pondering.

"Without parents to defy, we break the rules we make for ourselves."

With nothing good on TV right now, I'm going through and watching old Grey's Anatomy episodes. That was part of Meridith's voice over in one season 2 episode. I spent most of the time when I was watching this in real time ignoring the voice overs because Ellen Pompeo's voice gives me a headache. But I heard that today, and it made things a little bit clearer.

I look at the quote and I have to kind of shrug. Because its true, and I can't figure out how to stop it.

I *heart* Wisconsin

Things I experienced this weekend for the first time.

-Mar's Cheese Castle (unfortunately not a castle made of cheese).

-Cheese curds, regular (disgusting).

-Wisconsin Cheddar Grilled Cheese in Wisconsin, where the cheese is so gooey you get a cheese puddle.

-Donkey Balls.

-A Brat.

-A Pontoon Boat.

-Sturgeon Bay.

-A Fish Boil.

-$1 Beers (what? I didn't go to real college).

-The game of shoulders.

-Leinenkugel Summer Shandy (tastes like lemonade!)

-Door County Cherries (in ice cream, pie and cookies)

-Berry Wines (not a fan)

-Cheese curds, fried (amazing).

-A Tom Collins (although apparently when made with grenadine its fake)

-McDonald's Country Chicken Biscuit (embarrassingly delicious).

Summertime Chi (now throw your hands up in the sky)

So Tierra came and visited for five glorious days last week as part of her massive road trip and while my liver, checkbook, and BMI are probably secretly glad that she's gone, the rest of me absolutely loved having her here and wishes she would stay forever. I sometimes forget how amazing Chicago is in the summer. I'm so busy working and performing and running around that I never stop to be like, "damn, B. This is kind of the life."

While Tierra was here we went to my very first Wrigley field baseball game (which may also be my very first MLB stadium game - except of course for the one when I got kidnapped, but that was just batting practice so it doesn't count). I've decided that game and the Chicago Fire game this weekend, that I love live sports. The whole sports thing is still kind of new and bizarre (1 year of caring v. 22 years of not caring = big difference).

Also - I would like to point out that I'm fairly sure this was my first live men's professional game and it SUCKED where as ALL of the US women's games I've been to (both World Cup and otherwise in DC) have been amazing.

I also hung out with some random people while Tierra was here, because we pretty much hung out with whomever was around and all of them were so warm and welcoming which made me so happy - I've managed to make friends with some grade A midwesterners.

Tierra also got to see me perform both long and short form improv and got to see some great sketch comedy (as well as a decent harold). This is such a huge part of my life now. And she's the first one who's come out and actually seen it all go down. She seemed to love it.

I noticed while she was here that boys LOVED her. There were no nights that went by without some guy walking up to us and telling her that she is gorgeous. While, everyone loves a self esteem boost for themselves - I think I almost loved it more for her (I have plenty of problems with boys without complete strangers walking up to me-- also she's got that exotic halfrican thing going on).

So - the moral? Come to Chicago. While its gorgeous and summer-y. Not when its sucky and grey. Meet my amazing friends. See me be funny/an asshole on stage. Experience why I think that this city might be for keeps (at least for a few more years).

Makes Sense.

"The most unfair thing about life is the way it ends. I mean, life is tough. It takes up a lot of your time. What do you get at the end of it? A Death! What's that, a bonus? I think the life cycle is all backwards. You should die first; get it out of the way. Then you live in an old age home. You get kicked out when you're too young, you get a gold watch, you go to work. You work forty years until you're young enough to enjoy your retirement. You do drugs, alcohol, you party, you get ready for high school. You go to grade school, you become a kid, you play, you have no responsibilities, you become a little baby, you go back into the womb, you spend your last nine months floating

...and you finish off as an orgasm."

-George Carlin.

drugs. the no-baby-making-kind.

So I switched birth control pills recently (yeah, that's right - we're gonna get real personal right about now). My old one was playing a huge part in the disaster that was my face and at the age of 23 I think I'm old enough to make medical choices based on vanity.

