the cheese stands alone.

100 things you never knew you wanted to know

2008-07-30T12:55:00.003-05:00

1. Since I haven’t been blogging much lately, I thought I would treat you all to a long-ass list chock full of all things Becky.
2. So for today, you get a break from the normal drivel I write.
3. I almost used the word “poppycock” in place of “drivel.”

4. I think my parents are the best parents in the world, and I’m very proud of the way they raised my brother and me.
5. They worked hard to send me to the private college I fell in love with.
6. I think that no matter what happens in the rest of my life, that’s the thing I’ll be most grateful for.
7. Did I ever tell you guys that I’m sort of in a band?
8. Yeah. I’ve been singing with my dad’s band for a little over a year now.
9. He plays the drums, and he’s really excellent.
10. I started singing with them because he said he wanted us to do something together.
11. Somewhere along the line, it stopped being something I did for him and became something I do for myself.
12. I love to sing.
13. My favorite song to sing is probably “Ave Maria.” Latin is cool.
14. My dad’s band plays mostly covers.
15. I am one hell of a cowbell player, I'll tell you that much.
16. Before I joined, there were three guitar players, one singer, and a drummer.
17. Today, there are four guitar players, three singers, a drummer, a bass player, and a keyboard player.
18. My brother once said that we’re getting to be like Doug’s band.
19. I hope someone remembers the show “Doug” and his band.

20. I also love to write.
21. Someday, I hope to write a book.
22. I have a pretty good idea for one – at least I think it’s pretty good – and I have about four chapters written.
23. I like to write poetry sometimes, too.
24. Every so often, I submit a few poems to poetry contests or publication journals.
25. I’ve never had any accepted.
26. I try to remind myself that that doesn’t necessarily mean that I’m a bad writer.
27. I like to think of myself as a creative person.
28. I am my most creative when I’m driving or taking a shower.
29. I keep a notebook in my car and one underneath my bed.
30. I wish there was a way to keep one in the shower.
31. I lose a lot of good ideas by not having one in there.

32. Even more than writing, I love to read.
33. I’ll read pretty much anything I can get my hands on.
34. I especially like juvenile literature. I think it’s more touching than a lot of adult literature.
35. A Wrinkle in Time, To Kill a Mockingbird, and Ella Enchanted are some of my favorites.
36. For a long time, Horton Hears a Who was my favorite book.
37. Melissa Bank is probably my favorite author.
38. I used to be ashamed of the fact that I prefer contemporary literature to the classics.
39. Now I don’t really care. I like what I like, and that's the name of that tune.
40. In the name of no longer being ashamed, I also read a lot of Stephen King, Jennifer Weiner, Jane Green, and... V.C. Andrews.
41. One of the best books I’ve ever read was Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen.
42. One of the most disappointing was Picture Perfect by Jodi Piccoult.
43. The worst book I’ve read since college was I Am Charlotte Simmons by Tom Wolfe.
44. Incidentally, he’s not the namesake of my blog url.
45. It’s Tobias Wolfe.
46. This Boy’s Life is one of my favorite books of all time.
47. I first read it my freshman year at Saint Joe, and I’ve reread it about six times since.
48. I love to reread books over and over again.
49. My favorite book of all time is The Girl’s Guide to Hunting and Fishing.
50. I’ve read it twelve times.
51. Billy Collins is my favorite poet.
52. Here and here are two of my favorite poems written by him.
53. I use the word “favorite” a little more than I should. I'll admit it.

54. I’m a huge believer in the idea of everything and everyone being put on this earth for a reason and purpose… except when it comes to fruit flies.
55. There’s absolutely no reason or purpose for the existence, other than to bother the shit out of me.
56. Some other things that bother the shit out of me are when people pull out in front of me and drive five miles under the speed limit, capitalize every word in a sentence, use the phrase “All’s I know is…,” and place periods and commas after quotation marks.
57. I also don’t like it when people talk to me about work while I'm eating lunch at my desk.
58. But it’s much easier to think of things that I do that annoy me...
59. ...such as biting my nails, squeezing the toothpaste from the middle of the tube, and not folding my clothes as soon as they come out of the dryer.
60. I also have a bad habit of interrupting people during conversation.
61. (What does the interrupting cow say?)

62. I’d really like to travel around the world someday.
63. The fact that I’m afraid of heights and suffer from motion sickness might put an end to that idea.
64. But I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.
65. I’d love to start with a road trip across the United States, following as much of historical Route 66 as I possibly can.
66. Since I can’t feasibly do that right now, I've been thinking about planning a few day or weekend trips to local places that I’ve never seen before.
67.I’ve always wanted to go to Louisville, Memphis, and Springfield.
68. Even though I’ve already been to St. Louis and Nashville, but I’d love to go again.
69. I know it’s cheesy, but I’d also love to take one of those 20-European-cities-in-10-days tours.
70. The places I want to see the most are Ireland, Italy(especially Rome), Paris, and Germany.

71. I hope that I get married someday.
72. I’d like to marry someone who will make me laugh everyday and who understands that I need quiet time in the morning.
73. Also, someone who respects my TIVO habits. (Read: Someone who won’t delete 90210 reruns.)
74. Being a Catholic, I’d want someone who wouldn’t mind a long ceremony and lots of drunk people.
75. I guess I'd also like someone who will allow me to have “Smile” by Pearl Jam as our first dance.
76. I’m pretty sure that the Pearl Jam is a non-negotiable for me.
77. So if any of you know of a single dude who might enjoy the irony of grooving to “State of Love and Trust” at his wedding, send him yonder.
78. Sometimes I think I might like to have kids one day, too.
79. I know I’d like to adopt a child… but the idea of having my own little baby is becoming more and more appealing to me.
80. Eleanor and Cecelia are my favorite girls’ names; Benjamin and James (Jamie) are my favorite boys’ names.

81. My favorite thing in the world is hugging.
82. I’m also a sucker for sappy greeting cards.
83. I have a box underneath my bed filled with cards I’ve gotten over the years.
84. I cry at the drop of a hat.
85. I have always been a spontaneous crier.
86. My family has teased me about it for years.

87. I have curly hair.
88. When I was younger, I used to cry because my mom wouldn’t let me get a perm like 1980s fashion demanded.
89. I should probably thank her for not having allowed me to ruin my life like that.
90. Now, I have a love/hate relationship with my curls… but we’re making progress.

91. I love to make people laugh.
92. I used to use it as a defense mechanism for nerves.
93. Now I just like the feeling of bringing a smile to someone’s face.
94. I really envy people with great laughs.
95. My brother has the best laugh of anyone I know.
96. I think that my own laugh is very garish.

97. I’ve been blogging for almost four years, and I’ve been meaning to do a list like this for nearly as long.
98. Sometimes I get bored reading lists on other people’s blogs.
99. Now that I’ve done my own, I feel bad about that.
100. This was sort of hard, so I hope someone made it to the end!

is it bad that this almost made me cry a little?

2008-07-29T13:25:00.002-05:00

(portion of an interview with Ryan Dempster from Mark DeRosa's MLBlog)

DEROSA: I'm going to set a scene for you: Kerry Wood on the mound, Game 7 of the World Series in Wrigley Field. Ground ball to second, DeRosa throws it to D-Lee, game over, Cubs are World Series champs. What happens?

DEMPSTER: Pandemonium. I'd say the top of the Budweiser building blows off. People storm the field. Huge chunks of ivy are ripped off the walls. Police cars are turned over on Addison, on Waveland, on Sheffield, and you can't walk within a 45-block radius of Wrigley Field because people will be drinking there for seven to 10 days. What a great feeling.

Bring it on, October!

what's in a (nick)name

2008-07-15T11:41:00.001-05:00

I watched a few reruns of The Office this weekend. One of my favorites was the one where Pam and Jim go over to Michael and Jan’s for a dinner party, and it’s super freaky because Michael and Jan keep calling each other “babe” in the most passive-aggressive act of mock-affection I’ve ever seen. On the way home, Pam and Jim pick up the trend, and it’s hilarious.

That got me thinking about stupid pet names that I hate – such as “boo” – which then got me thinking about nicknames. More specifically, those lucky enough to have cool ones. Like my dad. He’s been known as Pex since childhood. Not because he has rippling pectoral muscles or looks like Gregory Peck, but simply because he happens to share a first name with the actor.

I wrote about my friend Chappy once, and I have another friend called Smooth. There’s the kind that are obvious – a family friend who’s known as Dimps because of two very prominent dimples in his cheeks – and the kind that take some explanation, like my college friends Money and Peaches. Some origins will never really be known, such as a family friend named Walter who’s been called Rocky since before I was born. Some of my friends are just lucky enough to have names that lend themselves to cool nicknames, like Bugs, Ligda, and Filthy.

There was one kid, Robbie – who I pretended to hate but very secretly liked – who called me Sherbert (yes, with the second “r”) which his brilliant third-grade mind derived from the pronunciation of my last name. In eighth grade, I got “the Rachel” hair cut, but the hairdresser neglected to mention that with my curly hair, the cut would be less “Rachel-y” and more “vomit-y.” One day in gym as the class was running laps, I heard two girls say my hair made me look like a shaggy dog. They called me Lassie for a few weeks until they moved onto a new target.

I’ve had one cool nickname in my life, and I have a small, German woman to thank for it.

In high school, I was a dietary aide in a hospital near my house, and my best friend Sean started working there senior year. We worked the dinner shift together, spooning out portions of flavorless food, sneaking pudding cups from the walk-in cooler, and racing the rest of the staff to see who could sanitize the fastest. One of our supervisors was a very small, very German lady named Annie. Although most of our coworkers couldn’t stand her, Sean and I liked Annie for many reasons, not least of all being her thick accent. She would stand at the end of the tray assembly line and shout out the items missing from each. “Banana!” “Soup! “Blue milk!” for two-percent.

One particularly memorable day, I had accidentally put juice on the tray of a patient who was on a liquid-restriction diet. Nearly shaking in her small frame, she shouted, “No juice!”… except with her German accent, it came out as – you guessed it – “No Jews!”

In the six years that I worked there, she could never say my name correctly and called me Bocky every single time. On my last day, she was quite a bit more saddened by my departure than I had expected, and she gave me a small gift with a card that said “Good luck, Becky – you’re a good girl.” I never knew if she had thought my name was Bocky all along and just learned she’d been using the wrong vowel the entire time, or if it really was her foreign accent that resulted in the coolest nickname of all time.

Sean relayed the story to everyone at school, and he would continue to call me Bocky for a number of years. When he came to visit me at Saint Joe, my new friends asked him why he called me Bocky, so he gladly retold the tale, resulting in several new passengers hopping aboard the Bocky Train.

Now, my mom calls me Bob. She’s actually called me Bob for years, but I’ve just recently come to appreciate it.

It started sometime in the early 90s, when Michael Jordan made the Chicago Bulls unstoppable. My brother, probably around 6 at this time, my mom, my aunt Jen, and I were at the mall looking for “Bulls Stuff,” as my brother called it, for his bedroom. My aunt and I are very close in age, which gave us a sort of camaraderie when it came to teasing Timmy. We were talking about him, making fun of something, and he started to get frustrated that no one was listening to him. He kept saying my name, trying to get me to listen or just shut up, and he finally got so upset that he squeezed his eyes shut, balled up his fists, and inhaled sharply, intending to shout my name so loud it would echo off the shop windows and kiosks. Instead of yelling “Becky,” though, in his aggravation, it came out “Bobky” with about forty exclamation points following. We laughed, he got angrier, but the name never really went away. My mom – and, for a while, my aunt – has faithfully called me Bob, Bobby, or some variation ever since. Timmy denies that this ever happened or that he had any part whatsoever in the creation of the title.

When I was living in Rensselaer, I used to save voicemails from my mom just so I could hear her cheerfully say “Hi, Bobby!” when I was feeling lonely. When I visited, she could tell my footsteps on the deck before I opened the door, and always shouted “Hey, Bob!” from where ever she was in the house. At one point, my dad even started greeting me as Bob on the phone, but I think only because it cracked me up every time he said it.

Now that I’m back at home and seeing my mom every day, she doesn’t call me anything but Bob. Yesterday, she said “Goodnight, Becky,” and we both sort of stopped in our tracks with puzzled looks on our faces, not quite registering what exactly had happened except that whatever it was, it wasn’t right.

I guess it shouldn’t matter what people call you as long as it’s meaningful. My poppy Chuck called me Rebecca; it will never feel right for anyone else to ever call me that. My dad always calls me Beck, even in emails. My grandma calls me Sweetheart, and that will always be hers. My brother has several choice names he uses when he wants to get my attention, but I'm particularly fond of Dump Face.

It’s all about the love, man.

it's good to be back home.

2008-07-09T11:38:00.000-05:00

Thank you, Kendra, for checking my blog 73 times in the past month and a half and making me realize how much I miss blogging. (And thanks to everyone who left me wonderful comments about coming back... and to Phil who was a total jerk about it every day.) I let this page take a backseat to the new things in my life, and for a while, it somehow felt less important now that I'm no longer living alone and starving for human interaction. But since I've been away, I have a bunch of things to write about... so maybe a break was good. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Previously, on Becky's Blog: You may remember that I recently quit my job at my alma mater located in the middle of a cornfield town in north-central Indiana and upgraded to a fancier position at Big Time University in Chicago. Recall also that I moved out of my lovely one-bedroom apartment in said sleepy cornfield town and opted to stay with my parents for an undisclosed period of time. All my beautiful things were put into storage, and I crammed myself back into the room I grew up in, a bigger bed, nicer wardrobe, and more tangible dreams keeping me company this time.

Now I wear sneakers to work and slip them off under my desk. I bring a lunch filled with healthy and fulfilling foods. And although I've traded in my semi-private office for a very-public cubicle, having my work (not to mention browser windows) on display to the entire office has helped keep me on track and accomplish more throughout the day. Thanks to books-on-tape(CD), I look forward to my two-hour commute. With the exception of yesterday, I haven't eaten fast food in almost a month. And even though I broke my ban on the stuff, I did so with a turkey sandwich on wheat from Jimmy Johns.

Five Good Things About My New Life

Actually enjoying getting up at 5 a.m. (sometimes 5:30 if I hit snooze overload) and getting things accomplished in the morning
Being in a more professional work environment (although I sure do miss wearing flip-flops to work!)
Having "roommates" again
No longer having to bring work home with me (neither physically nor mentally)
Having my weekends completely footloose and fancy-free

Five Things I Miss About My Old Life

Not having to put seventy miles on my poor car every day, five days a week
Having people around whom I consider friends rather than simply coworkers (with the exception of Steve, of course... but I only very loosely consider him a friend.)
The summer smell of the popcorn factory when the breeze hits just right in Rensselaer
Having friendships and personal connections to alumni
Busy Bee Ice Cream being right across the street (although that could arguably fit on the other list, as well).

Here are some other things you might like to know.

I work on the 17^th floor of an awesome building with a beautiful view of the skyline and the sun rising on the lake. Of course, this puts me right in the heart of White Sox country, but I represent my team every chance I get. I’m proud to be one of four Cubs fans in an office of fifty employees.

I’m almost slightly worried about just how much I’m enjoying living with my parents. My mom and dad are probably the best around – they’re funny, laid back, and just downright cool – so I wasn’t expecting much of an issue there… but I’m surprised at how little we’ve gotten on each other’s nerves so far. (And I’m probably jinxing it just by mentioning the fact.) I moved in on May 12, and in that time, I can count on one hand – with a few fingers to spare – how many spats we’ve had, and even then, it’s always been over something tiny. My brother is home from school for the summer, and having the four of us back in the house is like old times. Better than old times because now we can all legally drink beer.

I’ve decided to allow myself to go out with Young Gun should the opportunity arise. (Thanks to Brandy, my colloquial nickname guru extraordinaire for dubbing my wee little friend.) I really appreciate everyone’s thoughtful comments, and I took them all to heart when considering this matter. And even though dating sucks even under the best circumstances – with someone your own age, comparable height, similar viewpoints, great musical tastes – the fact is, even though I’m hesitant to complicate an already painful situation… it’s summertime, and I want to have a fling, dammit! That being said, I don’t have high hopes for anything coming of all this talk, but it’s good to know that I have permission to move forward just in case.

For the first time in a long time, I’m excited about summer. I’ve done some awesome things so far (Local H concert, art and photography exhibits, Jersey Boys), and I have some even more awesome plans coming up, including visiting the most beautiful baby girl in the world (Hi, Isabelle!), an all-inclusive weekend extravaganza of fun and travel with Brandy (hereby referred to as “Becky in the John Weekend” for reasons I won’t explain except to say that it has NOTHING to do with a bathroom, get your minds out of the gutter), my first and probably only Cubs game of the season (when the team gets good, the tickets get expensive), Counting Crows/Maroon 5/Sara Bareilles concert, JIM GAFFIGAN show, and many more.

I didn’t post a single blog in the entire month of June (my bad…), but I did manage to change my masthead. The one I made for June just happened to be my favorite, and because I didn’t visit my blog at all, I never got to look at it. So I’m going to post it here again, to live on in the archives forever:

(And just because National Dairy Month is over doesn’t mean you should slack on your milk, kids. Or your cheese, for that matter.)

i MISS you guys!!

