Friday, November 30, 2007

every year it gets a little harder

Three years in a row, baby.

This year looked bleak until about uhh, 3 hours ago when I finished. Seriously I do not know how I got this done. It's pretty fantastical considering I work at least 60 hours a week between two jobs, have rehearsal, classes and what might be considered an active social life.

But I did it. I got it done. Just barely at like 7:30 I finished all my words. I decided to go to one of the nanowrimo social events which was a first for me. And it was actually kind of awesome. When I finished my 50,000 everyone applauded for me. That's all I want, is some one who knows what's like to be like, "yeah, you're awesome" and I got 15 people to do it. It made it just that much more worth it.

This years thanks go out to:
Tierra and New Orleans. I've never hung out with a group of strangers who were more interested in hearing about this. Plus, for some reason in New Orleans I was able to wake up every morning at 9 AM and start writing, even if I had been drinking until 3.

My new papason chair. It might be the best writing chair in the world.

My roommates, for being there.

And as always, McKim, even though she dropped out, she was still there supporting me all the way when I needed it. Its you and me in '08, C.

Listen, every time I write a novel I get a little more awesome. Time for Christmas!!

Monday, November 12, 2007

I think I'd rather be a social dragonfly...

My life has gotten a little bit out of hand. In a good way, lets be honest, but in a, "I spend too much money and my liver is about to give out and seriously I just need a nap" kind of way.

Since the first weekend in October, I have been out every single Friday and Saturday socializing, taking unflattering pictures, drinking copious amounts of beer and deciding that the people I'm friends with might be the best people in the midwest.

Its fairly lovely, and yet also really really tiring. The past two weekends especially have been crazy. Not the kind of crazy I put in a blog, although I have to apologize to all my friends who I call every Sunday and talk about all the of the drama. Gross. Thanks for still loving me.

This blog doesn't really have a purpose except I'm totally not going anywhere in my NaNoWriMo, which sucks because I really want to prove to myself that I can have a crazy social life and write a 50,000 word novel. Everyone who I talk about the book with thinks that it sounds awesome. Which makes me hope that Courtney and I can pull it together to get this done and sent out to people.

Annnnd, that's really it. 9 days until NoLa, and 39 days until Home for Christmas. I'm so deliciously excited. What I'm more excited about is maybe not going out on Friday, and buckling down to kick out like 6,000 words which won't get me close to catching up, but will be a nice start.

Sunday, October 14, 2007

How time trickles and flies...

So I've been in Chicago for a year now. Which seems crazy. I totally remember this time last year when it was hailing and I was thinking I had made a terrible mistake.

I haven't quite decided if that's still true. It hasn't been terrible. The weather has made me want to pull my hair out but I've made some amazing friends and so crazily rekindled some old friendships (seriously, if you had told me a year ago that I was going to reconnect with someone I went to camp with, I would have called you crazy to your face). I've experienced some awesome things: Circus class, break dancing, lollapalooza... I've finally decided what is important to me in life and what makes me happy.

I've been doing improv for 10 months now, and even though sometimes I feel burnt out by the fact that I've done it every week for almost a year, I still get excited by getting up there and doing scenes. I had a really great audition yesterday, and even though I probably didn't get it, the audition made me happy.

I am stuck in a rut when it comes to my job. I have good days and bad days. I know its not what I want to be doing, but I get paid enough to keep me happy and by happy I mean, I make enough money to buy stuff. a Devin Hester jersey.

The football thing is crazy. This has been a trying beginning of the season I still love the Bears but they're making me pretty sad right now.

Right now I'm sitting in my Godmother's house which is gloriously circular; sitting on the same couch, eating the same pizza. This time, I'm so hungover I want to die because I went out dancing until 4 in the morning with some of my newest favorite people. In 2 hours I have to play soccer, which is going to be rough.

I just re-read this entry and realized I might still be drunk. Anyway, happy 1 year anniversary to me. Go bears.

Sunday, October 07, 2007

Allow me to clarify...

So, I don't really have time to write a blog, and its too hot to have a laptop on my lap anymore, but I want to declare something:

Accutane doesn't make you a murderer.

So, let me catch you up, there was a Chicago dermatologist who was brutally killed a few years ago. They recently found the killer who was apparently a disgruntled accutate patient and wanted to get revenge for having a little mind warp on the drug.

As someone who did a full-term accutane cycle I can say for sure that yeah, it makes you kind of crazy. It makes your skin reptilian in nature and kind of makes you a little nutty.

However, the father of the murderer is saying that his son (who KILLED someone in cold blood) is a VICTIM in this case and has shipped him off to the West Indies so he won't be arrested.

I call shennanigans.

Yes, accutane is a scary drug to take, I waited almost two years until I was in a good, healthy place in my life before I even considered it. And then I was told over and over and over the potential side effects. I filled out forms and carried a sweet VIP accutane card (which still lives in my wallet if you ever want to see it). I knew the first time I took the pill that it was going to be a bumpy road.

And it was.

The first 48 hours I was on it I felt like I was on a mild hallucinigen. I wrote my mom an e-mail from work that caused her to call me and say, "Go home. Right now. There is something wrong with you."

I read the e-mail later and totally agreed, it's barely in English.

The rest of the 6 months I was on the drug I was constantly on guard. When I broke down into crazy crying jags I made sure that I knew a roommate was home. I kept my spirits up as much as I could. Kept in constant contact with the outside world, never let myself get too much in my head.

Because I knew I had done this to myself. If something happened to me, it was my fault.

Which is EXACTLY the case with this guy. His father was a doctor for chrissakes. I mean, everyone who has ever condsidered taking the drug knows what it can do. For me, it made me addicted to chapstick. ADDICTED. Like, I went through a burts bees stick every week and a half.

I am not comparing this to murder, I am just saying...the consequences of taking this drug are soley on the shoulders of the patient and his family. He was on it for two days. Had he made it past the looney-tunes 48-hour mark with a supportive group of people, I feel that the outcome would have been different.

And to the father who is making himself look like a jerk on TV (and right after the amazing bears-packers game to boot), I say, to shame, sir.

There is one victim and that is the gentle old doctor (my roommate was a patient of his and says that she has never met a better, more kind and thoughtful doctor). You hiding your son away so he doesn't have to face judgement for the crime he did, is ridiculous.

....I'm sorry this is my first (deeepressing) blog entry in over a month, just watching the news made me angry. Its like the story of pit bulls. Not all pit bulls are evil...they're trained by humans to react the way they do. Accutane does make you a little crazy, but you are duly warned before the pills ever touch your lips. Don't make this about a good medication with some sobering side effects. Make it about the family that didn't care enough to make sure their son was okay...

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Not quite as fun as sexy.

So, according to the backs' of several buses in the Chicago area, "Syphilis is back."

Which is weird...

Because I don't really remember it leaving.

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

A crazy id-rant re: traveling.

I have to get on vacation...I guess, technically, because I am not at work today, I am on vacation, but there is nothing relaxing or enjoyable about being in an airport. Nothing.

I take that back -- flight delays are a wonderful excuse to start drinking at 10:30 in the morning. My Granny said I should, and really in this matter, I feel she is correct. If you arrive at the airport only to find you'll be sitting there for the next 4 hours, a drink is really just the beginning. Then you need chocolate cake for breakfast, and overpriced airport internet.

Seriously, on airline delays catering to the six-year old inside me is something that is non-negotiable. I eat everything I want, buy whatever I want and have no qualms about being a uber-bitch when things don't go my way.

Obviously, I know that whatever is happening out there on the tarmack or in the air or whatever isn't the woman-standing-at-the-gate's fault-- but she's the one in front of me, and while that totally sucks for her, I have to assume that she is fairly compensated for dealing with nutters like myself.

People-- do not fly jetblue. I'm not kidding. Jetblue is pretty much the airline you turn to when you want everything possible to go wrong. Delayed flights? sure. Luggage that may not be where you are? you betcha. Non-negotiability when it comes to getting on your connecting flight? Hellz yes.

I know that there are somethings that they can't control-- like, thunderstorms and flooding and whatever and I'm fine with that. While I think that maybe airlines shouldn't be such pussies on occasion-- whatever, if there's a tornado, it's probably for the best that we're all still on the ground.


If I am asking you to hold my connecting flight for FOUR minutes so I can RUN to the connecting gate so I don't have to SLEEP in the AIRPORT, then I feel that is a request you should honor. Seriously, I don't feel that its out of line for me to be like, "Please call the ticket counter at JFK tell them that I once clocked in at 12 seconds for the 50 yard dash and so will be there a minute after the flight is supposed to take off, if everyone can hold their horses for less time than it takes to stow your luggage and buckle a seatbelt, then everything will be fine."

"I'm sorry ma'am, jetblue doesn't have a policy for that."

eat it jetblue.

*it now looks like my connecting flight is delayed as well, so I should have enough minutes to make it-- but I'm not holding my breath about it.

Seriously, why is it soooo complicated getting to the east coast. I can not remember an instance in the past 8 months where I didn't have a problem getting to the right side of the country. Why is that? What is the beef between the midwest and the east coast that makes it flippin' impossible to get between the two without some major meltdown.

Okay--- I need some sort of food before I go on a rampage.

Friday, July 27, 2007

As seen on some other website.

Hey all, just so you know, I now am a professional-volunteer blogger for the Frederick News Post. A classy publication if I've ever known one. Please feel free to read my super-cheesy intro blog and leave me commets. Also feel free to read it 8 or 9 times a day, as they count the hits and once I get 1,000 hits I win a new stero system, or perhaps Jamsport bookbag! Just like on a vintage Nickeloden game show! Sweet!

Anyway the link is right huuuur: In The Middle- Rachel's blog for the average Frederick-tonian.

My personal dream is for one of the TwOP legends to read these incesent, poorly spelled ramblings and give me a job doing what I was born to do-- recapping tv shows.

We can dream can't we?

Also-- Just so everyone is aware of my thoughts on the finale of the Harry Potter series (since everyone knows I am the foremost expert in Harry Potter in pretty much the entire universe): I was disappointed by the bright pink bow JK Rowling tied on everything because I found it to be to sacchrine-y for what has always been a wonderfully realistic (if fantasy) writing style. Also (SPOILER ALERT!!!!!!!!!!!!) the saddest part for me was when Hedwig died. I fucking loved that Owl.

Saturday, July 07, 2007

Oh Holy Balls

So, my blog moved.

Sorry about the sudden randomness of it, but it had to be done.

I was sitting in my boss's office trash talking the girl that just got fired, discussing scenarios for when I inevitably see her out at the bars. I figured there wasn't much she could say about the job and the guys that I didn't already know until my boss dropped this little number.

"Oh, and we read your blog."

The mental anti-lock breaks skid and gave me a little internal whiplash.

"Uh...I'm sorry, what?" was my oh-so-eloquent reply.

"Yeah...we've been reading it since before you started working here. It's hilarious."

I guess there comes a time in every young blogger's life when this happens. Particularly now that for some ungodly reason when you google my full name my blog is the first thing that comes up. This is no longer the case, thankfully.

What was shocking about the whole conversation that followed (aside from the fact that not only does my boss read my blog but the OWNERS of the company- aka the guys who sign my paycheck read it as well) is how positive he was about it.

I guess its good that I don't really talk about my job on this blog (or the other one either for that matter, I guess I'm subconsciously smarter about this whole internet fad than I thought). But even the things I did say about, he agreed that they were all true and said that even if they weren't, we all need to vent just as long as after the venting we do our jobs. THEN as if this whole conversation could have gotten any more surreal he dropped a few more bombs on me including:

He would try to "make" my blog by saying what he thought were quotable, clever things. And he was super disappointed that he never made it.

He would occasionally quote my blogs BACK to me to see if I would catch on. He was surprised that I never did. I'm not, as I pretty much write this crap then forget all about it.

Then he went on to tell me that he thought I really had missed my calling and that I should totally be writing for a living. I explained that I was flattered, really, but that you don't actually make any money from just sitting at your desk and posting blogs. He said I should defiantly write a book, or maybe like a one-woman show or something for teenagers... and as I watched him paint the picture of my Author-ly future I waited to wake up from this crazy dream.

I didn't though. Instead I went back to work and immediately changed the URL of this monster and tried to figure out what was necessary in order to make sure that this business never happened again.

I recognize that when you put something on the internet you're doing just that -- putting it out there for the world to read, but I feel like out of all the ex-boyfriends and family members and various people I've shit talked in the past-- the one group of people I don't want inside my head are the people I work with. I've done a great job at keeping them at least arm's length away and knowing they read my blog just made me feel naked and exposed. Although, they said they liked it/thought it was hilarious/whatever so I guess that's good.

And I'm sure they'll find it again. They're all pretty smart guys and I'm sure D will make sure that he doesn't let it slip this time that they're on to me. So for when that inevitable moment occurs I just have to say: Hey D-- you crazy Mexican-- you finally made my blog. Congratulations.

Saturday, June 30, 2007

No. The other one...

I have what maybe the cushiest gig ever. I have been taking classes at, pants down, the best improv school in all of Chicago (if not the US\World). These classes are not cheap... but some very nice person tipped me off to the opportunity to do a work study program. Basically I work for 5 hours a week and in return I get free classes.

People, this is a sick deal. I know that they are doing it because it means that they get free labor but at the same time I am doing it because I get free classes (all in all, after interning for 4 sessions I will have saved over a thousand dollars --- which is a LOT of shoes).

Most interns work as ushers during the shows. They show people to their seats, play bar back, clean up after the shows, and try to deal with drunk idiots for five hours one night a week. I, however, sit in a lovely purple office with lots of fast internet and easy access to a vending machine, where I answer phones, take reservations and try to come up with cute and funny answers to the same seven asinine questions I get asked every time the phone rings. I work 3-8 which means I can go out the night before and have enough time to lose my hangover as well as go out after work and not have to meet up with everyone after they're all already totally wasted.

I can wear whatever I want and eat during my shift. My friends who have classes on Saturdays stop by and hang out with me. I get to play on the internets and send text messages and make a dent in all the books and magazines I have stacked up next to my bed. Occasionally important people from around the theatre stop by and chat with me.

Like I said-- sweet gig.

Here's the rub-- one of the gals who runs the theatre is ALSO named Rachel. She is absolutely crazytown but one of the funniest/awesome people ever (check out her blog here). And not only do we look kind of similar (in that way that all girls who are short-ish with brown hair look the same) we apparently have idential phone voices. This would be a compliment except for the fact that it means one out of every five phone conversations goes like this:

Rachel: "Thank you for calling iO, This is Rachel. How may I help you."
VIP on the other end of the phone: "Hey Rachel, its [insert famous/important person name here] can you do me a favor? [insert something I've never heard of said in a beyond-rapid pace]"
Rachel: "...[pause].... This isn't Rachel Mason."
VIP OTOEOFP: "Oh. Uh..."
Rachel: "Sorry."

...Yes that's right. At least once a week I apologize for my very existance.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

boo, Paris Nails, boo.

Just a heads up: This post is g-ross. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Right now I am soaking my left foot in warmish-hot water in which epsom salts have been dissolved. Its about 95 degrees outside and not much cooler in my bedroom. My body isn't quite sure why I'm so mad at it. Today has been quite the terrible day as far as my body is concerned. Long pants for the first time in a month (jeans no less!), sneakers for the first time in two months and now, a hot bath made specifically for my left foot as the rest of me sits around sweating and wondering what exactly it did to make me so goddamned angry at it.

Oh body. Its not your fault.

Remember a mere week ago when I extolled the virtues of my first mani-pedi in a long while. How I celebrated my girlyness and vanity (if you don't remember, it was only two entries ago...scroll down. I'll wait...).

That was before I got the oddest sensation in the big toe of my left foot. It was this sharp tingling. I ignored it for awhile because I have foot problems all the time and all those years of breaking toes and twisting and whatnot I figured it would go away in time. Well, a few days went by and I started waking up in the middle of the night due to the pain. Things had gotten out of control. I was in Maryland at the time and my sucky-balls insurance only works in IL and besides, it was a Sunday so I went to the next best thing to a doctor. I went to Lizzie. It was handy that I was sitting next to her in bed at the time.

She confirmed my fears... it was an ingrown toenail. After being totally disgusted I took more advil than my liver probably cared for me to and waited until I got back to Chi-town to make an appointment with a podiatrist.

I explained the situation to my boss so he'd pity me and give me the afternoon off for my appointment. He did what he does best and told me horror stories about the pain and the bleeding and the general life-alteringness of this procedure.

It took 15 minutes.

No joke. I was in and out of the office in about the time it takes to watch a tivo-ed sitcom. I walked back into the office (not that I wanted too, I just thought it would be better to go back in that afternoon than have to get up early the next morning) with my big old bandaged toe (and flip flops no less. That paired with my general hobo-ish exterior yesterday pretty much confirmed all the reasons I'm sure I'm going to die alone). Everyone in the office was dutifully impressed by my pain tolerence as was I (forgetting convienently the face contortions I had performed while the doctor was anethsetizing my foot, prompting him to say, "Holy cow. Are you about to have an anyurism?") until of course, the lidocane wore off and my body suddenly realized I had paid someone to chop off a significant portion of my toe nail.

Okay, lets back track.

Back in the day. My toenails were very important to me. Kind of like callouses. When dancing on pointe, it is crucial that your toenails be cut in such a way that when you're balancing on them they don't start cutting in to the skin. As it makes the whole balancing in a tiny box of wood a whole bunch more uncomfortable.

Anywho...the pain started about an hour and a half after the surgury. People, I was about to go back to the office and be like, "Put it back on!" because the pain of the ingrown situation was way less dire than the post surgury "Hey that's why we have toenails in the first place!" pain.

I took about 12 more advil and felt bad for myself. The pain was gone once I took the bandage off but the totally disgustingness of what it looked like and the realization that I had to wear actual shoes in 90 degree heat I took some more advil and continued to feel bad for myself.

Then with the feet soaking I considered burning Paris Nails down. The nail place that started this whole charade is on my shit list for realz. I mean, is it kosher for me to walk in there and be like, "YOU BROKE ME. I want my money back!"?

Also, I promise this is the last post about my feet.

Sunday, June 10, 2007

green underwears.

So, everyone has a favorite pair of jeans. They're the pair you buy, perhaps on a whim that you end up wearing three or four times a week until they literally decompose on your body. You stress out every time you wash them because it screws them up for like three days. Yeah, those pants. The day those pants die is a dark, dark day for everyone.

My jeans are from American Eagle. I bought them on a whim (isn't that always the way?) the day before I left for Nantucket the summer after my junior year of college. I then wore them every day for pretty much the next two years. They're the most perfect pair of jeans. Super comfortable and yet almost trendy enough to pull of wearing to a bar when you're just not feeling up to the tight, sexy jeans (uh, I guess I should have mentioned I wear jeans every day. No joke. I own -- seriously-- at least 20 pairs that I wear on a regular basis). Anyway, I got complimented on them pretty much every time I wore them and they looked good. I was a happy girl with a good looking ass.

Time passed and at one point a little hole began to form on the back right hand pocket. Right in the top inside corner. I still wore them a lot because I always have cute underwear on and I don't really have any shame Then something tragic, that I've managed to block from my memory, happened and the entire pocket started to rip off, right at the seam. I began to panic and rushed to my neighborhood American Eagle, naturally they had completely redone their denim section (STOP doing that! You're ruining lives, AE). The jeans did not exist anymore. I asked for a similar pair in their new denim line. The brain trust girl in the mini skirt was of no use to me so I went home and was sad. Then I had one of those minutes where I remember that there are people starving all over the world and some people have no pants at all.

So I decided to mend them. People, I am not a seamstress. In fact in the womanly arts I pretty much fail across the board. I can't cook or sew or clean or be submissive and me trying to mend denim was pretty laughable, but I did it. Then they got shoved to the back of my drawer for awhile because I thought they needed a rest (which they did), I got a new favorite pair (my first sevens) then another new favorite (probably my Polo Ralph Laurens-- although at this point I really like most of my jeans-- and I have three pairs waiting to be hemmed that will become favorites, I have no doubt).

So last week things at work went balls crazy and I found myself working late and (worse) worrying about work while I was doing the fun 20-something things that should be dominating my mental space. By the middle of this week, I had completely stopped caring about what I looked like at work, basically coming in and running around like a kid off her ritalin and then going home and passing out. I also hadn't done laundry in about three weeks. On Thursday morning, what did my comatose fingers find in the back of the drawer? The favorite jeans. I needed something to be happy about so I threw em on with a fairly long tee-shirt (as the corner hole was still fairly obvious-- though I was impressed with my pocket-seam hemming abilities.

Doodley-doo, off to work I went. The day was nothing short of ridiculous with the running around and the long stretches of time spent staring at a computer screen, trying not to cry. About mid-day I had my third potty break (I'm doing this new thing where I try to drink 2 quarts of water a day and that with the gallons of diet coke really run right through me) and I notice that the seams were starting to kind of stretch and the hole down the seam was getting a little bigger. I yanked down my shirt and went about my day.

At the end of my day (that was supposed to end at 5, but actually ended at 7) I go to the bathroom and once again look at my jeans/handy work. Either my butt grew three sizes that day or the running and the stress were apparently a match for my sewing because the hole was ENORMOUS. Like we're talking six inches, right across my rockin' ass. None of the guys in my office (now its me v. 5 guys all day every day-- its kind of the opposite of fun) mentioned anything about it, which was nice of them. Because seriously it was like every nightmare I had in high school, a giant hole and my green underroos (that ironically enough said Drama Club on them) sticking out for everyone to see.

I thanked my lucky stars that I had had the foresight to carry a messanger bag. I grabbed a men's tee-shirt that covered a little more of my heinie (although had my company's logo on it, which was pretty embarrassing the entire way home) and then I spent my walk to the train/home making sure that the messanger bag was artfully placed directly over the giant hole in my most favorite pants.

...Which I'm still not going to throw away. Nope. You can't make me. They're getting washed now, I'll figure out what to do with them when they're clean. A pair of denim, assless chaps perhaps?!

Tuesday, June 05, 2007

a moment of silence, please

There comes a day in every young-ish girls' life when she realizes that she is never going to dance on pointe again and she can finally do something about those nasty callouses. Ladies and gentlemen, for one young(-ish) girl-- that day was today.

Today I let some poor defenseless Asian girl shave 22 years of callouses off my feet.

Let me explain (now that you've had a chance to vom all over your keyboard)-- I was/still am one of those kids who refused to wear shoes in the summer. I spent my summers running around barefoot-- not just in the grass, sand and concrete but also cobblestones and broken shells of Nantucket (seriously, the road outside my Grandmother's house on Nantucket is literally made of broken oyster shells. And I would run and skip up and down that thing like I was walking on pillows). To this day-- the most you can expect out of me during the summer months is flip flops. And I have been known to walk around many a large US metropolis totally barefoot, which is not only hard on the tootsies, but a good way to get the foot herpes.

Not only am I a filthy hippie when it comes to footwear, I've also spent a majority of my life trying to keep my feet from throbbing due to the turning and balancing and jumping I did on them (not so much anymore). I remember vividly one of the "older girls" limping into Dee's with her pointe shoes on, cursing the Gods that told her that shaving off her callouses during a pedicure was a good idea. She was in pain for the next four months. After that I swore I would never let anyone near my callouses, particularly when I started doing a lot of barefoot work.

Anyway, my feet were getting to be pretty bad news. I kept putting off getting a pedicure because I don't really like the idea of people touching my feet and it seemed kind of silly since I didn't have any reason to get a pedi. Also there was a secret little part of me that hoped that maybe I would some day shed fifteen pounds, gain some strength and a massive amount of flexibility and become a dancer again. Although, if the past three years are any indication that's probably not going to happen. Although I did bust out some serious foutes at the bar this weekend (barefoot, obvi)...I think it was time to put the dream in the scrapbook and try not to have such crackwhore feet. The salon across the street has $30 mani-pedi specials during the week and I have a bar mitzvah to look hot at this weekend (not to mention a fiesta del tragedy) and work is making me want to kill myself, so I went for it.

I'm not gonna front, it was pretty g-ross looking at like 22 years of foot skin peeling off (Oh, I'm sorry-- were you eating?!) but my feet feel really nice and they look kind of attractive, like attractive enough for me to allow someone else to look at the bottom of them.

While I was getting all pampered I kept thinking about Courtney's post about nail salons-- I have no doubt that the poor girl was bitching about absolutely filthy my feet were.

Anyway, I'm a whole new girl.

Oh, and Reason number 349023420345721 why I should NEVER, EVER get a manicure EVER-- Because it takes me LESS than a HOUR to totally fuck up at least one of my nails. Seriously, I had been home for twenty minutes before I screwed up my thumb nail. Does anyone know if I can just go into a random salon and ask if they'll fix it?

Sunday, June 03, 2007


I don't normally repost other works of genius directly into my blog, but I was reading at my internship yesterday and came across this passage in a fantastic book that everyone should read.

"Unrequited love was, at that period of my life, the only kind I seemed capable of feeling. This caused me much pain, but in retrospect I see it had advantages. It provided all the emotional jolts of the other kind without any of the risks, it did not interfere with my life, which, although meagre, was mine and predictable, and it involved no decisions. In the world of stark physical reality it might call for the removal of my ill-fitting garments (in the dark or the bathroom, if possible: no woman wants a man to see her safety pins), but it left undisturbed their metaphysical counterparts. At that time I believed in metaphysics. My Platonic version of myself resembled an Egyptian mummmy, a mysteriously wrapped object that might or might not fall into dust if uncovered. But unrequited love demanded no stripteases."


Okay, back to my screenplay that is way harder to write than a novel.

Tuesday, May 29, 2007


Dear Rachel,

Please stop buying jeans.

Your Wallet.

Saturday, May 26, 2007

In case you aren't already...

I don't know if I've ever mentioned this before, but I have a huge, huge writer-crush on Eugene Robinson.

I'm bad about reading the paper these days, mostly because I don't really have any feelings beyond contempt and disdain for the papers of Chicago. I never even got really good at reading the New York Times. Something about the fact that there are NO comics in the Sunday paper (which costs 5 bones, btw) always turned me off to NYT, I mean, seriously?! what is the point of a Sunday paper if it doesn't come with a kickass Style/Arts section AND Garfield/Slylock the mystery solving fox.

The Washington Post is one of those ridiculous things that my Mother's family gets all "old-money" about. My great-grandmother used to get it shipped to her in Conneticut, even though it was normally 2 days late (rendering it pretty useless) and on Nantucket (when it would come when ever it felt like it, as most things on Nantucket do).

WaPo (as I so lovingly like to call it) was always around when I was growing up, I didn't normally read anything beyond the Front page and the style section until High School. I do remember that my Mom, because she was wicked and mean, made me dig through the A and B sections for weekly Current Events projects in Elementary School while all my friends got away with using articals from The Frederick News Post (which, while my Mom is now v. important over there, continues to be a rather shoddy excuse for a newspaper, relying mostly on Wire copy for anything that didn't happen in a 217-zip code).

Anyway, the best feature besides the Style Invitational on Sundays is anything written by Eugene Robinson. I don't care if you agree with what he says or you think he can get kinda preachy (because he can), everthing he writes is thoughtful and written in a way that even if you don't know anything about the topic he's discussing you can walk away with an opinion on the matter, and whether or not you agree with what he says doesn't seem to make a difference to him. He just wants you to know what he thinks (hence an Opinion column). He also has the ability to write well on pretty much anything, while he does write a lot of politcal stuff (something you would expect from a DC writer) he also waxes poetic on subjects such as The VA Tech Shooting, Kanye West , and even American Idol.

With each topic, he displays a sound knowledge of both sides of the coin as well as firm stance in his own beliefs. He basically rules, and if you aren't reading him at this point... you probably should.

Thursday, May 24, 2007


I got cast in an improv troupe last night. Details are sketchy at this point, but it looks like I'll be performing at bars and various other venues around the Chicago area...I'll be doing short form instead of long-form which is kind of a step sideways for me (Long form works totally different mind muscles and that's what I've been doing for the past 6 months, although on Nantucket we did short form and that was only a year ago).

Anyway, this makes me very happy as not only will I be performing improv (something I've been increadibly anxious to do since I started classes), I will also be getting paid. To do improv. Off the top of my head I can't think of anything else in the world I've wanted more than this.

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Its the end of the world...

