Promotions and "Underage" Drinking

Well, folks. It's official. You may have already heard this if we're friends on Facebook or Twitter but in case you missed it... my suspicions are confirmed. I look 12. I just got back from a family vacation cruise and, boy, am I steamed. It was all fun and games until the last day of the trip. I had been working up quite a thirst, relaxing on the deck, when I decided it was strawberry daiquiri o'clock. I marched up to the pool bar and placed my order. Instead of my drink, I received scorn. Lucio the bartender was very skeptical of my age, despite the fact that I presented my seapass to pay. (The seapass is the official form of ID on the cruise, and minors get holes punched through theirs so they can't drink.)

Lucio looked me in the eye and said, "You have some ID?"

Confused because I just gave him my seapass, I said, "Um. I have my drivers license but it's all the way up in my room."

"I can't give you rum without an ID." SINCE WHEN, LUCIO? SINCE WHEN? I had been drinking all week on the damned boat. Oh, and here's the kicker. The drinking age in international waters is 18. Eighteen! I am nearly 27. There is a time when looking young is flattering and then there is a time when it keeps me from fruity rum drinks. And that, my friends, is a problem.

"HE WON'T SERVE ME ALCOHOL!" I cried as I sulked back to my beach chair. "I should have showed him my wedding ring!"

Woulda coulda shoulda. Lucio, you are dead to me.

Don't worry, the story has a happy ending. Approximately ten seconds after returning drinkless to my seat, a waiter came by asking if anyone needed a drink. Ding! Ding!

"She's 40," offered my father-in-law.

"I swear I am not 12!" I promised the kind soul.

He brought me a drink. And I cowered, sipping it in secret, afraid Lucio would spy my fruity beverage and assume I was trying to get away with something.

Anyhow, my loves. I received a promotion at work a few weeks ago and I am quite pleased. However, the fact that the word "senior" is in my new title does not mesh well with my girlish appearance. I need help looking my age. Now, pay no attention to the fact that I don't think I've ever looked my age. People always assumed I was many years younger than reality.

I remember one especially painful instance when I was home from college for the summer running errands. I believe I was 21. I walked in to the bank and the teller squealed, "SOMEONE'S GOING TO BE DRIVING SOON!"

I gave her the dirtiest look I could muster and sheepishly admitted that I had been driving for years and that I was in fact, in my 20s.

Okay. So, your mission, if you choose to accept it:

Send me suggestions for how I can look more polished and professional. I'm 26. Maybe with some help I can at least pass for an 18-year-old on some godforsaken ship where you are deprived of rum.


I made a friend

Formal night

Sassy senior pic pose

I know I could use a new haircut, so send me some inspiration. Makeup tricks. Links to hot business suits. Please. Anything. I'm begging you.

(Someone already suggested that I start smoking meth. This is an example of bad advice. Please and thank you.)

Date Night (with my sister-in-law!)

I'm giddy today because I'm going out on a date tonight. With my sister-in-law! Somehow in the four years I have been with Andrew, I have never hung out with my lovely sister-in-law Jessica one-on-one. Her silly brother always seems to be around, eating all the cheese and messing up the table cloth. (Okay, I usually help him with both of those things.)


Me and Jess at my bridal shower last year

Anyhow, tonight Jess and I are going to stuff our faces full of cheeseburgers and milkshakes and see Eclipse. (Did you know Taylor Lautner is in Pittsburgh filming a new movie? Maybe we could add "werewolf stalking" to our itinerary for the evening.)


I am not a dwarf. I am crouching. Like a hidden tiger or dragon or something like that.

Love you, Jess!

Because i know how it feels

*Update: Sadly, the vets decided Fritz's chance at a long healthy life was slim, and was put down this afternoon. All donations already received are being refunded by request or donated to the Dachshund Rescue of North America in Fritz memory. A little dachshund named Fritz was rescued recently from a possible life of abuse, only to show signs of paralysis days after finding his "forever home." The chance of recovery is very good, but comes with a $7,000 surgery. When I read about Fritz this morning, a lump rose in my throat for his owners. It is such a gut-wrenching feeling to know something is wrong with your dog and not knowing if you can financially make him better. I've been there. I get it. You were all there for me during that scary time in February, and now I want to return the favor and be there for Fritz. If you too would like to chip in to the "Fix Fritz" fund, visit Who's Your Dachshund? Every dollar counts. It would also be very appreciated if you could help spread the word about this cause.