So I decided to switch. My NP is nervous because this new one has diuretic qualities as does another medication I'm on. And the two diuretics combined apparently will give me a potassium deficiency. I don't really understand the mechanics of it. But these people went to school for about 80 years, so I'll trust them.

For the first month, the pill seemed to be working great. There were no babies (which, um, let's leave that part of the equation alone for now). I switched right around the time I started my new job and was told by my mother that I might have an insulin deficiency of some sort (my mother did NOT go to school for 80 years, but she did go for eight, so I trust her medical opinion). This maybe the cause of my recent weight gain and so I've decided to go really healthy (fresh fruits and veggies! vegetarian! (except for pork and Nonna's meat sauce) 100 Calorie Snack Packs!)

I also now have week days off with the new job and instead of lounging around and watching West Wing DVD's I've been working hard at keeping my days off busy. Writing, going to the gym, productive shopping, rearranging furniture etc.

So here is this me that is kind of different from the me of about 3 months ago. I am not really thinking about it until I talk to a friend of mine last night about birth control (this conversation was naturally brought on by the news/gossip that yet another girl from our High School class is up the spout). I mentioned my new pill and she said that it had made her slightly loopy. Then I thought about it for a minute and realized...

I'm pretty sure there are uppers in my birth control.

First of all, I'm hungry. All the time. I equated this with suddenly being on my feet for 8 hours a day but seriously, I find myself constantly eating. While normally uppers don't give you this (hence why they are diet pills) I think its the combination of the estro-whatever and the crack that literally mean I eat for eight straight hours if I let myself. I'm being good about eating grapes and whole wheat sandwichs and trying to keep my caloric intake around 1000 calories a day, but still - your body cannot digest food if you don't stop chewing.

Second- This productive behavior is not like me at all. I mean sure, I get stuff done, but I get it done at the last second, if there isn't anything good on TV. Recently I've taken to cleaning the bathroom without being asked and without there being actual organisms growing in it, I've started going to the gym for 90 minutes to two hours if given the opportunity and actually spending that time working out instead of just sitting around on a yoga mat listening to my ipod. I do laundry before I run out of underwear. I'm redecorating my apartment and making grown up purchases like couches and bowls (although, in my old-self's defense, the bowls are too small to be practical and polka dotted). My room is organized. I'm cooking for myself instead of eating things out of a black plastic dish. Also, the fact that I am even CONSIDERING giving up chicken nuggets, is - to me, kind of crazy. I mean, I laugh at vegatarians, and people who run on tredmills, and own plates. Since when have I become one of those people?

Obviously, it is because my birth control pill is full of crack.

A Story in Pictures

Once Upon a Time a Girl in a Scarf and her sister went to a museum.


They explored the exhibits and found that most of them were pretty lame (in the Museum's defense, they didn't look very hard). And then they found the baby chick exhibit!! Their Mom thought it was hilarious that they wanted to spend all day watching baby chicks hatch because they grew up in a place that looks like this:



But they were in it to win it. And they noticed one egg that looked like it was getting ready to hatch!


So they waited patiently as pieces of the shell began to chip away. Minutes passed and they couldn't believe how long it was taking. Their Mom voiced her annoyance that this is how they were spending their day but the Girl in the Scarf was not going anywhere. As the chick chipped away at the egg, the Girl in the Scarf looked at all of the information about the chick and learned that chicks have a special tooth that they use to get out of the egg and then it falls out after they're in the world.

Then the girl got philosophical, as she tends to do when she's waiting around for things to happen. Can you imagine having to work this hard to get out into the world? When humans are born its the mother that does all the work, but the chick is all alone and there is nothing to stop it from just giving up, from waiting until its so big that the egg just breaks around it. Of course, by that point the chick will probably have died from starvation but still... how hard it must be to not even know the world you're trying so desperately to become a part of. And then finally! The chick hatched!!!



