ad sense

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

What Happens When I Read the Newspaper

Well, apparently, it's already Wednesday, people.

And I still haven't sufficiently recovered from the weekend.  The Kyle's Kamp Memorial Day Tournament Opening Ceremony event at Nationals Park that I had a very small part in helping to plan was wonderful last Friday.  Even though I was nervous, it was a beautiful, emotional day.  And of course, it was.  Because our God is faithful and He had His hand on the day and made it perfect.  In fact for the last few days, after perusing adorable photos and talking to attendees who loved every minute, I have been walking around with my head in the clouds.

So as the week began, with that big event behind me and all of the Kyle's Kamp Diamond Dreams fundraising games coming to a close as well, I had grand intentions to be back to blogging and running and taking care of the house and planting flowers and just, you know, tearing it up at being the best mom and wife that ever walked the planet.

But the thing is y'all,

SO TIRED.

I mean my head is still in the clouds in more ways than one.  Like my whole brain is clouded up.  I'm fuzzy and confused and all the tasks seem to be REALLY HARD.  Pushing the button on the toaster to cook waffles this morning was just about MORE THAN I COULD BEAR.  Yesterday I put on my running shoes and told myself I would just lie down on the porch for a quick second.  And then I woke up an hour later with my running shoes on a pillow on my couch on the porch.  No where near the pavement.  And I'd like to tell you that I jumped up and got after it.  But instead I went up to my bed and slept some more.

This morning dawned and I did make myself go for a run and finish the laundry and make dinner for a friend and those activities just about did me in.  So, I decided to sit on the couch to read this thing they call the "newspaper".  It's odd.  There are all kinds of things going on in the world.  Serious, important things.  And they write about them in The Washington Post which happens to show up on my driveway every morning.  So, I flipped right to the Style section.

(Look.  I know what I'm capable of and what I'm not on any given day, 'kay? Today, I'm not up for the front page)

I read exactly one article in the Style section and then I had to hop over here to my computer and tell you about it because it appears that I am not the only one with my head in the clouds.

(Stay with me.)

It seems that Hermes has just opened a store in DC.  Hermes, as you know, if you're not my husband, is the company from whom you can buy a purse at the bargain price of $10,000.  If you want to treat yourself to the crocodile one pictured on the front of the Style section today you can get it for $129,000. Which for me, would be a purchase that would result in my spending my days living under a bridge with my handbag because life is about balance.

Anyway, the very subtle, simple people with Hermes decided to have an understated dinner to celebrate their opening at some auditorium with 120 guests who sadly missed out on the spicy sausage and hot dog extravaganza that was held on my back porch Sunday night instead.  This is how the Hermes dinner is described:

"The company presented an evening of culinary theater choreographed and costumed by Belgian artist Charles Kaisin (who recently dazzled Hong Kong with a 35-foot golden goat constructed from 13,500 origami horses for Chinese New Year)."

Um.  Listen, friends.  I speak a little bit of Spanish and I am flat-out fluent in English and I had to read that three times.  WHAAA???  All I know is that the making of golden statues brought the wrath of God back in the Old Testament, so Charles Kaisin might want to tread lightly with his goat.  Also, I completely forgot to choreograph and costume my hot dog cookout. TOTALLY slipped my mind.

Also, I want you to know that if you're in the market for some stuff that falls on the floor of the Hermes factory, the Post says Hermes sells "a mystery box to customers starting at about $250, which includes a unisex trinket crafted from workroom scraps of leather, silk or the like".

Well, now.  I thought about this for a second, but ultimately decided that I don't need a delivery of any sort of unisex trinket when I have three minor children in the house.

Lastly, you should know that at the dinner "60 waiters imported from New York - one for every two guests - marched out in synchronized precision to deliver the meal.  They changed costume with each course:  silver origami masks, golden welding suits and, finally white cumulus headdresses lit from within."

Let us just break this down, readers.

First, I want to know how waiters are imported.  On a cargo ship?  Is there some sort of Port Authority that greets them at the dock?  Are they packaged in dry ice or styrofoam peanuts?  How does this work?

Secondly, I would like to take this time to apologize to the friends we had over after the baseball game on Sunday because we really decided on it at the last minute.  So, I was just wearing a plain ol' sundress from the JCrew outlet.  Even worse, I had not picked up Steve's welding suit from the dry cleaners which is why he was wearing Under Armour shorts and a Red Sox shirt.  This is what happens when you have a spontaneous cookout.  The children's silver origami masks were some where deep in the hamper and had to be replaced with Little League hats.  And I hardly had time to import any waiters.  I suppose I could have called in some guys from the local Applebee's, but what with most of their wait stuff in the middle of final exams, they really needed all hands on deck.  In retrospect, my Sunday evening cookout was really a pathetic excuse for a gathering of good friends.  I am filled with shame and regret.

Finally, the Washington Post was gracious enough to share a photo of the imported waiters because it is crucial that the American public be properly informed about the happenings in the nation's capital.


Y'all.  This is exactly why I needed to read the paper today.  The waiters and I are totally on the same page with our heads in the clouds.  I have decided that Cloud Headwear is going to be all the rage in Summer 2015.   It is only a few days until the Memorial Day block party.  Can someone please recommend a reputable milliner?

(Photo and quotes from The Washington Post article by Robin Givhan on Wednesday, May 20th's edition)
(Just in case, they might get mad.  As if they ever would find themselves at my dinky little blog.)

No comments: