Give Thanks

Just thought I'd spread some Thanksgiving cheer.

Spread. Ha. (That one is courtesy of my friend, Lo, who will be making frequent appearances in this blog.)

I've been a little down in the dumps this week. May have something to do with the fact that I'm stuck in D.C. working all weekend. Yes, I'm an idiot and decided to work retail during the holiday season to earn some extra cash. Didn't really occur to me that Thanksgiving weekend and the weeks leading up to Christmas are the busiest shopping times of the year, and hence, store managers become Nazis and don't allow their employees to request time off.

The funny part about it is, I work at a prom and bridal boutique. I highly doubt customers will be lined up at our door at 5 a.m. to try on evening gowns. Who knows, though? There could be some people who enjoy gaining 15 lbs. of turkey weight, then rushing over to the mall and attempting to squeeze into a dress of their pre-Thanksgiving size.

Ah, it's gonna be a fun holiday weekend!

No more sulking, though. Time to count my blessings...just a little fashionably late in getting there.

I'm thankful that my parents (and hopefully my dog, too!) are making the drive to D.C. to have Thanksgiving in my apartment so I'm not sitting alone with Chinese watching the Lifetime movie network all day. It won't be the ideal setting. And I'll def. miss my Grandma's pies and my aunt's sweet tea, but we'll be together, and that's what counts. (Cue "Barney" theme song).

I'm thankful for my friends. They put up with a lot from me and my lackadaisicalness. I'll miss my hometown friends this weekend, but I will make up for it at our annual holiday party next Sat.

I'm thankful for The Hoff. He's helped me enjoy living in our nation's capital more and more.

I'm thankful that even though I was laid off from my dream job, I finally got motivated enough to start this blog so my creative writing skills don't deteriorate to nothing.

I'm thankful for the realization that there is another dream job for me out there. My life didn't peak at 23 (at least I sure hope not.) I just need some extra reassurance every now and then to get me there. That's where you come in, dear readers.

Remember to take some time this Thanksgiving to give thanks. Hope everyone has a fabulous, fashionably late Thanksgiving!

I Heart Football (And I have the bruises to prove it)

It's no secret to my family and friends, so I guess I shouldn't keep it from the blogging world either...I am a football fanatic. I guess it has something to do with having a father who eats, sleeps and breathes football. My dad played football in high school and college, and every Sunday from late August-early February, you can find him stationed in front of the t.v., screaming for his favorite team. I learned very quickly not to even attempt having a conversation with him on game day. It was useless...he wouldn't remember anything you said anyway.

Me, being the daddy's girl that I am, decided that I too would dedicate my Sundays to football. Just so I could hang with Pops. Now, I think my love of the game may have surpassed his. It's not often I have a voice left after watching my college team or the Steelers play. The boyfriend, who I'll refer to as, The Hoff, is convinced that I'm going to have a heart attack at the age of 24. Like I said, I love football. And if high blood pressure and strained vocal chords don't say love, I don't know what does.

Anyway, so this weekend, like many of my fall weekends, consisted of football. There was a slight interlude on Friday night where I grabbed drinks with my gay BFF, Just Jack, at his fav. bar. Love going to his bar with him. I can go there looking like poo and not worry about it, they play better music than any straight bar I've been to, and to top it off, we get free drinks! Of course, when Just Jack came by to pick me up, I left him patiently waiting for a good 30 minutes. I thought I made pretty good time considering I had to shower, pack and make pasta salad for a tailgate on Saturday. He thought otherwise, and made it known with his trademark sarcastic quips. Nonetheless, we finally made it to the 'mo bar and I helped him scope out some attractive men while getting a lil' tipsy in the process.

Saturday was game day. And a game face was definitely needed for this particular football game. The high for Saturday was low-mid 30s with a wind chill in the 20s. Probably not a big deal for New Englanders, but for a Southern girl like myself, that is downright brutal. I even used every secret pocket I could find in my ski jacket and hoodie to smuggle beer into the stadium in effort to keep warm. By the third quarter, I couldn't take it any longer. It was obvious my team was going to win, so I ducked out early and spent the remainder of the afternoon defrosting. (Please note: I know leaving a game early does not reflect a true, hardcore fan. This is the only time I have done this and will hopefully be the last.)

Sunday, I obliged The Hoff by going to a sports bar to watch his team play. (The game wasn't being broadcast at his house.) The Hoff is from New England, and hence, he is a Patriots fan...one of his many flaws. The Pats slaughtered the Steelers last season-I shouldn't be at a bar watching, let alone cheering for them. But I decided to swallow my pride, hoping it would earn me girlfriend brownie points. (In actuality, I heart watching the Pats play this season. I'll take any opportunity I can to watch Matt Cassel run around in tight pants...but The Hoff doesn't need to know that.)

So anyway, a good five beers later, we head back, arm-in-arm, to The Hoff's car. Between the beer and my shoes-these cute, brown flats from Nine West with absolutely NO grip to them-gravity was not in my favor. I'm rambling, as I tend to do after five beers, and mid-sentence, my feet completely slip out from under me. I try grabbing The Hoff, hoping he'd catch me like a good knight in shining armor should. I guess my killer grip was too much for him, because I sent him stumbling forward, flinging our to-go box of wings out in front of him. It must have looked something like this:

I just wanted to watch football, not experience the injuries first-hand. Nonetheless, I'm left with a wounded foot, a bruised ass and a ruined pair of flats. Obviously, my biggest concern was the flats. The Hoff redeemed himself by taking me straight to the mall so I could look for a new pair. No new flats, but I did get ice cream out of the trip.