It was really, really ugly and scary looking, which, to be fair, we all kind of are when we come out of such a cramped place. The chick just lay there for awhile learning how to breath all this new oxygen it had suddenly come in contact with. The chick was so very tired, it had just cracked its own egg, it knew it had to, it knew that even though it didn't know our world that it wanted to be a part of it. The Girl in the Scarf pitied the little chick. It had worked so hard and now it had its whole life ahead of it, to keep working hard and surviving. The Girl in the Scarf watched it for awhile, as all of the other museum patrons jostled around her. The Girl in the Scarf was wondering if maybe now, she was just being born. She was ugly and unfortunate, but she had spent so long working so hard and was finally just beginning her life.

Shmupdate

So I have a new job. My new job is very awesome except it hurts my brain with all the learning and its kind of a low-rung on the food chain job. It feels a little like back pedaling. But there are huge benefits to it, one being days off during the week. I had acclimated to having Saturdays and Sundays off, which I will have occasionally but mostly I'll have things like Thursdays off. Which means I'll get real work done. Like writing and laundry and hanging out at the beach when there aren't people there.

I get to go to the East Coast next week! I'm so excited! I'll hit MD, NYC, New Hampshire, Connecticut, Philly?! Who knows...It'll be so nice to be home.

I have a theory...Its a boys and girls and relationship theory. I have to work through it a little bit more before posting it on the internet.

Don't read this Tierra.

So apparently,

We're all gonna die.

So much about this freaks me out.

Number 1 - 13 year old Germans do better math than NASA. That's just embarrassing.

Number 2 - I have MAYBE 27 years left. I'm just glad I'm not waiting to quit my job...

Number 3 - I'm really glad I watched Deep Impact 4,000 times because I am now prepared to deal with this kind of disaster.

101 in 1001 update.

So, if any of you have been paying attention at. all. you would know that my 1001 days were up on March 18. I was super unsure with what do about this, considering I had barely finished half of it, but C decided that since right in the middle of the 1001 days I had picked up my entire life and moved it to a new time zone I deserved a 6-month extension. Mostly because during those 6 months I wasn't so much worried about the list as I was surviving in a brand new place where I knew no one. So now my expiration date is September 18, 2008. Which seems far off, but isn't really. I have 48 things left on the list. Here's what I've accomplished since LAST March (yeah, I've been bad w. the updating):

12. Go to at least three concerts - I go to concerts all the time. I do heart Live Music.

22. Stand up to a guy and tell him how it is (I did this once, but I think I need practice) - When I put this on the list I should have specified that it be a sober confrontation, but lets be real - that will never happen. It has happened drunk a few times. I'm getting pretty good at it.

53. Get an internship at a theatre company - The iO Chicago kind of owns my soul. In a good way.

Wow. 3. Okay, that's kind of pathetic. Here are some highlights of what I have left:

3. Have a healthy romantic relationship that lasts a substantial amount of time (at least a month) - This is kind of hilarious for many reasons. Mostly because defining "healthy" is a tricky, tricky little game. I think that I could probably cross this one off the list... but we'll wait and see if I end up with anything a little more "healthy" by the end of the summer.

51. Go to South Africa again - Okay. Kind of a pipe dream. But I like where my head was at when I did this.

56. Use that gift certificate for free dinner for 4 for that Italian restaurant in Bethesda - The fact that I haven't done this yet is BONKERS. I've had that thing for over 5 years. The restaurant is going to close before I use it. Next time I'm home for a few days (so...Christmas?)

84. Go to Gillette Castle, we went when I was little but I don’t have a visual memory of it. - This is soooo happening this summer. It should be happening in like a month, but the place doesn't open until Memorial Day. WEAK. So somehow- around the time we're going to Nantucket...this is getting done.

93. See every Oscar Best Movie nominee in a year (before the awards show) - Sadly, this won't happen...ever. I am not nearly as into movies as I like to pretend I am. Also, I'm poor.

only in my dreams

So, its gorgeous outside. I've been inside all day doing the work that will, with any and all luck will put me on the cover of "In Style" someday. All I want to do is go out and play, but nope. Its work time.