People...the apocolypse is upon us.

My dear Mother, Comfort Cougar [redacted] has finally joined the 21st century and purchased a cellphone.


She was the last the entire universe. My crazypants Granny had a cellphone before Cougar did. And now C is the proud owner of a pay-as-you go tres cute flippy phone. Although she refuses to give out the number, because she's kind of a tool like that.

Also. Bagels come in squares now.

The world is really about to explode.

Sunday, May 13, 2007

100th post

So...I've been trying to decide what this, my 100th post should be about. There are a few thoughts that have swimming around, but the emo factor of this blog is already reaching a dangerously high level, so I've decided to give a little sample from my mental salad bar instead of bitching about all the things that are going wrong.

1- 100 Posts. That's pretty awesome. I'm guessing that about 40% of them are entertaining. The rest are pretty much drivel and the above-mentioned emo crap.

2- H, the cousin I mentioned in the last post who recently got hitched, is apparently knocked-up. Hahaha. I kind of win.

3- I have yet to try that KFC stoner-bowl-of-awesomeness. But I really want to. Except for the fact that once I try one, I'm probably going to want them all the time. And my eating habits are disturbing/disgusting enough without bringing fake-chicken and a bowl of starchy-carbs into the mix.

4- I just ordered a sample of $37 soap

5- I am so glad that I am now on the winning side of the Mac/PC ads. Sometimes I just want to hug Bunny the laptop forever and ever.

6- Since living in Chicago I have received some of the nicest compliments ever including my level 2 iO teacher telling me that I reminded her of herself at 22. Considering she's pretty much everything I want to be at 30, I can't think of a better indication that I am on the right track.

7- I think I like the show Brothers and Sisters so much because it reminds me of My Mom's family, except they have way too many boys. And we've managed to stay away from dating political figures.

8- Can someone explain fake-bake tanning to me? Like, if I need to be super-tan by the 2nd weekend in June when should I start going to the sketchy tan place next door?

9- I haven't seen one of my roomates in 3 weeks. Its not that I don't like her as a person, but its been kind of nice not having negotiate bathroom time.

10- Why do I feel the need to eat immediately after going grocery shopping?

Monday, April 23, 2007

Something blue

So it's been a slow day here at [redacted as it turns out my bosses do know what a blog is] and I'm trying to keep myself from falling asleep directly on my keyboard so I'm trolling the internets and I found the e-mail Cougar sent me with the pictures from my cousin's wedding in it that I never really bothered to give a good look too.

For the sake of brevity and my fingers, I will refer to the bride as my cousin although H (the bride) is not actually my cousin, she is my first cousin once removed (aka My Mom's cousin, aka My Grandmother's brother's kid) but she is exactly my age (we're 4 days apart) and her dad is actually my grandmother's half brother and she's actually adopted so we'll just call her my cousin.

I've spent the past 45 minutes looking at her pictures and I keep having these waves of various emotions; jealousy, sadness, contempt, disdain, immaturity -- I'm pretty much like my own Pandora's Box over here.

We weren't particularly close growing up. She's always lived in CO, we met for the first time when we were 12 and had a great time of it, then saw each other maybe 4 or 5 other times ever but our family is fairly close-knit and I've always felt quite the bond with her, particularly because I've always felt that my older cousin (who is 4 years older than I am) found me annoying and always picked being a "grown-up" over hanging out with me and the next in the line of succession is my brother (4 years younger) so I never really had anyone to be close to (and on the other side of the family I'm the oldest, and then its 4 boys, then 'Bear-- so that's fairly useless in the bonding department). I've always felt like H and I were on the same wave-length, being that we were the same age. Granted, she went half way across the country for high school, dropped out of college and did that whole "growing up early 20's" thing a little differently than I did, but different strokes, right?

Anywho, she is married now. Cousin H with whom I had a matching mint green chenille Gap sweater and who once convinced me that we could dye my hair in a bowl of tea now has a husband. Something about this sentance doesn't really compute in my brain. Looking at her pictures isn't really helping because instead of thinking, "Wow. H's wedding, sweet." I'm thinking, "Oh look, H got someone to take pictures as she had a pretend wedding." Which is really twisted and bizarre on my part, but how I'm feeling. Can you imagine waking up next to the same person for the rest of ever? I mean, obviously in this millenium, that's not really the way it works, but I feel like were I ever to take that giant plunge, I'd want it to be for keeps. Except, the idea of "keeps" is crazytown to me.

I just feel like the future is coming at me quite quickly these days. Although after looking at her pictures I found myself at the wedding site, which if you've never been, is like a big old scoop of crack-cocaine. I would stay away from the flower girl/ring bearer page unless you want to have a big old pang of uterine hurt. But while I plan the wedding, its still a total hypothetical to me.

I just feel like the future is rushing up at me.

I had a moment at Gap last weekend as I breezed past all the maternity stuff I alighted on this dress and had a biological clock moment of, "Oh WOW that would look so cute if I was pregnant and glow-y" and I left the store in a haze of dreamy, "maybe it would be kind of fun to be pregnant" clouds when halfway down the block my brain slammed on the breaks and went, "Hold the fuck up. After you're pregnant for nine months you have a BABY that you have to live with and provide for and love for the rest of your life." While this is a fairly obvious statement to most people, it was the first time I had ever really pulled it all together.

Little black maternity dresses maybe cute and weddings maybe a beautiful and expensive game of dress up but they still seem so grown-up to me and yet, not distant. Does that make sense? I feel like I'm on this bridge to grown-up-hood-dom and its kind of terrifying in a very pretty flowers and sparkles kind of way. Its the ultimate strange man with candy. "Hey little girl, I have a pretty white dress and some crab cakes for you. All you have to do is get in my van. Permenently."


I also have no idea why all of a sudden at 22 and a half this has suddenly become a huge thing (seriously, people, I find myself thinking about babies and weddings and buying houses and all that shit all.the.time). Maybe its because other not-so-fun parts of my life have started speeding up. I had a nightmare about health insurance last night (wtf?), I realized I need my job, and when I look into the horizon and think, "where will I be in 5 years?" the empty road isn't a gleeful adventure as much as it is a stomach-dropping-to-your-shoes terrifying exercise in procrastination.

Thursday, April 05, 2007

For reals, yo

I think I may have written my name on one of the forms... other than that, its all you.

Monday, March 26, 2007

101 in 1001 Update

I just realized that I only have a year left on this sucker! Holy crap! I have a lot left to do!! Also, there are somethings on this list that will probably NOT happen in the next year, but I don't want to take them off quite yet... we'll see how I'm feeling at the 6 month mark. I have managed to accomplish a lot though:

5. Get a mac-- Thanks to my amazing, super-fantastic Mom this magical dream came true on Christmas this year... and its true what people say-- everything is better in happy, magic, mac land!

8. Go to at least 2 more foreign countries (repeats don’t count) -- This is now halfway done! I went to England for a week in February. And it was lovely...

26. Get new head shots -- This will be totally done by the end of this week. I'm really happy with how they came out.

33. Buy a real bed -- YAY! I LOVE my new bed. I love my bed frame and my super wonderful mattress.

49. Take another trapeze class -- Circus class is trapeze and so much more (I think when I wrote this list I meant a high-trapeze class, but I'm editing myself a little bit because time is of the essence).