2008-05-30T06:12:00.003-05:00

Hey! Remember me? Man, do I miss blogging. My new job is great, but I don't have any free time during the day like I used to at Saint Joe. I guess I can admit that I used to blog from my office all the time, now that I don't work there anymore :) Anyway, I've got a big weekend of bubble wrap, cardboard boxes, and UHauls ahead of me - guess what I'm doing?! - but I promise that as soon as that's all behind me, I'll get back to regular posting.

Here are some things to look forward to should you choose to keep the faith:

- The rocking-ness of the Local H concert last weekend.
- My lukewarm feelings and subsequent confusion at said feelings about the new Sex and the City movie.
- Musings about moving back home with my parents in my mid-twenties.
- Sitting in an hour and a half of traffic every morning to get to work versus my former three-minute commute to Saint Joe.
- And, of course, the awesome-ness of my new job.

Hey, real quick - what do you guys consider an acceptable and appropriate age difference between a couple? For example... I'm 25. How much older/younger is my date allowed to be?

and tomorrow say goodbye

2008-05-08T09:32:00.001-05:00

Today is my last full day working for Saint Joseph's College. It's been a strange couple of weeks. It just sort of feels like everything happened so quickly, from the time I had my first phone interview with Big Time University to the day I faced my biggest fear and gave verbal notice of my resignation to my boss.

It's hard not to feel like I'm just going on vacation for a few days. This last week in the office has been filled with the creation of address books, contact sheets, and instruction manuals for whoever fills my seat. A couple times, I've had to correct myself from thinking, "Oh, I can do that next week - no big deal." Next week I will not work here anymore. I'll have two less keys on my ring and one less parking pass dangling from my rearview mirror.

I keep having to remind myself that I'm only leaving a job - not the people I've met or places I've discovered along the way. I guess it's been particularly difficult for me because Saint Joe was never just my place of employment. It's also my alma mater, but it's even more than that. It's the place where I literally discovered myself - the place where I learned about who I was, wanted to be, and am. The place where I learned the rules and the steps necessary to become the kind of person I've always wanted to be.

It's always been the home to the memories I have of the incredible people I met who accepted me as a shy, clueless freshman and embraced me as a young woman with newfound hopes and dreams and goals. Staying on as an employee after ending my work as a student felt like an extension of those memories. Every day, I pass by the apartment where I lived with three of the most remarkable women God has ever created. I eat lunch in the tree-lined Grotto where I prayed, contemplated, and relaxed countless times over four years of personal and professional stress and heartache. I walk the sidewalks of a campus where I learned the means of becoming a respectable and intelligent person.

It's been easy to remember these things because I never left. In many ways, I still feel like a student. It's been difficult, over the last three years, to remind myself that I'm no longer a student. I wonder how long I'll be reminding myself that I'm no longer an employee.

Now I'm just an alumna. I'm a face in a crowd of 10,000 alumni, all returning to their alma mater for sporting events, reunions, and award ceremonies. And I'm looking forward to living my life as a full-time Saint Joe alum, where as I've had to put that status on hold as an employee. I'm excited to come back and enjoy Homecoming with my friends instead of running myself ragged staffing all the different events of the weekend. It'll be fun to come back and see a play or football game without having to worry about taking pictures for the PR photo archive. I can hardly wait to come back in the fall and see the leaves change instead of having to miss it because I work too many hours.

I guess it's the time of the season for these bittersweet emotions, though. I worked at my last SJC Commencement last weekend, and in seven years, I've never heard such lovely and heartfelt speeches. I left the Fieldhouse that day feeling inspired, grateful, and, above all, lucky. I spent the day feeling proud of the fact that I ever had something to do with the Saint Joe community. And while I was surrounded by a couple hundred tearful graduates hugging and celebrating, I was quietly saying goodbye to the sights and sounds that I've grown to consider my own over the years, taking one last, long drink of my campus and savoring the flavor.

I'm excited for a change - really, I am. I couldn't be happier that everything worked out with Big Time University, and I'm looking forward to finding other ways that I can serve my alma mater outside of employment.

It's just the transition that's taking a little out of me. The breaking of routines and the forming of new ones. The changes.

week eight: current coworkers (for two more days)*

2008-05-07T16:30:00.002-05:00

50/365. Katherine (S.) P. (2005-present)
You were the very best intern I ever could have asked for, and I probably would have quit my job if not for you.

51/365. Angela (K.) D. (2007-present)
I sang at your wedding before I knew you; now you greet me by first and last name. Enjoy your new desk toy!

52/365. Kendra (I.) (2003-present)
I think you're adorable in every way, and I've really loved getting to know you through your hilarious personality. I'll miss singing with you!

53/365. Leslie (H.) (2005-present)
I used to be afraid of you. But I'm glad we got to be friends, and I'm sorry I won't sell you my stuff :)

54/365. Beth G. (2005-present)
I still can't believe we never met as students. After everything you've gone through, I admire your strength more than I can ever express.

55/365. Maureen E. (2003-present)
You may not believe me: I'm so grateful for all your leadership, guidance, and (especially) friendship. Thank you for all you've done for me.

56/365. Melanie C. (2005-present)
When I was an intern, you were the only one from "next door" who always smiled at me. Thanks for making me feel welcome.

*25x365 is posted every Tuesday... except during the month of April since I was too busy, and except for today since it is Wednesday.

just one more reason why i'm the biggest idiot to walk the face of the earth:

2008-05-07T08:40:00.002-05:00

I didn't vote yesterday because I realized that I'm not currently registered to vote. Anywhere.

I didn't get to vote in 2000 because I wasn't old enough - I turned 18 a mere days after the polls closed. I did register to vote (in Lake County) immediately after that, though, and submitted my choices via absentee ballot while away at college in 2004. Although I've been living in Jasper County for the last three years, I never renewed my license until January of this year, when I turned 25. (Actually, I turned 25 in November and didn't realize that I was running around with an expired license until one random day in January.) I distinctly remember the woman at the DMV asking if I'd like to register to vote in Jasper County, and I said, "No, I'm already registered in Lake County, thanks."

My flawed logic didn't become apparent in my air-filled head until yesterday at 4:25 p.m. - an hour and 35 minutes before the polls closed.

I was on the phone with a friend, asking where our Jasper County voting site was, when I remembered that I never registered here. No big deal - I could leave for Lake County (where I used to live) right after work, easily cast my vote before 6:00, and treat my political awareness to some Chipotle for dinner. So I hung up and called my mom to see where she voted. During our chat, she reminded me that I'd need my license. "Mom, I wouldn't be driving all the way up there without my license....." I said, ever the smartass. Then we started talking about what we should barbeque for Mother's Day this weekend. Right in the middle of saying that I'd love to have some grilled broccoli, I blurted out: "Oh my God! I renewed my license!"

My mom thought I was bonkers, so I explained the situation to her. Her response? "Oh well - you were going to vote for Obama, anyway. Good!" And then she laughed. My mom, obviously, is a Clinton supporter.

I spent the better part of my evening convincing myself that Obama would win in a landslide, and my one measley vote would have just been icing on his cake. Watching CNN last night, I had to work overtime to make myself believe that the "Indiana Too Close to Call" headlines would read "Obama Sweeps Indiana" by the time my alarm went off in the morning. Even though I had been so excited for weeks that my vote in Indiana would actually mean something this year, I began secretly praying that my individual vote wouldn't mean anything. I didn't want Clinton to win by one or two votes. I didn't want to be left knowing that if I hadn't been such a moron, I really could have made a difference.

Well, forget that! She won my state by 2%.

Looking at the results this morning, I guess I wouldn't have made much of a difference at all. Obama won in Lake County with 56%, and Clinton won in Jasper County with 65%. No matter where I was registered, I'd have just been a number. But I'm still not comforted.

I hate that I missed being a part of something monumental for Indiana because of a stupid oversight on my part. I've never been terribly political - and, admittedly, I do think that Clinton will excel in the Presidency should she get elected - but I was really hoping to physically pull that lever and declare, even if just to myself, my belief in Obama. I rarely take a firm stand on current issues, and it started to feel good to know that before the end of the day, I would change that about myself. I'm just disappointed in myself, I guess.

spotted on my way to lunch

2008-05-05T12:25:00.002-05:00

A bumper sticker that read:

I Played D&D Before It Was Cool

.......?

Is D&D cool now? Did I miss that boat? Do I need to stop tormenting my ex-D&D-fanatic friends? I really wish I would have been notified so I could vote in the Dungeons and Dragons Council of 2008. Recount.

she thinks my horse-and-buggy's sexy.