Anyway, my phone rings. Its a Maryland number that I don't recognize but I answer it anyway because I don't learn from my mistakes. Here is the conversation.

RACHEL: Hello?
VOICE: I just wanted to let you know, the chocolate covered strawberries are in the fridge.

RACHEL'S INNER MONOLOGUE: I don't know who this is or where they are, but they have chocolate covered strawberries so they are automatically my best friend.

RACHEL: (pause) Who is this?
VOICE: Is this Pattie?

RACHEL'S INNER MONOLOGUE: Say yes! Say yes! Obviously this Pattie person has the hook up with the chocolate and the strawberries and all you have is a half written - unfunny sketch.

RACHEL: (pause) No...
VOICE: Oh, I'm sorry.
click
RACHEL: But I'll still take the strawberries? Hello?

Once again, I make terrible life choices that deny me fruit and chocolate.

Princess Madness

I dropped to 4th in my pool where I was reigning as Princess Picks-Amazing for a week and a half. This is, of course, being blamed on Tennessee and Davidson equally, except Tennessee a little more equally because I had them going to the finals.

Here's the thing, I don't mind being in 4th place because the three people in front of me did research and analyzed statistics and watched more than 3 games this season. I? Guessed. And picked my favorites. Something that I'm sure was irking the shit out of the boys while I was on top. And when it comes down to it, I've picked more winners than anyone else, I just haven't earned more points. So, in some distant world, I kind of am winning-- except not really.

I love this being-one-of-the-guys madness. When this big heap of boy friends kind of fell in our lap we were excited, then people started making out and things got messy and now things have leveled out again and we're left with boys to watch sports with and boys who care about things like photography and good movies...which is pretty fantastic...

particularly when you're beating 13 of them in a basketball pool.

Go UCLA. Do not fall victim to Memphis's crazy crazy skills.

File this under: Things I Hate.

I hate making choices.

Seriously, it starts small, with not being able to decide what I want for lunch and spirals into not being able to make big choices. The life changing ones.

I just feel like when I look back over my life, so many of my choices feel like the wrong one, at what point does someone be like, "yeah, no. You don't get to make choices anymore. We're going to bring in a life coach and they're going to do it all for you now."

Once that happens I feel everything will be back on track or at least, I'll have someone else to blame when it all goes wrong.

Here's the deal people:

Do I:

a- Get a full time job working for a company that I'm passionate about that will give me lots of office experience, that will be 40 hours with benefits and company picnics that will require me to give up the auditions and the Big News and the fun trips to random places with Barb and possibly Nantucket?

b- Temp/get a part time job I don't care about. Take the paycut (like a man). Enjoy the fact that I'm 23 w. a savings account and spend the summer at the beach, with my friends, writing novels, performing, hanging out at the democratic national convention? Live the life of a pauper who likes to party.

Seriously people, I cannot decide. I seriously want the universe to make the choice for me and I don't know how to make that happen. I've decided I'm no longer applying to companies I don't care about for full time jobs. Its arts admin or non-profit all the way.

Anyway. That's it. I'm going to sit in this fancy car wash and watch my boss's Range Rover get all sparkley clean and try to figure out what to do... or I'm going to read the Fiction story in the New Yorker.

I can't decide.

poetry makes me less crazy

This was originally posted in the Frederick News Post online edition and I'm really ridiculously proud of it, so I'm posting it here.

And now, some haikus from my current job search.

gently used admin
in search of loving workplace
with free diet coke

cover letters smell
like desperation, needy
online dating blurbs

no waking at 5
if starbucks is not open
then neither am I

who gives spelling tests
before the job interview
not my future boss

resume talks of
quest for entry level not
days off for beach trips

facebook you tube and
go fug yourself dot com are
more fun than job ads

If sweatpants are banned
on days that end in "y" then
our ideals conflict

blackberries make you
look so cool and important
and rude at parties

would like salaried
and dental for funniness
is this fantasy

without some free food
receptionist gets restless
will take bad message

grown up problems like
jobs, big choices, life changes,
can be solved with cake

writing poetry
better than looking at weather
or plotting revenge

I want to live the
life of a bohemian
or maybe pirate

Theaterical Genius.

