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.
Friday, July 27, 2007
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.
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.
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.
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 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?!
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?
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
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.
"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.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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 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 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.
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...
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, 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 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.
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.
Thanks.
Love and kisses,
Rachel
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
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.
Cheers.
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.
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.
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.
Me: When do you think it's going to stop?
Mary: April.
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