2008-05-04T21:26:00.002-05:00

On creating a Web site basically from scratch for the G***** family:

(21:20:12) Phil: once again, compared to what they gave me, i think i should get to have my way with my choice of the G***** family women.
(21:20:21) Me: LOL
(21:20:27) Me: ......are they amish?
(21:20:30) Phil: hahahahaha
(21:20:40) Phil: i don't think so. they just really did the furniture.
(21:20:47) Me: ok. whew!
(21:20:58) Me: it'd be so weird to do it with someone who called you "brother phillip"
(21:21:04) Phil: i'd do a hot amish girl though. maybe i'll buy robyn an amish costume
(21:21:06) Phil: hahahahaha
(21:21:11) Phil: yeah, she couldn't speak
(21:21:16) Me: LOL
(21:21:20) Me: an amish costume. a bonnet?
(21:21:24) Me: and an apron.
(21:21:30) Phil: yeah, and a long dress.
(21:21:32) Phil: and clogs
(21:21:39) Phil: hahahaha
(21:21:44) Phil: SPANKETH ME
(21:21:45) Me: lol! you definitely got me with the clogs.
(21:21:49) Me: lolllllllllll
(21:21:54) Phil: oh wow
(21:21:58) Me: oh MAN that's fucking hilarious.
(21:22:28) Phil: if you put this on your blog, you have to include the robyn part. just so i get to keep my kneecaps.
(21:22:38) Me: lol
(21:22:42) Me: deal.

what is wrong with me??

2008-05-04T12:20:00.001-05:00

Have you guys ever seen the show "Verminators" on the Discovery Channel? I came across it during a channel surfing marathon after church today. I haven't even been watching for an hour yet, and I've already thrown up in my mouth like seven times. This show gives me the creeps - it makes me feel dirty. And not the good kind of dirty that I sometimes (okay, always) feel while watching Jack Bauer save the world without the blink of an eye in "24." The anxious kind of dirty that makes you itchy and afraid to sit on any of the furniture or eat any food from the kitchen.

I'm a clean person. I get a lot of satisfaction from a clean apartment, nicely folded clothes, and a shiny kitchen. But this show is seriously creeping me out. Some of the people they show seem a lot like me: mostly normal and clean, but not obsessively so. But these people's houses managed to somehow become infested with roaches, rodents, and the horror of all horrors: bedbugs. The idea that bedbugs exist in the world makes me want to crawl in a hole and rock back and forth in the fetal position until I die. And then the rats that are evidently EVERYWHERE ACCORDING TO THIS SHOW can have a feast. On me.

(OH MY GOD THE GUY JUST PICKED UP A COCKROACH WITH HIS HAND. AND HE HELD IT. IN HIS HAND.)

I had a mouse once. It freaked me out beyond all belief and spurned a cleaning frenzy the likes of which I never knew I was capable. It took a lot of convincing and investigation (mixed with a little bit of my more country-oriented friends talking me down from the proverbial ledge) to realize that the little guy wasn't there because I was dirty - BECAUSE I'M NOT - but had in all likelihood come across my warm little abode when my next door neighbors dug up their backyard and built a huge-ass shed. They probably tilled through his home, and he had nowhere to go except under my sink.

Nonetheless. Thinking about now - two and a half years after the fact - nearly makes me suicidal all over again.

(OH MY GOD THERE ARE ROACHES IN THE BABY'S CRIB. THEY'RE ALL OVER HIS BLANKETS. AND THE GUY JUST SAID THAT ROACHES CRAWL IN PEOPLE'S EARS.)

Why not just change the channel, you ask? Well, it's sort of like a "Gaper's Delay" on the highway. Morbid curiosity, I guess. I'm disgusted, and I feel like I need to take one hundred showers... but I'm not scrambling for the remote.

In conclusion, if you are at all squeamish, you should probably not put on the Discovery Channel for the rest of the day. Between this and the Dirty Jobs marathon that's coming on next, my day (and gag reflex) is in trouble.

d-day

2008-05-02T14:54:00.001-05:00

I have one week left at Saint Joe.

I've been holding off to tell you guys the story about my new job - mostly because I can't seem to come up with an appropriate post about it (other than that one angry one which wasn't at all appropriate). I guess I'll just jump in.

I've been actively looking for a new job since last November-ish. I was focusing on South Bend, Indiana, because I wanted to be closer to my best friend and her beautiful baby girl (more on that later), but I was having no luck. Apparently South Bend has no need for writers. So I switched to the Chicago market and instantly had a lot of success. I had a bunch of phone interviews (none of which I made it through very well, as I am a complete mess on the phone) and several in-person interviews at a lot of really cool places. Then my former coworker, officemate extrodinaire, and friend Steve mentioned an opening at his current employer - Big Time University - and the rest is history.

On May 13, I'll be the new Project Manager of Development and Alumni Communications. Fancy, huh? It's similar to the work that I'm doing for Saint Joe, but the differences are in all the right places. I'm really excited to begin working for a new institution, and, although I'm really scared to leave my comfort zone, I really think the change will do me a lot of good. (I'm now maxed out on my daily quota for the use of the word "really.")

Almost more so than starting a new job in a new place with new people, I'm so excited about the biggest perk of all: Big Time University is paying for me to go to graduate school for free. Free! Ever since leaving DePaul a few years ago (I was going to link to the post about leaving, but I discovered I never wrote one...), I've been really anxious to get back into a program I actually liked - one that would be beneficial for what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I made the mistake of enrolling in a program that felt safe to me: I had already earned one writing degree, why not get another? This time, I'm going to be taking classes that challenge me and expose me to new ideas and concepts - not classes that comfort me and pat me on the back for doing something well that I already knew I did well. Come August, I'll be enrolled in my first class toward my Master of Science in Technical Communication and Information Design at Illinois Institute of Technology. I'm already starting to have dreams about buying books, new folders, and fancy pens. (Nerd alert! Nerd alert!)

There's just one thing. It's the part I mentioned not having my rap down for: living quarters. I'm just going to come out and say it. I'll be moving back in with my parents in the Region (northwest Indiana). I'm hoping it won't be that bad: they're only about 40 minutes from Big Time University, I'll save a bunch of money, and - truth be told - my parents are awesome. Honestly, I'm actually looking forward to the company and seeing my mom and dad more often.

The thing I'm worried about is the judgment I'm sure to receive from others. You know who I mean - the person (usually someone from high school who you didn't actually like but now feel compelled to make small talk with when you bump into her in Walgreens) whose eyes cloud over and mouth longs to shout "LOSER!!!" when you mention where you're living these days. I know, I know - it doesn't matter what they say as long as I'm happy with my choice - you don't have to tell me that. I know that. But still... I'd be lying if I said the thought wasn't weighing heavily on my mind. I guess a part of me feels a little bit like that LOSER I know they're going to brand me as - like even the fact that I love and respect my parents enough to want to move back home is enough to make me a freak.

But in every aspect, the positive is definitely winning. It's a wonderful feeling to have something new and exciting to look forward to... especially since I sort of feel like I haven't done anything new for seven years since I came to Saint Joe as a freshman.

It's been killing me all these months not to blog about it, but as I mentioned, I wasn't planning on telling my boss. I figured putting the information on my little Web site (which some of my coworkers currently read) was not the best possible way to keep a secret. I wrote a thousand posts in my head, though, about my discouragement, my doubt, and, finally, my elation, and I imagined sharing the news with the few very good friends I've made through the blogosphere. So I was definitely thinking of you guys.

Thanks for all the well wishes in my previous post!

"in the end, it's not the years in your life that count. it's the life in your years."

2008-04-29T10:30:00.001-05:00

Today is my brother's 21st birthday.

Happy birthday, Timmy!!!

And also thank you for reaching a personal milestone that makes me feel older than dirt.

Today I'm remembering when we used to fight and rip out each other's throats at the drop of a hat. I'm remembering the game we were playing in the basement before Mom and Dad had it finished - the one that resulted in me accidentally dislocating your shoulder. (I know my adamance of the accident actually being accidental has become a bit of a family joke, but I swear it was.) But mostly I'm remembering sitting next to you in the car, stroking your arm, and the deafening, stratospheric octave your voice reached when you screamed all the way to the ER at Saint Margaret's.

That wasn't the first (or last) time you'd give Mom gray hairs with injuries and hospital visits. You were barely a year old, and I remember visiting you in the hospital. Mom sat by your crib and cried because back then, they had tall bars and a "ceiling," like a cage or jail cell, and she couldn't hold you and make it all better. I sat on Dad's lap and we read books to you. As a family, we watched Saturday morning cartoons during your stay, and Dad used to sing us the theme song from Chilly Willy and you'd giggle. I remember the sound of steady the beep of the machines you were hooked up to.