68. Whiten my teeth -- Ehh, I'm going to say this is done, although its kind of an on-going thing...

73. Start playing soccer again (even if it’s only pick-up games) -- This will be completed on April 1 when I have my first game with my new soccer team.

75. Get rid of all the gift cards that are hanging out in my wallet (by spending them) -- Oh man, I am so excited that this is done!!

76. Have at least one non-miserable Valentine’s Day -- I think I probably meant this to be something along the lines of, "get some nookie on vday" but I actually had a wonderful Valentine's day this year and spent zero minutes wallowing in self-pity.

83. Have someone teach me the finer points of football -- I actually kind of taught myself, and though I'm still learning (well, the learning is on hiatus until next season) I feel confident in my ability to talk about the game now. Also...go bears.

97. Find a print of the Dali painting I saw at the Elsa Schiaparelli exhibit -- Once again Cougar came through on this one. Its sitting rolled up in my room right now, waiting for me to get my act together and put it on my wall.

45.5 out of 101-- So I'm not quite halfway, but I feel like over the past 6 months I've accomplished quite a lot...

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Stupid government

Why my taxes aren't going to be filed until the day before they're due in a style reminisint of the 15 page paper written 12 hours before its due:

In 2006 I lived and worked in 3 different states, none of which were the state I am technically a resident of (if we're to go by my lisence and voter registration).

The state I made the most money in, was the state I lived in for the shortest amount of time. It also happens to be the state with the most fakaktah tax rules (shove it masshole.)

The state I made the least money in is the state I currently live in (although I was not a resident during 2006 as I didn't have an apartment, or bills of any kind) AND its the state where I was employed by a company that has yet to pay me OR send me a w-2 (although I would be cheesed if they sent me the w-2 without the paycheck).

The state I actually lived in for the longest amount of time (a whole 6 months), most of the money I made was either non-taxed (oh, are my nemisis) or under the table (oh, sweet nannying).

Not to mention I was a student for half of 2006, this is the first year I'm not someone's dependent, and all of my tax info goes directly to a house I haven't actually "lived" in for 5 years.

Oh IRS, there are no words in which to describe the firey passion with which I hate you.

In other news, I just bought myself a health insurance plan. Yep. I'm a grown-up. Ass.

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

In case you were confused

Dear Boys/Guys/Men or whatever you've decided you wanted to be called,

If you are out with a group of people and you are drinking and carousing and making merriment in general and there is a girl with whom you have a very hard-to-define-will-they-won't-they-she's-up-all-night-dissecting-conversations-with-her-friends relationship and you turn to her after a few beverages and say, "Hey you wanna get out of here?"

She is automatically, automatically going to think that you want to take her home, or in the very least- maybe make out with her on the street.

Seriously?! Seriously.

If she is 24-or-less-months out of college, and she's had a few, and you have a beautiful smile and tell her she's funny and you say the words,

"Hey, you wanna get out of here?"

Her brain is going to go NUTS. I don't know why those words have secret-spell-powers, but they do. She gets over it soon enough, but that little sensation lingers far too long for any sort of comfort. So please, use them with caution because the mental anguish you cause with those little bastards is kind of out of control.


Love and kisses,

Friday, February 23, 2007

They got the "foggy" part right.

I don't know if it's me, or large metropolises in general, but after 2 days in London, I am totally confident that I could move here tomorrow and be totally fine. This is my feeling with most big English-speaking cities I meet (unlike small communities, ie Nantucket or Middletown, where after a few weeks/days/hours I get that, "uhhh, this was fun but its time to go back to the real world" feeling).

There would be some adjustments though, namely the weather. It really is grey all the effin time here. R says that this causes her to be uber-depressed most of the time and really has a detrimental effect on her work/social life. After 5 months in Chicago, I'm pretty excited about the fact that I've worn flip flops the entire time I've been here (my toes have been kinda cold and wet, but they haven't fallen off yet which is what would happen if I tried to pull that kind of stunt in Chi-town).

Other than the weather, everything seems to be very similar to any other large city...the streets are complicated (no grid system whatsoever), but you write down directions until you figure out... the tube is fine, the buses are amazing (you know those sweet signs they have in DC that tell you when the next train is coming? They have those for the buses here! Well played, London. Well played).

Tonight, R stayed in to study and get rid of a massive headache and I went out to explore and do some shopping, I found myself completely confident walking down the street-- and realized I've never NOT felt confident (with the exception of Capetown, but that was such a sensory overload it was to be expected-- and even after a week or so, I walked down long street or the waterfront with complete ease -- although I never attempted public transportation, so that was probably a false confidence on my part).

I love that I'm a city person. I love that after 24 hours in a strange place, in a strange country I have the mental capacity to say, "Nah, I'll just wander around until I find something to do."

Tomorrow is Oxford. Then Sunday and Monday are more exploring. 5 days is almost perfect for visiting London, incase any of you were planning a trek. Although, I have to warn you-- the vintage-y red phone booths that show up in every single movie that's set in London are practically wallpapered in flyers for phone sex operators and hookers!! I was shocked and appalled at this, and rather disappointed that none of my mates who have been here warned me about this crushing blow to my childhood dreams.

Also, most of the parks look really similar, so its probably not the smartest thing to blurt out, "That was the park in the Parent Trap!" while walking by the first park you see.

Photos and other helpful hints to come once I'm back on the other side of the pond.


Thursday, February 15, 2007

A Lovely Wednesday

Yesterday many people celebrated Valentine's Day, I celebrated the fact that it was wednesday and I'm in a great place in my life.

I woke up in Aimee's apartment (I got snowed in the night before) so I got to hang out in her gorgeous apartment, use her super awesome shower, try on all her cute clothes, and have a piece of delicious Mounds Bar cake for breakfast.

On my way to work I found a five dollar bill on the street.

Work was medium busy. I had enough to do so I wasn't bored/feeling worthless, but not so much that I didn't have time to stalk people on the internet and read Gawker and Gofugyourself. Plus I got to snoop around my boss's townhouse, which is always fun.

Two of my absolute most favorite people in the entire universe sent me facebook gifts.

B and I decided to be platonic Valentine's (this worked out a little better for me than her...)

C and I made a pact that the first person WITH an actual-for-realz Valentine owes the other one dinner, theatre tickets, and a night of drinks... posting this pact on my blog is the equivelent of signing something in blood, btw.

My boss's wife bought us cookies that were shaped like corsets and boustieres, making them adorable and delicious.

Circus class! My handstands are improving like crazy which is great. My "bad" side cartwheels are just as good as most people's "good" side. We got to play with poi (those strings that people swing around that are occasionally on fire). My teacher said I had beautiful form on the silk knot and let me try all sorts of fun tricks (Sylvia rarely ever gives any sort of comment beyond "good" or "nice").

I started a new book that, 20 pages in, I already love on the train ride home.

When I got back to my apartment there was a Valentine's day box from Cougar that had conversation hearts, strawberry peeps, a light-up princess necklace, cute black tights and Amy Sedaris's new book in it.

I got laundry done (this is a huge accomplishment)!

I got to go to bed at 10 (see above)!

Today hasn't been as wonderful (in fact, its kind of sucked so far), but that's to be expected because it isn't a holiday.