So, about a year ago I went to London to visit my lovely Rachel twin and, obviously, fell in LOVE with England because its so very British. One of my favorite things that we did was go see two plays (which, considering I was there for 5 days and we spent 1 in Oxford, is fairly impressive). The two plays we saw were 39 Steps and Boeing Boeing. Both were picked entirely at random, one by Rachel and I over the internet before I got there and one by me as I tried to find day of tickets. I picked them simply because they were billed as funny and had interesting looking females in them (seriously, there is nothing more boring than really gorgeous women on stage being funny and it makes me angry-- you can't have everything).

Since I'm out of New York and so totally out of the loop it took me a few months to realize that BOTH of these plays have jumped the pond in '08. I am probably not going to see 39 Steps because it is reallllly British and I do not have faith that the American actors can make it work (unless they're using the original cast, in which case I might have to give it a chance), I am going to try my hardest to see Boeing Boeing because a- Bradley Whitford is in it and I think he'll be FANTASTIC in the part of aging play boy going insane to make sure all his girlfriends don't meet. And b- the woman who played the American flight attendant's impression of an American woman was out-of-control hilarious and I am curious to see how the actually-American actress does it.

I also have to say that there were about 40 plays* up in London while I was there. I would say that there were 15 that were American crossovers (Spamalot, Wicked, Hairspray), that leaves 25 that were from there and out of that - 2 were picked to come here and I also picked them. My opinions in theater are really top notch. Someone should probably pay me for them.

*I have no idea how many plays there actually were but the ratios are accurate.

The photo was one of the ones outside the theater at Boeing Boeing. Notice how they're all pretty in an interesting way?? That's because they're hilarious, especially the German one on the left. She's my extra favorite.

Denial tastes like robitussin and ginger ale

I have the flu. Apparently - according to Dr. Mom who via phone got a rundown of the symptoms and a graphic description of my relations with the toilet bowl - what I am feeling right now is a mild, but still very much there case of the flu. Awe.some. I haven't been really, really sick since my senior year of college (I just said that and while typing it realized I had a nasty bout of flu-hangover-itis last Good Friday - I am a liar).

I left work early today, something I haven't done for health reasons since I started at my current job. My mom is requesting I stay home tomorrow so I'm in top form for our trip to NYC this weekend. While I really, really want to stay home and get better, there is a part of me that feels so guilty for abandoning my coworkers like that. I'm sure that they can handle it. They've all show that they're vastly smarter and more productive than I am, but there still is this nagging sense of being a bad person for not being there. Something that I think is probably a huge indicator of other, bigger problems.

Anyway, this post is really for my boss, who will probably read it (as he has once again found my blog) - Its 8:44. I'm going to bed. My mom said to call her if you think I'm faking it. She can tell over the phone that I'm on death's door.

favorite day

Here is my to-do list for today:

1-Laundry. Because once again, my procrastinatory/insanely busy nature has made this situation out of hand.

2-Download music.

3-Eat.

THAT'S IT. This is the most low-key Saturday I've had in months and I love it. Seriously. I want to roll around in its laziness. And it gets better...there's nothing to do tomorrow (until 6 PM) either.

"I let you go (oh oh)"

I've had a phenomonally sucky week. Not that anything too terrible happened, but when all the not so terrible things are piled on top of one another it kind of makes me want to crawl into a hole and cancel my Grown Up Club membership.

And there were a few redeemable things that happened but none of them were so earth shattering that they made up for everything else.

Except for one.

I heard my two most favorite songs from 5th grade. "Don't Turn Around" and "The Sign" by Ace of Base. That's right BOTH of those songs worked their ways into my week coincidentally (once was when I was in my boss's car trying not to cry about the cluster fuck of my life, the other was when I was in the bank today taking out more of my rapidly dwindling checking account).

It was awesome. I still know every single word to both. Which is pretty impressive considering all the brain cells I've destroyed since I was ten.