I remember driving us to school one morning in my little red Grand Am and the way the impact felt when the car hit us as we were turning left onto 231. The early-summer sun felt good as we stood outside and assessed the damages, you patting my back as I cried and tirelessly attempting to convince me that Dad wouldn't kill me for this. The first hint of a future filled with mutual respect and admiration became clear to me that evening when I frantically bawled to Dad, "He had his right turn signal on! That's the only reason I turned left onto the road!" and you agreed with me, telling Dad that you saw the signal, too. I have no idea if you actually saw it, but the fact that you stood tall by my side (at a time when you were still shorter than me!) warmed my heart and changed the way I felt about you.

That winter when I was driving us to school south on a snowy 41 and I hit a patch of ice, I remember thinking the entire time the car was spinning 360 degrees, please don't let my brother get hurt. And I also remember that when we stopped spinning and landed unhurt in the ditch in front of Cassie Spiechert's house, the first words out of your mouth after what felt like an eternity of panicked silence were "Are you okay, Beck?" Earlier that year, when Dad and I came home from putting Snowball to sleep, you came into my room when you knew I'd be crying all alone, and you sat next to me on my bed. You didn't say anything, and we just sat there, side by side, your shoulder supporting mine, and we looked at his red collar sitting across from us on my dresser.

You were only in eighth grade then, and still your selfless, emotional nature prevailed when it mattered. That's what I remember most about growing up with you, Tim. We fought a lot... maybe a lot more than other brothers and sisters... but when we both started growing up a bit, you very quickly became someone I knew I'd always look up to and admire, despite our five-year age difference. We've evolved into something I'm very proud to be a part of, something that means more to me than I'll probably ever be able to tell you. And you're becoming a better man - a more honest, compassionate, and caring man - than I ever dared to hope you'd be.

For most people, reaching age 21 is the peak. You'll probably hear tons of people tell you "everything's downhill after 21" - in fact, Mom has probably already told you that twelve times, each time seamlessly seguing (in the way that only she can do) into the "don't do 21 shots on your birthday or else you'll DIE" lecture that I know you're so fond of hearing. And she's right. A lot of people do think that everything's downhill after 21, and you shouldn't do 21 shots on your birthday. But I think that for you, your peak will be a ways further down the road. You have too much going for you - too much character, intelligence, and spirit - to let the age of 21 be your high point. But 21 shots still probably is not the best idea (even though we do come from a long line of partiers who could probably handle that feat in their sleep - piece of cake).

The one thing I wish for you on your 21st birthday is the ability to give yourself credit for the things you've done in your young life. You've overcome a lot of setbacks, from your health at an early age, and from people you've encountered as you've gotten older. You've achieved more than I have at 25 and more than Mom and Dad had at your age. You're a brilliant man, a caring soul, and the funniest person I'll ever meet in my entire life. And you were able to do this ages before your 21st birthday:
Love,
Your big sister

hey you guys -

2008-04-24T12:17:00.000-05:00

I'm still here. Please don't go away. Things are kinda hectic right now, and there are a few things I still need to get through before resuming regular posting... but it'll be comin' atcha before you know it.

Please still be my friends!

(Sadly, this is not the first time in my life I've had to beg people to still associate themselves with me.)

time of the season

2008-04-21T10:08:00.004-05:00

Well, it's official:

I just submitted my letter of resignation to my boss.

In exactly three weeks, I will no longer be employed at my alma mater.

In exactly three weeks and one day, I'll begin my new position at Big Time University in Chicago.

I haven't quite figured out my rap on the whole subject yet, but when I get it down, I'll fill you guys in.

double standards

2008-04-20T19:08:00.003-05:00

Do you ever wonder why it's okay for fans to wear team jerseys to sporting events but not artist t-shirts to concerts? You'll get crucified for wearing a Pearl Jam shirt to a Pearl Jam show, but you'll get crucified for not wearing red and blue to a Cubs game.

Damned if you do, damned if you don't, I guess.

there's more than corn in indiana - edited to include EARTHQUAKES

2008-04-18T10:45:00.000-05:00

I've decided to break my intended temporary hiatus because holy smokes, there was an earthquake here last night. I grew up with an incessant fear of tornadoes, hail the size of softballs, and tempermental river banks, but never once in my entire 25 years of life have I ever thought I'd experience an earthquake in the mostly-quiet midwest region of Indiana.

I believe it's a direct correlation to Johnny Depp's recent visit - first come the stars from the west, then come the weather phenomenon from the west. Next we'll have a mudslide off the one hill in the entire city.

I have a weird internal clock or brain misfunction that wakes me up at 3:30 every morning - even if I'm passed out cold. Every morning I wake up, roll over, and look at the alarm clock. When I see a time in the hour of 3 a.m., I instantly think of the part in "The Exorcism of Emily Rose" when they're talking about 3 a.m. being "the witching hour" or whatever. Scares the hell out of me even just thinking about it now.

Anyway, I woke up last night at 3:30 on the dot, as usual, went back to sleep, and woke up again at 4:30 when my bedroom windows were rattling so hard I thought they would shatter. I groggily thought, "Man, it must really be storming out there!" Then I closed my eyes, intending to go back to sleep, when I realized my bed was shaking back and forth, almost like someone was sitting on it and bouncing up and down. I shot up in bed, saw nothing, and assumed it was a ghost. I fell back asleep a minute later, apparently not too concerned with the ghost in my room.
I woke up for work two hours later, took a shower, turned on the news, and heard the reports of people saying their beds were shaking and I thought "HEY THAT HAPPENED TO ME!" and then I realized I wasn't crazy.

But what *is* crazy is that while typing this post, at exactly 10:16, we felt an aftershock. My officemate and I had been joking about it all morning, and then our desks were moving and our lights were swaying. We have a rock quarry about a mile away, and they blast once a week or so - the dynamite is loud and the tremors shake our buildings. We're used to that. This wasn't anything like that. This aftershock - I think that's what it was, anyway - lasted maybe 7 or 8 seconds and literally rocked us. It didn't just shake like the blasting at the quarry, it actually rocked us back and forth. It was a very strange feeling... actually pretty creepy when you think about it.

At least it's fun to have an interesting story to tell that doesn't involve corn. That's rare when you're living in the boondocks.

hiatus

2008-04-17T11:38:00.002-05:00

Just a short break - I'll explain later.

advice from a friend and also fridge friday: 4.11

2008-04-11T12:09:00.002-05:00

First, Fridge Friday.

(Please disregard those disgusting rust-like markings on the back wall... they won't come off, no matter how hard I scrub.)

I made turkey tacos earlier this week (they were suburb, thanks for asking!), and when I stopped at our lil' grocery store for seasoning, salsa, and chips, I decided that since I would be using ground turkey instead of beef, it would be all right to have some sour cream. See how I rationalize these things? Anyway, I fully intended to get the fat free kind, but that idea went right out the window when I saw that THEY MAKE SOUR CREAM IN A SQUEEZY BOTTLE NOW. Thank you, Dutch Farms, for making all my fattening taco dreams come true. Maybe someday you can see about cramming the fat free version in a squeezy bottle?

By the way, just to the left of this shot? All that wimpy alcohol I wrote about last week. Minus the rest of the chardonnay because I'm a lush and I drank it all. You can see that I wasn't lying about the diet pop for "mixing." Thank goodness for self-deprecatory humor.

OK! On to the friendly advice from a friendly friend! A little background: we were talking about how the town in which I currently live isn't the best place in the world for a young and single person to be looking for the man of her dreams.

Phil: i know you spend a lot of time at your brother's and up north though. so you have a fighting chance. but just don't go trolling the bars in [TOWN].
Me: lol i definitely won't, nor have i ever. thank you for the advice :-)
Phil: hahahaha
Me: although some of those guys at gus' really have the moves.
Phil: any time!
Phil: yeah but they don't have THE TEETH
Me: lolllllllll

Gus' is the hickest hick bar in all the world, and it's true - many patrons who frequent its "dance floor" are missing quite a few teeth. But I guess dem's da breaks when you live in the sticks.

momentarily content in my mediocrity - so what??

2008-04-10T20:58:00.002-05:00

I know it's slightly pathetic and more than a little bit sad... but I feel like a more complete person knowing that new episodes of The Office and Scrubs are back.

FINALLY.

And for the record? That Space Invaders thing on Scrubs tonight made me laugh harder than I have in like a year. Tears. Tons of them.

week seven: mistakes*

2008-04-08T12:28:00.002-05:00

43/365. Leo H. (2002)
Met at a party, said you liked my hair. Went outside to your truck and played guitar. Years later, I'm glad I was smart.

44/365. Eric Mc. (1998-2003)
Said you loved me in my scrubs - we were on-and-off for years. I came home for break, found out you'd been engaged all along.