I love everyone...Happy (belated) Lovely Wednesday to you all.

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Let it...whatever

As we're watching the snow falling and accumulating outside the window in the kitchen in my office:

Me: When do you think it's going to stop?
Mary: April.

Thursday, February 01, 2007

You're the pride and joy of Illinois...

If you had asked me 3 months ago who played in the Superbowl last year, I probably wouldn't be able to tell you. If you had asked me to name 3 quarterbacks in the NFL, I would maybe be able to come up with two (psych. I'd be lucky if I could get one). If you had said to me last year at this time, "Rachel, in 365 days time you will really, deeply care about a football team to the point of making shirts and fighting with people about their chances come Superbowl Sunday." I probably would have told you to pass the crack pipe.

Times change, people.

It hasn't slipped my attention (mostly because no one will really let it) that my current obsession with the pigskin is downright bizarre. My parents never cared much about the sport (I think mostly because they wouldn't be caught dead cheering for anything that a)came from Baltimore or b)was called the Redskins) and the last time (before this winter) I can remember watching a whole game start to finish was probably junior year of High School when I only did it because it was social suicide not to be seen at a football game--especially if some guy let you wear his jersey.

Sports to me have always been kind of boring, the exception that proves the rule to this is soccer. Watching soccer games has always been a passion in my family, but we're Italian, so that's kind of to be expected. But besides "real football" and girly stuff like ice skating and dancing, sports were always something I could take or leave-- but would really rather just leave and go to a play or something.

This changed sometime in November when Flopsy asked if I wanted to watch the Bears game with her. I said no, leaving out the fact that it had be a solid half-decade since I'd watched more than 16 seconds of a game. I relayed the conversation to A&K who explained that football is kind of a big deal in this town, not that they watched it, but it was. The next time Flopsy asked, I went along, mostly because at this point I had few-to-no friends and so any sort of social interaction was pounced upon by me.

I don't remember who played in the first game we watched, just that we were at Ditkas (I know, could I GET anymore cliche?) and it was probably the most fun I've ever had at a sports bar or perhaps on any Sunday morning.

*note: Why trying to turn people on to the game of football, it should probably be mentioned that watching football is an excellent excuse to get drunk on Sunday mornings, just incase you're looking for one.

After that one game I was hooked. Kind of. I still didn't really understand the nuances of the game. So I did what I do whenever I get obsessed with anything: read as much as I possibly could (see?! I am a total bookworm-geek at heart, all this macho football stuff is just for show). I learned the names of the players, and what exactly a "down" was, useless Bears trivia -- pretty much anything the internet had to offer I ate up with a spoon. For about seventeen seconds one Monday Funday (an excuse to get drunk on Monday night: yet another reason football is the sport for me) I decided I wanted to be a Bears Cheerleader, only to discover they don't have cheerleaders. So I decided I'm going to bring them back...once I'm done, ya know, everything else I want to accomplish.

Is it possible that I wouldn't have gotten this hooked if the Bears didn't have an increadible season? Yeah, its possible. But I doubt it. The games they lost (which were few and far between) crushed my soul a little bit (most notably the one on New Years). And it isn't really the sport that I'm into as the feeling you get when watching it.

I've never lived in a place that was really all about football. When I was a kid, I didn't really care and then I went off to college, and New York just isn't a football town so I never got a chance to experience it the way I have here. The energy of Chicago is so addictive. Most of my favorite moments have been in a bar, watching a game. Even T-bone, who said she didn't give two poops about how the Bears did got caught up in the excitement of the game and when Gould (who will be getting his own blog me) kicked the field goal in overtime? She went nuts just like the rest of us.

I like that football gives me a sense of belonging here. On every street corner there is a sign or a guy wearing a hat that says "Go Bears." The Art Institute, the fuddy-duddiest joint in town is even going Bears crazy! I can't imagine Giants Helmets on the Lions out front of the NY Public Library. Even the Christian Book Store across the street from my office has a sign saying "Daaaa Bears" in the window. Like my boss said, "If Jesus is cheering for the Bears, the Colts might have a problem." Which lead to:
"If Jesus and the apostles were playing the Bears in the Superbowl, who would win?"
"Depends, is Jesus qb?"

I love that knowing about The Bears and cheering for the Bears makes me feel closer to the people in this town that I'm really, quite quickly totally falling in love with.

Superbowl Sunday promises to be totally nuts. Of course I want The Bears to win, but even if they don't, there's next season!! We get to do this all over again! I could not be more excited.

So no, I can't really explain what came over me...

Perhaps it was the notion of something new and totally different to get excited about (we all need things to get excited about otherwise why get up in the morning?) or a way of bonding with complete strangers or a reason to drink at ungodly hours. Whatever the reason, I'm a Bears fan. I've learned the song and everything.

Friday, January 26, 2007

London, baby!

Call it trip envy or boredom or just missing that other little piece of my soul... On Febuary 21 I'm going to London! For the first time ever!! To visit my other Rachel! And bop around Europe for 4 days! There are not enough exclamation points in the universe right now! I just realized that I'll be missing my last improv class (its no worries, I can make it up later in the week...) for this and I almost don't care.

Gah! London!

Thursday, January 18, 2007

Puncture Wounds

After reading Courtney's recent blog about all of her piercing experiences I decided to take time out of my busy phone-answering-diet-coke-drinking-Gawker-reading Day and follow suit. So here it is, my long history with such things. I'll add pictures to this post once they become available (read: when I get home from work).

Elementary School (circa 4th or 5th grade): I am in the mall with my mom and spontaneously ask if I can get my ears pierced. She agrees. We go to Claire's that day. I have a mild panic attack before they do the actual piercing and my mother says to Cool It. I have pierced ears. I am tres grown-up.

A few weeks later: One of my earring holes gets infected. The doctor tells my mom to take it out, failing to mention that the backs of starter earrings are designed to be difficult to get off. My mom proceedes to pull the entire earring through my ear. Pouring blood all over the bathroom (a reoccuring theme in this timeline) and my favorite stuffed rabbit. There is a small part of me that has yet to forgive her.

A few months after that: After wandering around with one earring for a while I get my hole repeirced. I'm not quite sure why my mom let me hang out with just one earring for that fairly long while it took my lobe to heal... I only ever remember it being an issue once in gymnastics class when I had my hair done up in a bun and one of the other girls asked me about it (I spent most of my younger years with my hair down...and I had bangs. Times change, people). I get it repierced and am 600 times more nervous because I now know how bad its going to hurt. My parents go out that night, our babysitter Elizabeth gives me an extra scoop of ice cream for being brave.

Sometime in 8th or 9th grade: My friend Cupcake has entered her, "punk" stage and has taken to piercing her own ears all the time, she asks if I want her to do mine, I say "yes, eventually," and hope she'll forget to ask again.

Fall of 9th grade: One of the first times we go to Maryland Council for Dance (a weekend long affair that was a really great excuse to get out of school early on a friday and hang out in a hotel suite unchaperoned). Cupcake decides that once and for all, I'm getting my ears pierced. We go into the hotel bathroom because its "sterile" (we weren't the brightest kids...) and she puts the needle through my ear at the exact same moment that my dance teacher walks through the door of the suite. The suprise redirects the needle and it nicks some sort of vein causing blood to start dripping. I cup my hand over my ear and hope Dee doesn't notice it (if she does, she never said anything). I halt the piercing.