The things we go through for love...

I've Grown Accustomed to this Look...

When you're late as often as I am, you learn to take death stares like these with a grain a salt. Really, they are a dime a dozen. I got them all the time from my parents when I was still cozily tucked in bed 20 minutes before school started. In college, I learned professors also like to shoot the evil eye when you arrive more than five minutes late to their class. And now, in the working world, I've received my fair share from supervisors.

Take this morning for instance. I entered my office around 20 minutes late-a typical time of arrival for me. Except this morning, my tardiness wasn't my fault-it was the boyfriend's fault. (It's always the guy's fault, am I right, ladies??)

Anyway, I have to walk by the office of my boss's boss to get to my cube. This morning, probably due to bad karma for writing this blog in the first place, my boss and my boss's boss were having a friendly conversation in the head honcho's office. I casually strolled by them, still sporting my Jacky O. sunglasses. (I often leave them on until I get to my cubicle. My crazy late-logic tells me I'm incognito in those shades and that my co-workers must be wondering, "Who's that random girl in Miss Procras's cubicle, turning on her computer, going through her files? She even has the same purse and shoes as Miss Procras...weird." I know, I know. Toddlers have better logic than me.)

Back to the story. So I'm strutting by, and my boss sees me and immediately shoots me her best Miranda Priestly glare. My first thought: "Dammit! These shades don't actually work! Weekend project: come up with a better disguise." So I pick up the pace, reach my cubicle and get right to work.

All seemed well again when I passed her in the hall before lunch. She looked more like this, so she must have gotten over it. Either that or she's like the rest of us and just excited that it's Friday.


And this, my friends, (oh man, I'm starting to sound like John McCain now) is why I don't fret over these death stares. They're quick, painless and within minutes all is forgotten and everyone is happy again. This just could be my crazy late-logic talking, though.

Also, I've decided that every Friday, I will provide statistics regarding my lateness for the past week. I'm hoping it will be incentive for me to get my act together and start arriving places on time. Hey, a girl's gotta have ambitions!

• Days arrived late to work: 5
• Average number of minutes late for work: 22.5
• Death stares received: 1
• Times late meeting friends: 1 (it was an hour though, so that should really count as 2)
• Number of times snooze button hit on alarm clock: at least 15

On a positive note:

• Made it 15 minutes before the boyfriend for our dinner date
• Arrived right on time for an alumni party

There's hope for me yet!!

'Men Worthy of an Early Arrival' Awards

People magazine just revealed their "Sexiest Man Alive" for 2008. Congrats, Mr. Jackman, you sexy Aussie, you.

In honor of this much-anticipated issue from my fav. celeb. gossip magazine, I've developed my own list of delectable hunks.

Below are my picks for 'Men Worthy of an Early Arrival.' Quite the esteemed award. I can already hear the knock on my door from these hotties wanting to personally thank me for bestowing them with such an honor.

1) Paul Walker-I don't think he's bringing home an Oscar anytime soon, but, omg, he can rev my engine anyday. ;)

2) Matt Cassel-In my opinion, Tom Brady's got nothing (in the looks department) on this former back-up QB. He's the only reason I will watch Patriots games. (Unless, of course, they are playing the Steelers.)

3) Bruce Willis-Not many men can pull off the bald thing. But he's so bad-ass, how can you not find him sexy? Yippie-kay-ay, Brucey!

4) Vince Vaughan-Any man who can make me laugh is automatically given 10 hotness points.

5) Will Wingfield-I'm still devastated by his early elimination from "So You Think You Can Dance." Watch this lyrical jazz number to "Alone" by Heart and you'll see why he's on this list. (PS-I recently saw him perform this number from four rows back. I may or may not have been yelling lewd comments at him during the entire show...)

Time is of the Essence

I've heard "Time is of the Essence" uttered at least a hundred times and ignored it just as many. My eyes tend to glaze over anytime I hear a lecture about the importance of planning ahead and arriving early. Gag me.

I must not have done a good enough job deleting it from the memory bank, because it came to mind as a possible title for this blog. Like any diligent English major, I decided to research the hell out of the those five little words to find out how they became so g.d. important. Anyway, here's what I found, care of legal-explanations.com (Who knew it's part of everyday legal jargon??):

"It is a statement used in contract or agreements and meant to specify that the time and dates mentioned in contract are very important to maintain and should not be ignored by any of the party under any circumstances. The agreement is liable for cancellation if there is a delay of any form."

I hope to God I don't have to sign any legal contracts anytime soon. I'd likely neglect to adhere to the time and dates specified and end up in the state penitentiary with a cellmate that could scare Mike Tyson.

I digress. Welcome to Running Fashionably Late! As you can obviously tell, I am never on time and always waiting til the last minute to do everything-much to the chagrin of my friends, family and boss. I’ve come to accept this flaw-er, I mean, virtue, about myself and use my shortcomings-scratch that, strengths, as a way to laugh at myself and perhaps give others a little chuckle in the process.

side note: I hope I don’t come across as annoying as the main character from the “Shopaholic” series. No offense to Sophie Kinsella-she is a very talented author-but the whole time I was reading “Confessions of a Shopaholic” (for sanity reasons, I could only bring myself to read the first book), I was screaming at Becky Bloomwood to stop spending obscene amounts of money already!

Just remember: The two rules of procrastination 1) Do it today. 2) Tomorrow will be today tomorrow. -Author Unknown

Happy Procrastinating!

xoxo,

Miss Procras.