45/365. Tommy R. (2006-2007)
Most beautiful man I've ever been with. We had fun, but you weren't very good for me. Then you played me for Angelina Jolie.

46/365. Lawrence U. (2005)
One misguided date, months of emailing out of obligation. We weren't right - not even as friends. Should have stopped it when we were civil.

47/365. David G. (2002)
She thought we'd work because we're both singers, but she couldn't have been more wrong. Wish I never gave you the time of day.

48/365. Marc M. (2006)
We fell fast, heavy - I secretly believe we were perfect together. Still don't know what made you quit me, but you shattered my heart.

49/365. Dante D. (2003)
Random hookup at a party - you were my biggest regret for a long time. Had to ask your roommate your name the next day.

*25x365 is posted every Tuesday.

??????????

2008-04-07T16:06:00.003-05:00

Anyone want to tell me why my blog traffic suddenly exploded since Friday? Are there seriously that many people that want to tease me about my girly wine consumption? Even people in Kuwait and Norway think I'm lame?

(More to come about my super awesome weekend - busy day today!)

fridge friday: 4.4

2008-04-04T15:25:00.000-05:00

I like alcohol.

I like whiskey, spiced rum, and vodka. Love vodka. I drink all kinds of beer. Some of my favorites are Guinness, Blue Moon, and Sam Adams. I've also been known to enjoy Bud Light, Rolling Rock, and Coors Light. In the summer, you can spot me by my bright green coozy that I've had since my freshman year of college. In the winter, I love to relax with some Southern Comfort and cider. At any old time, I'll mix vodka with anything. I can drink Jager like kool-aid.

So why, then, is this the current alcoholic component of my fridge?

Really, Becky? Are you that pathetic that you're actually buying wine coolers? Well... in short... yes. And, putting shame aside for just a moment, I'll be honest and tell you that they're not even that old - maybe less than two months. As for the Wild Vines... well... since we've already put shame aside, I feel compelled to tell you that juuuuust out of frame in this picture is a two-liter of Diet 7Up. Used for making...... spritzers. Yes, I said it. And diet spritzers, at that. The half-empty Robert Mondavi chard is the only thing redeeming me in this situation... and I'm not even sure it's working as a full-out redemption. Maybe partial, at best.

Whatever you do... please don't tell my family. We're Irish German. I'm honestly afraid of what they'd do to me if they saw such weak products taking up space in my fridge.

just whistling aloud to bear the courage up

2008-04-03T23:12:00.000-05:00

There's an older gentleman who walks through my building every day around lunchtime. I have no idea who he is - I've asked my officemate, and he's said he knows the man... maybe J's even told me his name and I've since forgotten it... but he's here every day without fail. I always know when he's coming because from the moment he steps out of his car, he whistles.

I've always had a special affinity for men who whistle. A beautiful whistle stops me in my tracks more than a warm smile, chisled jaw, or broad shoulder.

Lately, I've taken more of an interest in this man. When I hear him start whistling, I stop what I'm doing and watch him whistle his way through the parking lot. If he comes to my floor, I make up a reason to leave my office so I can pass him in the hallway. When he leaves the building, I watch him through the window until his car disappears around the corner.

I keep trying to work up the courage to talk to him. I've smiled at him and said hello, of course, but never started an actual conversation. I can't pinpoint why I'm so nervous about it - that's not really like me. I could always take the college spokesperson route and have a conversation about the institution. But I guess I want more than that. I want to tell him that hearing his whistling has become the highpoint of my day... that nothing makes me smile more than his melodies. I want him to know that every day he makes me think of my grandpa and just how grateful I am for the daily reminder.

Today he whistled "Amazing Grace," and it nearly brought tears to my eyes. I wonder sometimes about how many people in the building take notice of him - if they enjoy his whistling or if it gets on their nerves. Most of the time, though, I like to think that the songs are especially for me - that it's one of those curiously strong bonds that you sometimes form with complete strangers you see every day. It cheers me up a little to think that maybe I'm the only one who gets to enjoy the songs he brings with him.

hey, real quick -

2008-04-01T20:56:00.000-05:00

For some reason, I feel compelled to share an embarrassing personal fact with all of you right now, at 9:00 on a random Tuesday night.

Whenever I have to do something I don't want to do, I make a new iTunes playlist and pretend that I'm in a movie, completing all these unfortunate tasks to an inspirational music montage.

I've been avoiding looking at a sink full of dirty dishes since I got home over three hours ago. I didn't even make dinner for fear of dirtying another plate or - gasp! - catching a glimpse of the overflowing sink while perched over the stove. So now, with my tummy grumbling about the wimpy handful of carrots and almonds I ate while watching the end of 90210, here I am on iTunes, dragging Wilco's "Walken" into a new playlist entitled "Dirty Dishes Done Dirt Cheap."

Sometimes I guess you just gotta do what it takes to get it done... and not worry that you might possibly perhaps somehow be on the Truman Show.

week six: loves of my life*

2008-04-01T11:05:00.000-05:00

36/365. Michelle (W.) H. (2003-present)
We had an inexplicable bond that often surprised me. I admired your free spirit, and I think you rubbed off on me... just enough.

37/365. Jen (Z.) W. (2001-present)
You taught me about so many pretty indulgences and redefined how to have fun. You called me Beckles - I giggled. My creative pace setter.

38/365. Annie D. (2001-present)
Without a doubt - my lifelong muse. Inspiration. You helped me grow in a way I still don't understand. I think we needed each other.

39/365. Bridget N. (2001-present)
My most beautiful friend in so many ways. You changed my life everyday - helped me grow to love myself. You're necessary to my existence.

40/365. Kelli (K.) R. (2001-present)
I feel like you really believe in me. Effortless. You make me feel like a better person than I think I could ever be.

41/365. Brandy H. (2002-present)
My soul-mate if I were ever to say I had one. We've been tested several times - I think we're like phoenixes. We'll always rise.

42/365. Phil S. (2002-present)
Pearl Jam brought us together - never could have guessed you'd become such an influence in my life. I know you'll always be my favorite.

*25x365 is posted every Tuesday.

bejeweled and bedazzled

2008-03-31T11:03:00.000-05:00

I sang at the wedding of an old college roommate this weekend, and I was very surprised when she handed me a beautiful gift bag at the rehearsal dinner. I was more surprised when I looked inside and saw this:

(my crude re-tying of original immaculate package)

I've never been a person who's needed or even really wanted expensive, sparkly things. I'm not a big jewelry buff - I sometimes wear earrings, and that's about it. But when I first looked down and saw that lovely blue box, my heart started racing. Then, coming to my senses, I thought, "Oh - Jen must have wrapped it up to make it look like it was from Tiffany's." I know Jen better than that, though.

Yes, my friends - I am now the very grateful owner of a real, live pair of Tiffany earrings. I tried putting them in my jewelry box next to the rest of my earrings - admittedly, most of which come from Claire's - but it just didn't feel right. They looked awkward in a sea of cheap plastic hoops and gold-covered posts. You know where they don't look awkward, though?

(that's not hair growing out of my ear, I promise)

That's right. I've been wearing them since Saturday afternoon, and I might just wear them for the rest of my life. The posts are a little short, and they sort of squeeze my ears a bit, but that won't stop me from hoping to be buried in them. Every day, women sacrifice comfort for style, and I'm proud to say that I've now joined the ranks of millions of uncomfortable but fashionable women.

Jen, if you're reading this - I think it's safe for you to throw out the receipt.

week five: high school teachers*

2008-03-27T15:03:00.003-05:00

29/365. Mr. John G. (1994-2001)
You taught me so much more than how to play clarinet. I felt like I could identify with you... I still feel like that.

30/365. Mrs. Sandra K. (1995-2001)
You know I always loved you the best. My mom says you still ask about me... you're what every teacher should aspire to be.

31/365. Mr. Richard D. (1994-1997)
You had a song for everything. I made fun of you for it then, but I remember just about everything you ever taught me.

32/365. Ms. Sandra B. (1996-1997)
Fun, innovative, unique - the first person to say I should become a writer. I hope I can credit you in a novel one day.

33/365. Miss Linda B. (1997-2001)
You said I wasn't good enough to major in music, and I always resented you for that. But now I think you were right.

34/365. Mr. Brett W. (2000-2001)
You were fresh out of college and my favorite teacher. You made everything into something we could relate to and often quoted Star Wars.

35/365. Mr. Robert K. (1997-2001)
You had African clawed frogs in your tanks and said you were a virgin till you were 40. I learned a lot that year.

*25x365 is posted every Tuesday... except for this week, since it's Thursday.

national hug a redhead day...

2008-03-27T14:25:00.000-05:00

...was last Friday.

