Virginia is for Lusters

Southwest is my new favorite airline.

Why?

Because their flight attendants say things like, "For those of you who listened to my safety instructions-thank you. And for those who didn't-good luck to you."

Not only do your checked bags fly FO FREE, but the pilot tells bad lawyer jokes (hope there weren't any on our flight!) and the crew sings Southwest-themed songs to the tune of "Zippity-do-da."
I also received TWO bags of peanuts for my return flight.

Southwest is not stingy; and for that, I thank you.

My reason for travel-by-plane this past weekend was to attend The Bigger Lights "hometown" show in Virginia, and to soak up a few extra husband hours before his hiatus away from home.

Hiatus. Hiatus. Hi. Ate. Us. What a weird word!

Northern Virginia, I really loved being in you; partly because you were where we honeymooned. You also have this magical, colonial quality that strikes me, but you are far too frigid.

The weekend was much too short, but the time was well-spent. While there was much popcorn-eating, champagne-drinking, pajama-wearing, spades-playing, show-watching, friend-visiting fun in that time, what really set this weekend apart was mine and Chris' eye-opening decision: open a dance studio.
Of course! How did we not see this all along? We're both well-versed in the art of dance and our business sense is miles ahead of any possible competition.

We figured Chris will teach tap and hip-hop, while I cover ballet and jazz. We affirmed this decision by demonstrating our techniques, respectfully, but failed to produce video evidence, so...you're out of luck.

Regrettably, even after our delightful time, I had to go back from whence I came. The party was over.

I get fairly emotional when Chris leaves home for tour or practice, but coming back home was a different level of woe.

I fancy myself an independent woman, considering (considering what, I don't know), but traveling back alone and arriving at home with no one inside (aside from Eve and Elle) to greet me, left my heart a little heavy.

Still, that won't ever stop me from making those trips.








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Wait a minute now-Uh oh

Last night I went to a karaoke party where I was pressured into rapping Nelly.

Wide-eyed, I stared at the screen in hopes I'd come in on the proper beat of Country Grammar when I said to myself, 'C'mon Emily!'

Then I woke up and was thankful my worst fears haven't yet been realized.


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Jambalaya, crawfish pie, on the bi-yoh

Dear Emeril,

Thank you for existing. And your recipes.




This was numners.



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Confession

While at work, and sitting, I clinch my cheeks for 15 reps a few times a day to firm my butt.



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Yesterday

Jillian Michaels. You bitch.

This morning I woke up with a sore everything. I thought my yoga experience was going to be relaxing and centering, but Jillian had other plans.

I suppose the Meltdown part slipped to my subconscious because I was not prepared for that amount of hurt.

Ms. Michaels, if your "5 pounds in a week" really works, I will be singing your praises.

I don't know if it was the adrenaline or the crazy talking, but I didn't stop there. Oh no, my friend. I went jogging.

I drove to the park to run amongst the ducks and chickens in the cool January air. Shortly after, I tuckered out, sat on a bench and enjoyed the view.





Fast forward through my hair cut, a Saints loss, leftovers for dinner, and a bad rental-Did You Hear About the Morgans? (Hugh Grant, I expect a lame movie from SJP, but you?)-and begin the second part of the evening.

I in my kerchief, and Chris in his cap, tucked in for the evening, and watching tv with eyelids slowly closing (mine), when Chris asked if I wanted to "go out." It was midnight.

Whuck?

Chris had been receiving threatening "If you don't come out..." texts (exaggerated) from friends all evening, so we agreed to meet up.

After traversing Frenchmen , we happened upon a party.

Despite Chris' assurance that guys who own tubas aren't homeless, I ignored him and gave them a $10-spot anyway.

They were just singing for their supper. As was the stray doggie hanging out by Taco Bell at the fourth-meal hour. Only he didn't have to play an instrument to receive our burrito donation; his eating styrofoam was enough to make me cry.

Sorry, no pic of the dog. It was too hard just to drive away.

But I do have a pic of my new coffee mug.





And a pic of this car.





Please tell me that that was written by a child.


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Daily Persian

Oh the things us cat owners do because we don't have dogs.

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Out with the old!

Resolutions are made to be broken.

So I've decided to start mine today, January 2. Why? I needed that extra day to situate myself. And prepare for another year or failure!

I'm joking.

But I am reluctant to tell my resolutions for that reason. If I said, 'this year, I'm going to learn to juggle standing on one leg on top of a pregnant elephant,' then you'd all be sorely disappointed because IT AIN'T HAPPENIN.

I'm more into the surprising-myself-and-others approach.

Can you dig it? (we can dig it)

Happy 2011.




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