office to four individual offices – the Director has the office the size of my freshman dorm room, while each of us Assistant Directors have our own four walls and the graduate assistants share a space (see left- I took that earlier today. True story!). Located in my office are the two most important items our department could have 1. The printer - which lures the occasional person in to visit. 2. The candy dish - which lures more people in than the printer and usually makes Rm. 247 the place to be in the morning. Oh yeah, I usually have baked goods of some sort too. Come to think of it, I am not sure why those I work with are not 600 lbs. ... maybe its all that running we do between each others offices five feet away from one another. I do enjoy the "intercom system" though, i.e. screaming while still seated at my desk.

Yet, the prized article in my office are not the post-bowl plaques of former football coaches with the misspelling in the schedules, nor the autographed photo of one of my former little babies from PA, but is actually the “student desk”. – If you ask the GA’s, at some point I wanted to be a teacher and their smaller desk is living proof of this notion when in all actuality I knew we needed a place to put the undergrads during their office hours so why not with me?

Have I mentioned that I am the mom of my office?

This summer we had plans of hosting three undergrads who, depending upon the day, would have a morning or afternoon shift. Ok, sounds easy enough. There might have been one or two days where they would overlap by a minute or so, but we never planned on creating an additional act for the circus that we perform in on a daily basis.

Then two were given a ”group” project …

K-squared, as we liked to call the girls, turned out to get along so well that they not only began coming in on the same day at the same times, but they also worked their butts off in unison. We never once had a girl fight. Great! What more could a boss ask for?

Then, one day, one … snorted. No joke. Hilarious. By the end of Week Three one would get the other going and before you knew it, the estrogen ocean that became my little work sanctuary was loudly spilling into the hallway.

Today was their last day and I am honestly saddened by this – these two rocked! The third intern does too, BUT he is around straight through August until the end of the year. We can’t miss him because he isn’t going anywhere!

In loving memory of my ass-kickers I would like to share the lessons they taught me this summer:

1. Toledo spelled backwards is Odelot and pronounced O-DE-LOT.
2. In the event someone does not respond to an email, you can threaten to kick them off your team. (Ok maybe I got to teach them how wrong this is.)
3. Justin Timberlake is actually a very nice guy, but like a dog can sense fear – or maybe he has 20/20 vision and picks-up on girls shaking. I bet he has a lot of practice with that sort of thing!
4. The “younger generation” does not know who the American Gladiators are.
5. You can be 14 and snuck in places in our college town – Yes, this one forced me to leave the office because I was afraid to hear the rest of the story.
6. Bees do not survive in a basement.
7. Someone in the room will always be wearing heels and will be willing to give them up in the event a co-worker needs kicked in the butt, regardless if all parties involved know each other or not. In the event they have yet to be introduced, this is a great time to do it.
8. It’s not worth it to learn Spanish to graduate.

Now, if this was a real blog that more than two people read this would be the spot where I would ask for those out there cruising the information super highway to leave me comments on what their best/worst internship lessons were ... I bet someone would have some golden nugget - right?

Confession Eleven: I Heart My Brothers

The moment I stepped onto my mid-western campus as a college freshman I gained a characteristic that has come to define me to those who have attempted to date me, places I will and will not enter, my vocabulary, and my budding professional career. Furthermore, I have multiple brothers of all shapes, sizes, colors backgrounds and temperaments.

Seeing as I have never alluded to being the lost character on “Big Love” the question that I would expect to arise would be where did these “brothers” come from?

The easy explanation - they were on our football roster.

Throughout my undergraduate years I worked as a manager (read: COACH’S BITCH) for our football team and loved every second of it. I am one of the only people I know who have traveled with three bus loads of guys to a game and have had the pleasure of having each of them make fun of me for having toothpaste on my shirt at pre-game meal the next morning. Even more exciting, I have been told on more than one occasion when my messy ponytail was not as cute as it could be – usually the bow was crooked; faux paux! I truly believe my manly men were reading their girlfriends copies of Glamour, Cosmo and Vogue instead of Sports Illustrated and Maxium and I was living proof. Coincidently, these same groups of guys have been the ones to be shocked when I arrive anywhere dressed in something other than mesh shorts, a t-shirt, while lacking my signature ponytail and running shoes. Add make-up to the mix and the older ones heads looked eerily similar to the little girl from the Exorcist (in the spinning sense, not the puking one!)

Slowly, this trend, which also included 6’6, 300 lb. men scaring the living bajesus out of potential suitors in social settings, moved more from a little sister relationship to the big sister relationship more or less because my fatties (I worked with the offensive line and let me tell you, nothing makes a 5’8 size 8 girl feel better about herself than a bunch of teddy bears of that size.) were no longer older than me, but were in fact becoming younger than myself. The cute/funny thing about all of this is neither my protective, nor their protective vibes ever diminished. Awwww, my little cuties. I just want to hug each of the freakishly tall goobers … except when they miss a block, then I want to ring their fat necks but the problem is I can’t get my hands around them.