(According to Facebook, anyway, which I'm just starting to get into and which I now totally love because it scored me free hugs.)

I'm just now getting back on track with my posting after having taken several vacation days this month and a long Easter weekend... so this is what you're left with, dear friends. Two weeks worth of belated Fridge Fridays, my fifth 25x365, and a week-old picture of my daddy and I doin' our thang as redheads of the world.

We are pretty damn hott, though, so you can take it or leave it. (Take it, please!)

my tryst with mr. stench

2008-03-26T15:26:00.001-05:00

I know I've been completely slacking on my blog for the last few weeks, but I have a bunch of posts in my head, just waiting to be typed. But first I need to get this one teeny little thing out into the blogosphere:

I SAW JOHNNY DEPP LAST NIGHT.

Yes, that's right my friends. And furthermore?

I TOUCHED JOHNNY DEPP'S JACKET LAST NIGHT.

They're filming scenes from his new movie Public Enemies at my old stomping ground, Crown Point, Indiana. The movie is about the FBI and John Dillinger, who - in case you were born under a rock or don't share my macabre affinity for mob history - killed a police officer in a bank robbery and escaped from the "escape-proof" Lake County Jail supposedly by using a carved wooden or soap gun. He hopped in the sheriff's brand new car and drove away, causing J. Edgar Hoover to proclaim him Public Enemy #1.

Anyway, I've been up there every night since Saturday, and my dedication finally paid off last night when I got close enough to take some pictures and almost shake his hand. He turned at the last minute, which resulted in me just touching his coat. In my five hours standing at the crowd barriers on the set, I had become friends with the girl next to me, and when she saw I had just missed shaking his hand, she let me touch hers after she was done shaking his. Thanks, Amanda, where ever you are - you're probably going to heaven for that.

The set is so cool. Well, I've only seen the outdoor set, but it's still cool! They laid fake cobblestone, and there were some old-timey cars lining the streets. It was cool to see all the actors in their period costumes, too. This afternoon, they sprayed everything down with fake snow to film the outdoor stuff - but my stupid job got in the way of seeing that. It's just so incredible to see the way that stretch of town has been transformed. Even standing in the middle of a throng of screaming teenagers, it was still so easy to imagine I was in the 1930s.

I can't decide if I should go back tonight or not. It's gotten progressively more crowded every night, and since I already got my pictures and copped a feel, I don't see much sense in standing outside in the cold again. Although, it's 50 degrees outside right now, when I was wearing two shirts, a winter coat, and two pairs of gloves last night. Bitchin', Mother Nature.

I really can't wait for this movie to come out. I've always had a strange fascination with all things gangster/mob/mafia related, and growing up so close to Chicago, there was always some cool artifact or historical building to visit on the weekends. I spent a lot of time at the old Lake County Jail, actually, poking around things, dreaming about John Dillinger and desperately searching for some evidence of his existence in my small town. Eventually, I grew out of it, also known as When Becky Finally Made Some Friends And Stopped Being a Freak.

If I had the chance of running into Johnny Depp back then, I think I would have been much more reluctant to trade a hobby for a social life, though.

And, sidenote/rant: Roughly 90% of the crowd at the set on any given day is approximately 16 years old or younger, coming out for the chance to get a good look at Captain Jack Sparrow, Sweeney Todd, Willy Wonka, or Edward Scissorhands. I couldn't help but wonder if the titles Blow, Sleepy Hollow, or The Ninth Gate meant anything to them. Had they ever even heard of Fear and Loathing or Gilbert Grape? Benny & Joon? Platoon? Even the first Nightmare on Elm Street?!

More importantly, do the words "twenty-one jump street" mean absolutely nothing to today's youth?! Am I wrong to still consider 21 Jump Street one of the best police crime dramas ever created? Does it mean I'm old that when I hear people say "too cool for school" I automatically think of that show? Please tell me I wasn't the only girl who considered getting involved in something bad in school so that the dreamy Officer Hanson would come frisk me.

we're not gonna take it - no! we ain't gonna take it.

2008-03-20T14:26:00.003-05:00

Two interesting things happened to me yesterday.

Interesting thing #1

Setting: The campus mailroom
Characters: Six female coworkers and one male coworker (who was, admitedly, rather removed from the conversation
Context: Various stylists at the handful of hair salons we have in town

I mentioned that I don't like the woman who usually cuts my hair, and I asked for suggestions. Everyone (except the one dude) piped up and each recommended a different girl. After a minute, someone said "Whatever you do, just don't go to Karen," and the rest of the girls agreed and shared horror stories. After describing her borderline-mullet haircut and six-inch dagger fingernails, one girl said, "She looks just like that one guy... the lead singer of Twisted Sister - remember that band? Oh, what was his name........"

Without a moment's hesitation, I shouted "DEE SNYDER!!"

Perhaps I was just a wee bit enthusiastic about it... but come on! How often does Twisted Sister and Dee Snyder come up in regular conversation? Someone had to establish themselves as the resident hair-band expert. And if that someone is me, then so be it.

Is it really so awful that I happened to know that bit of trivia? After my outburst, I was greeted by looks of disbelief from my coworkers - even the one male present looked up from his computer screen with a puzzled look on his face. After about thirty seconds of nothing but crickets chirpping and my face and ears catching fire from embarrassment, the conversation moved on while I quietly died in the corner.

Interesting thing #2

Setting: A sports bar in town
Characters: Myself and three male friends sitting at the bar, a large and very loud table of men directly behind us, and one smaller table of men towards the back
Context: The local barbershop choir that was singing in the restaurant side of the establishment

We were watching the group of six men warm up through the window partition that divided the smoking bar and the non-smoking restaurant, pondering why they chose this place of all places in town to sing at on a Wednesday evening. J joked, "I bet if I tell them it's Becky's birthday, they'll come sing to her." I excitedly said, "Yes!! If they'll come over and sing to me, it can be my birthday."

J: "Really?"
Me: "Yes!!"....... "No. Not really. That would be too embarrassing."

I should have known not to use the word "embarrassing" - J lives to discover new and creative ways to embarrass me. He's his happiest when he's making me miserable. A minute later, he got up to use the bathroom... which I would have seen for the awful lie it was had I not already been engrossed in a conversation with one of the other guys. A few minutes later, the waitress said J was coming back with the singers, and it was too late for me to do anything about it.

They crowded into the bar, pitch pipe in hand, and I told the one who appeared to be the leader that it wasn't my birthday. "Oh, that's okay, honey - you're a beautiful girl. We'd love to sing to you." It's always nice when someone says you're beautiful... but the effect is lessened somehow when the someone is wearing a red and white vertical striped vest with a matching hat and bowtie.

They tuned up and jumped right into a rousing rendition of "Sweet Adalaide." It was actually really beautiful, but I couldn't stop laughing the entire time, and I've never blushed so hard in my life. They stared at me through the whole thing with bleeding hearts in their eyes, and they had the attention of every person in the bar. It was more than just someone singing to me - more than just a group of someones singing to me - it was an actual serenade. All we needed was a balcony and a tragic hero, and we could have had our own little romance novel brewing.

When they finished, everyone clapped, and the lead guy kissed my hand. I punched J in the face (thought about it, anyway) and left shortly afterwards, my Guinness buzz making the whole evening a complete success.

It surprises me every time I'm struck with a thought of how much I'll miss this town someday. I'm sure things like this don't happen just anywhere.

about a picture of a particularly bitchin' bass guitar

2008-03-19T16:50:00.001-05:00

Phil: my cousin plays bass, and that's what he has....i was over there last night, and it blew me away
Me: wow... that thing is pretty sexy...
Phil: it is....imagine all the tail i'd pull with that thing strapped to me.
Phil: hahahahaha.....i say that sentence all the time.
Phil: not even about basses.
Phil: i said it once about a steak and cheese sub from subway.
Me: lmao

(This conversation took place on the morning of November 10, 2006, but it's just as funny now as it was then.)

left to wonder about the meaning of safe and sound

2008-03-19T11:12:00.000-05:00

I discovered this saved as a draft from February 26. I don't know why I didn't publish it... but I like it, so I'm going to now.
---

For the first time in the three years I've been on my own, last night I secured the chain on my front door before I even took my coat off.

I haven't really been sleeping well since the tragedy at NIU earlier this month. Most of the rest of the country is in the same boat, I'm sure. Other school shootings haven't affected me this way, so I was surprised to find myself with heartburn and an upset stomach (my common side affects to nerves) every night since February 15. For a while, I thought it was because NIU is a lot closer to me than any of the other shootings. I've been to DeKalb many times; I've driven through campus; I've known people whose lives have been changed from the education they received there. I reasoned that I should probably expect a different personal reaction since I had personalized NIU at one time or another.