Spring Break of 9th grade: Continuous peer pressure finally gets to me and at a sleep over at a Pinkie's house, Cupcake pierces 2nd holes in each of my ears. I use the smallest studs possible in the vain attempt that my parents won't notice. There is a picture of this blessed event taking place...if I can find it, I'll add it to this blog. My parents don't notice until one morning I wake up and realize that the stud was too small and my lobe has started to close up over it. I am forced to push it back through and once again, cover my bathroom with blood. My parents notice when my ear starts throbbing.

Note* -- I am constantly having problems with my earring holes, but to the date I have had less problems with the holes that were pierced with safety pin in my friend's bedroom than the one's done at Claire's. Suck it Claire's.

March of 12th grade: It is discovered that in Pennsylvania you only need to be 16 to get piercings without an adult signature (in Maryland it's 18). My mother had expressed her displeasure at the idea of a navel ring, her constant refrain being, "I'll never sign a piece of paper allowing you to get your belly button pierced." I take this as an automatic okay to go ahead and get it done (I think my excuse later was, "Mom, you never signed a piece of paper"). My friends and I go up to the closest Piercing/Tattoo place over the border (the place made a killing from people at my high school, I garantee it). They say that if I don't get my belly button pierced they're leaving me in the parking lot. I get it done. I think I am cool.

A week later: The pain has subsided a little bit, but I am constantly clutching my stomach, prompting my mother to ask if I need to see a doctor. I show her what I have done. We don't speak for awhile...

Note*-- My mother now demands that she be able to see the navel ring in photos of me in my bathing suit and has on occasion called it "cute" though she'll deny ever saying such things until the day she dies.

June of 12th grade: In my final dance recital I decide to flip a metaphoric bird to the dance studio and during an acro dance bust out the worm (instead of what was previously coreographed for me). Later I realize this was a bad idea as my stomach is now smeared with blood.

December of Sophomore Year: Poodle peer pressures me into getting a tattoo. I say okay because I am weak and because I am having a bad semester. It continues to be one of my favorite choices I ever made.

July after Junior Year: I hate my job working with children which is something that up until then I didn't think was possible. On the final day of camp 1 I decide to celebrate by getting my nose pierced. This only comes after I say, "Hey, Teeny, I want to get my nose pierced" and she says, "Yeah okay, You won't." I am mad at myself for sharing with her the powers of, "you won't." I don't tell my parents until I come home to visit, they are not pleased. I instantly become a celebrity to my sister and all of her 12 year old friends.

January of Senior Year: I am told by my oral surgeon that I have to take out my nose ring when he takes out my wisdom teeth. Then in the middle of a vicious allergy attack in the middle of the night, I manage to pull out the stud without even waking up. I realize how attached I am to the thing when I desperatly try to re-pierce it with a needle and (wait for it) draw blood.

Febuary of Senior Year: I repierce my nose and it hurts twice as bad as it did the first time. It also becomes infected almost immediatly and I wonder if I should get it repierced. I decide to just deal with it because the piercing hurts too bad.

Note*-- I am still amazed at the fact that I managed to pull my nose ring out and not wake up. Sometimes even now I'll hit it the wrong way and the pain will be insanely ridiculious.

Present: I currently have earrings in my first holes after a long stretch of not wearing earrings at all. I can't remember the last time I wore earrings in my second holes, but will occasionally stab one through them to make sure they're still open. I haven't done this recently, so for all I know they could be closed at this point. I still have in the same nose ring that I got it pierced with (both times). I sometimes put in a clear retainer, but think that it looks stranger than just having a silver stud in. Have considered at times taking the nose ring out since it's become soooo effin' mainstream, but really like the way it looks on my ugly face. My belly button ring has been in continuously since I got it pierced (almost 6 years ago)! I love it. I don't care that saggy post-pregnancy women have it now too. I think its adorable (see also the tat). I have at times considered piercing: my tragus, cartilage or nipple (just for the story) but always decide to wait until a moment that needs to be commemorated to do anymore damage to my body.

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

Just in case you were curious...

I can totally do this now. Circus class is awesome. Other things I can do:

Walk on a globe.
Walk on stilts
Do fancy tricks on the trapeze
A front handspring

Friday, January 05, 2007

The more you know...

How much does laziness cost?


That's how much its going to cost to have some grumpy bear-sized man deliver my new bed up to my new apartment.

Totally worth it, if you ask me.

Also, I am now a bed-owner. How v. grown-up.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007


And so 2007 begins. It has taken all of my strength not to crawl under my desk and die today. I thought that this whole, "fly back in the morning, go straight to work" thing was an excellent plan. What I didn't factor in was the fact that I was going to feel like baked asshole for pretty much the entire day yesterday (and the fact that I've pretty much been on a drink, sleep, eat chocolate bender for the past week and a half). New Years Eve pretty much kicked my ass upside down and sideways. I fell off a barstool. That's how hard it kicked my ass. I decided to fight with gravity and gravity won (as it usually does).

Anyway at some point after the two pitchers of sangria and before I told one boy that he had to give me his mardi gras beads and another that I hoped he died a miserable death in the next fifteen minutes (I was trying to talk to Christine via cellphone! Do not try to have conversations with me when I am on my cellphone, particularly when I'm talking to Teeny-pants) there were jell-o shots.

A LOT of Jell-o shots.

We decided during the sangria and tapas (aka respectable) part of the evening that the best bet for the less-respectable part of the evening would be a fun lil divey bar in Adams Morgan (or Ad Mo, as I have just decided I'm going to call it...see also: North Fruit Loop) called Millie and Al's. Millie and Al's is my favorite bar in DC for one simple reason: $1 Jell-o Shots. The only thing better? Free jell-o shots.

This plan was cememnted when we realized that Millie and Al's had no cover. NO COVER! On New Years! Someone wants me to be happy! About 15 seconds after we had staked our claim on a fine piece of bar real estate the $1 jell-o shots light went on. I dropped a Jackson and we were on our way.

20 jell-o shots. 3 girls. Happy New Years to us.

C, because she is by far the most Suzy High-school of the thrio of us decided that for every shot we had to make a resolution. Here are mine (although I think the tally was up to 9 shots by the end of the night I think we got Courtney drunk enough that she stopped hounding us about it so we only made half a dozen or so).

1- Have a successful, healthy romantic relationship that lasts a substantial amount of time (although, that's asking a lot of me and the men of Chicago...I think that on NYE I said a month, I'm scaling that back to 2 weeks. Baby steps, people).

2- Have some mindblowingly good sex that ALSO makes me forget the english language (apparently these things are mutually exclusive)

3- Get an acting job. Any acting job (that doesn't require me to take off my clothes).

4- Learn to accept compliments instead of argue with them

5- Buy Pants. Really good pants. Mindblowing pants.

6- Stop dwelling on Matt Demos (oh wait...)

7- Solve all of C's problems by sleeping with the cute kid in her grad program, thus breaking up him and his girl friend and allowing Courtney to swoop in and be his new lovah.

8- World Peace.

Happy 2007. May you only write 2006 on all documents until mid-March.

She's pint-sized and amazing.