This weekend, I realized that my little brothers were all growing-up and there are just a handful of them still out there.

Weird.

My dynasty is dwindling. Its like the little football family tree is turning into a bush.

But one foot in the graduation grave means I still have five pretty manicured toes out of it. Enter: Sunday afternoon, the boys reported to camp which meant I was getting attacked when I wasn’t not looking … making fun of the camp buzzes … laughing at jerseys that have become too small (Oink. Oink. Piggy. Too Many Twinkies!) … and shuffling the guys through headshots as quickly as possible so that they can nap for a half hour before the team meeting. (Read: Standing on a chair and getting my point across – in my own special way. Ask some of the seniors what happens when you try to waste my time.)

Oh and bye the way, yes guys, you are welcome for that gift of sleep, consider it, an early grad gift … just don’t go too soon, I have too many games, tailgates and fall afternoons to waste on you losers – my Band of Little Brothers. :o)

Confession Ten: Some Days Not Even a GPS System Can Predict the Final Destination of Any Adventure

Friends … you pick them and most days, you aren’t sure why – but you love those select goobers anyways because they bring out the best in you and more than likely give you the best memories.

We all have THOSE days that turn into THOSE nights. They usually happen in college and are aided by some sort of liquid courage … then you pretend to grow-up and the liquid courage is not needed (nor really wanted in most cases), just stupidity and a sense of adventure.

As bad as it sounds, three of us comprise the “Oreo Cookie” … Harriet, me, and Peaches. We may not be the most politically correct group ever, but we work well together and though trouble manages to GPS itself to our group, we have never traded our "Polo’s and Manolo’s" for jumpsuits! Thank you God! Really, we would look like a hot triple tranny mess in one piece orange suits and I am not trying to trade my bangles in for shackles, okay? Plus, Peaches would whine on a daily basis that her hair needed to be did.

Like most of our adventures, our latest was unstructured, only slightly planned and started out on the wrong foot. Despite having a nice woman read mapquest directions from Harriet’s windshield, we were lost about 20 minutes into our two-hour drive Saturday afternoon. Maybe lost isn’t the right word … temporarily misguided may say it better. Long story short, CP and I went to America's Roller Coast once this summer (I think I might have mentioned that once or twice. “This one time, on our way to band camp …") and I more or less was convinced that route would take us to our destination. I think we were about an inch off of where we needed to be on the map. (Note: Consider a map, consider the scale, do the math. Any further north and we might have been turning the Jimmy into a mini-yacht.) Crisis #1. was later diverted because CP navigated us back to the main road and our route no longer smelled like cow, or alpaca.

Crisis #2 arose when we got to my sister’s house. Once again heavenly beings were on our side because despite TBS (the big sister) and fam not being home we were able to break in through the back yard. So maybe this was not that much of a crisis, but this was my chance to redeem myself. (Yeah, didn’t happen. I was totally still being made fun of – WHICH I DID NOT DESERVE! I totally got us to where we needed to be in the end and introduced an alternate route to the mix.)

Once we left the family, the night becomes a blur of randomness except for the once memory I can not stop flashing back to ... The Cookie was happily chilling (both hanging out and I was cold) at a minor league baseball game when the man in front of us stood up and showed us his home plate – and it was tight and quite possibly used to be white. For some season his belt did not get the memo that it was sunny outside and we got to the dim, saggy moon. I hope you all have a mental picture too - although it can't be as bad as the real thing.

More or less the rest of the night was an even screwier version of that instance. No one else dropped their pants, but a detour not only led us to, away from, and back to a wrong destination (thanks GPS! Wrong hotel!) it also allowed us to crash a wedding after party filled with what could have only been about 20 former Lax players/ex-frat boys – TEE.FREAKIN.HEE. Peaches and I were also given our shot at "ESPN's Dream Job" as we ran play-by-play as our third said goodbye to her long lost friend.

Shenanigans. There is no other way to describe the adventure; although one long car ride would work too! (Love ya girls!)

To recap, let’s set this night straight with a few lessons learned:
1. Listen to the nice voice on the GPS. If it asks if you want to take the toll road always answer Yes!
2. Much like Michigan has its strange “Michigan Left”, Cleveland has its own right turn. To accomplish such a turn you must be the first person in the LEFT LANE at a red light. After rolling to a stop, you must then play chicken in making said right turn with the traffic that is flowing from left to right. Do not signal that you are looking to make such a turn.
3. Say one wrong thing and you will never live it down. It is best to just sing with what is on the radio, especially when the song asks “Ladies” to shake their “bottoms” and let them see what you have. Also, dance while your friend’s mouths drop.
4. Annie said it best, “The sun will come out tomorrow …” and with my friends, you might just see that sunset and after one hundred random acts of stupidity, you are going to see that sun rise too!