When The Sign first came out I bought the single. On cassette (yeah, thats right. Cassette). We listened to it every morning on the bus to school. We had, I realize now, the coolest bus driver ever. Seriously, the fact that she was willing to listen to the same effin' song about 40,000 times in 5 months is pretty incredible. She was probably drunk the whole time.

Then I got the full album on CD and I'm pretty sure my best friend/worst enemy/next door neighbor stole it. Dumb bitch.

Ace of Base is the first band I remember liking that wasn't influenced by my parents. They were the first thing that mainstream media got me all worked up about. They were my first act of defiance and rebellion against the parentals (my Mom hated them...with good reason, their music is kind of terrible). They were one of the first little threads of grown-up real person-ness that I had.

Anyway, I'm not really sure what happened to Ace of Base, I guess they went back to Sweden or wherever and faded into oblivion. I'm sure one or two of them has been on some sort of VH-1 reality show. But no matter how terrible and nonsensical (have you listened to the lyrics?) their music is I will still love it. And it'll still make my day.

blog-ass

So. I have become a bad blogger, when I started this, my millionth (approx.) blog I wanted it to be awesome. A Tomato Nation, or a Pamie.com. Instead its... um, nothing anymore. What I didn't want it to be was a boring rehash of the daily events. And so instead its nothing. Lame.

Its not that nothing happens, oh no. In the past several months (pretty much since my 23rd birthday) my life has become quite the interesting little tale, full of happiness and crying and making out and cats peeing on my new pier 1 chair but I never remember that I should be writing it down. And I should be- because the more I write, the better I get... so I'm going to start with the writing... I hope. I mean there are other things I need to write too - like cover letters, and novels, and my very first comedy sketch...

Maybe I'll stay off the facebook for a day or two (doubtful) try to remember what I did on the internet before the face' sucked me into its vortex of pictures and bumper stickers.

The photo: Me and some of the best people I've ever met - on stage at the iO theatre in Chicago. Basically this picture is my dream come true.

I'm still here

So, this has been quite the hiatus I've taken from blogging. Although, not really -- I do actually blog on a biweekly basis for the lil hometown paper I was talking about. If I had a static link for it, I would post it, but since I don't, I'll try to remember to copy-paste the entries here -- because they are Hi-Larious. Actually no, but they tend to be entertaining.

Right now I'm enthralled with the second season of Nip/Tuck. My newest television addiction since the WGA strike (its helpful that my roommate owns all seasons on DVD). I'm mildly shocked that they're allowed to show this much graphic sex and surgery on basic cable. And since when can we say "shit" on tv? I never got that memo.

Other then that-- '08 has been good to me this week. I dropped a hundred and fifty bones on clothes in the past two days. I didn't go out drinking at all this weekend, which was actually kind of nice (particularly now that I don't have any money after all the clothes buying).

I start an eight week run of shows at iO tonight. While I am very excited about this opportunity, I am also straight terrified. The forms that my team has concocted are interesting and kinda awesome, but at the same time they aren't quite ready for performance. I'm hoping that we'll figure out a way to cheat for now until we get a chance to figure everything out.

One of the cats in my house peed on my amazing Pier 1 chair. I'm super distraught about it although my Mom is confident that the smell will come out with some Nature's Miracle treatments. Also one of the windows in my living room is broken... our apartment is pretty much falling apart.

I'm considering putting on clothes and starting the day, but I think instead I'll finish this season of Nip/Tuck, read more of Franny and Zooey and wait for the message I'm waiting for.

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!!

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.

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.

...like 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.

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...

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.

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.

However.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 docile...so 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?!

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?

true.

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."

Yes.

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

gah

Dear Rachel,

Please stop buying jeans.

Love,
Your Wallet.

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.

Hurrah!

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.

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.

Seriously.

She was the last holdout...in 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.

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?

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 jcrew.com 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."

Yikes.

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.

For reals, yo

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

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...

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, 10-99...you 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.

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.

Thanks.

Love and kisses,
Rachel

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.

Cheers.

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.

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.

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 later...trust 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.