I followed the interviews on the news; I signed the condolences guest book; I watched the memorial services; I cried with the families, friends, and employees. It wasn't until the week following the shootings that I discovered what was really going on: I was afraid. I went to one of our lecture halls to take some pictures for an article I was working on, and when I got to the bottom of the steps - center stage - I realized that there's really only one way in, one way out. Three doors, situated at the very back of the room, would be my only hope if someone came in at that very moment with a gun. I had spent four years sitting in that hall, bored to tears on some days, lifted to intellectual heights unforseen on others, and now I was suddenly finding myself panicked and afraid. I ran back up those steps faster than I've ever run before in my life. I'm not comfortable being defensive... especially here, where well-being and preservation come so easily, naturally.

Sometimes I have a hard time dealing with fear - sadness, compassion, and empathy are the emotions I'm most comfortable with. When something like NIU happens, I convert every emotion to sadness. Sadness I can deal with. Compassion for the victims? Piece of cake. Empathy for those left to pick up the pieces? No problemo. But fear... fear is a little trickier. I don't know where to put it, so I often cover it up, hide it with feelings I can handle, drown it in chocolate cake or something. But now, after I've dealt with my sadness, worked through my compassion, and imagined every empathetic scenario possible, fear is the only thing that's left.

I've been debating whether or not I should blog about this. Several nights ago, a violent incident occured on the campus of the school I work at. I was working from home and received a panicked call from a colleague. All I heard was the word "guns" and my palms instantly became so sweaty that I almost dropped the phone. My stomach quickly contorted itself into one huge knot, my esophagus began burning, and my heart nearly pounded itself out of my chest. As media relations personnel, I was kept abreast of the situation, and it turned out not to be as serious as initially thought. I breathed a huge sigh of relief, then sucked it right back in. Why was I relieved? Just because it wasn't serious this time? Because it wasn't anyone I knew? Because I wasn't directly affected? Because it wasn't anything like what happened at NIU, Virginia Tech, Louisiana Tech, countless others?

I think what's really bothering me is that I've never been afraid to just be before. I've never been relaxing on the couch and suddenly gone rigid with the fear of what if someone started shooting through my windows right now? I've never gone to sleep at night with thoughts of what if someone breaks in and kills me tonight? floating through my head. I've never finished a shower in the morning and been afraid to pull the curtain back because what if someone is standing there with a gun just waiting for me to step out? Movies about haunted houses, ghosts, Ouija Boards, and exorcisms have always scared me far more than those about serial killers, murderers, rapists, and stalkers. I'm finding myself in the opposite now - tangible versus intangible - and I'm flailing. No longer can I find sanctuary in the small, safe town I live in; now instead of feeling safe and secure behind my closed-but-not-locked front door, I'm finding myself pricing deadbolts and buying baseball bats. Because what if?

Call it an existential crisis, call it growing up - call it whatever you want. I'm not okay with being scared to just live my life, mediocre as it may be. For the first time ever, I'm finding myself wishing for fears of monsters under the bed, ghosts in the corner, and skeletons in the closet.

the happiest day of my life

2008-03-18T12:41:00.002-05:00

Well, not really - that would involve an explicit scenario with Eddie Veddar... but maybe the second happiest day. Or third. But definitely the twelfth happiest day of my life.

PHIL HAS RESUSCITATED HIS BLOG!!!

After a year and a half of nothing but my whining, prodding, and nagging, he's finally done it - he's written a new blog post. Because that's just the way I am, I'm going to be taking full and complete credit for this happy surprise, and I'm going to take advantage of every possible opportunity (even if it means creating said opportunities myself) to remind him of the fact.

So, regular blog readers o' mine, let us join together one last time for the common good. Phil has promised (PROMISED) to keep blogging regularly (at least once a week) if he gets ten comments on his new post. I love(d) reading Phil's blog, and for a long time he was the lone reader of this delicious site, so let's help a brotha out. Actually, it'd be more like helping a sistah out since I coerced this deal to begin with.

So that link one more time is: REQUESTING SOME ENLIGHTENMENT.

I'm confident you'll find him and his writing funny, crass, sarcastic... and surprisingly heartfelt - just when you're ready to chalk him up to a regular butthead. Trust me on that last one.

week four: cousins*

2008-03-18T12:08:00.000-05:00

22/365. Marty N., Jr. (1982-present)
We hung out a lot when you were on Navy leave - now you're gone again, and I miss having a cousin I actually know.

23/365. Andrew Mc. (1993-present)
You and Jimmy never talk to us at holidays... and we're strangely okay with that. It's awkward: we say hello, goodbye, and nothing else.

24/365. Jimmy Mc. (1995-present)
We used to love playing together years ago. Now I think you're standoffish... at best. But so am I, so I guess it's okay.

25/365. Morgan S. (2001-present)
From the start, you latched onto me more than anyone else in the family. You're the reason I occasionally entertain the notion of motherhood.

26/365. Ryan S. (2006-present)
You're quite possibly the most well-behaved baby in the history of procreation. We're all glad that your sister won't become (more) spoiled now.

27/365. Michael W. (1985-1987)
Just one memory - you've always been a mystery. Someday I'll find you... we'll connect and be real cousins. You'll have a whole new family.

28/365. Billy N. (1989-present)
We haven't said more than a handful of words to each other our entire lives. I'm embarrassed about that... I wish I knew you.

*25x365 is posted every Tuesday.

in which i am put in my place

2008-03-17T16:18:00.001-05:00

For the last several months, I was the acting Faculty Advisor for my college's newspaper. The professor normally in charge was on sabbatical last semester and asked me to take over while he was away. No big deal - I had basically run the paper when I was a student, so I was expecting it to be cake.

The whole semester went off without a hitch - except for one major one right at the end - but that's another post in itself... definitely not something I want to recall today, my most favorite holiday. Anyway, one of my favorite moments from my time working with the newspaper students this year was during an unofficial meeting with a couple of the editors. We were up in the office geeking out - and by that, I mean having a heated discussion about the rules of grammar. Infinitives, possessive clauses, subjunctives - the works. Basically porn for an English geek like me.

Anyway, after arguing the merits of the serial comma, one of the editors said, "Becky, why aren't there more people like you." I smiled - and I think I even gave him a hug, so happy was I to find a kindred grammar spirit - and the other editor present said, "Yeah - all of C's [the regular Advisor] comments on our pages are bogus. He has no idea what he's talking about when it comes to proofreading - it's nice to be working with someone who does."

And that comment just about validated my entire existence. Sad, I know - but true. Very, very true.

Whatever - I like grammar. And by "like," I pretty much mean "live for." I want to be a writer... and that scares me. But I think I find comfort in the fact that I'm not just proverbially flailing my arms all willy-nilly - I like knowing that if I get lost, there are certain rules I can turn to, things that are constant (except when i before e comes after c), things that will help me in some small way to fine tune my craft. And I'm not even embarrassed to admit it. I used to diagram sentences during the commericial breaks of whatever bad TV we watched in college - BECAUSE I LIKE DOING IT. I don't see anything wrong with being proud of the fact that I was one of the few students my old Grammar & Expression professor dubbed a Grammarian.

But I suppose there comes a time when the proud are bound to fall from the pedestal on which they teeter.

Minding my own business this afternoon, I got a call from one of my old English professors - the same one that the newspaper editors accused of knowing beans about grammar. After some brief niceties, he hastily pointed out an error in a news article I'd recently written and posted to our Web site. I found the error in the story, laughed with him about it, and corrected it. When I thanked him for pointing it out, he said:

"Well, I've always said that if there's one thing I'm good at, it's proofreading and grammar."

As we hung up, I couldn't help but worry... is that how I'll be when I grow up? When C was in his early twenties, was he just a proud, borderline-conceited Grammarian who - somewhere along the line - morphed into a grammar hack cliche? Will I lose all my sweet skillz and be livin' in 82 for the rest of my life? Moreover, will I start saying things like "If there's one thing I'm good at..." and then proceed to list two things?

meme on me

2008-03-16T15:24:00.000-05:00

Kiki tagged me for a Meme on Me, and I think it's a pretty cool idea, so I'm going to fulfill my obligation. By the way, Kiki, every time I see your name in the comment field of my blog, I always think of The OC (which I loved and will defend to my grave). Kiki was my favorite character on that show (next to Seth, of course.)

On to the meme!

Here are the rules:

Go back through your archives and post the links to your five favorite blog posts that you’ve written.

Link one must be about family: "What you remember is not what they think you will remember. It is often not."
Link two must be about friends:In order to protect the innocent...
Link three must be about yourself: "When I grow up, I want to be a principal or caterpillar."
Link four must be about something you love: "Old dogs, like old shoes, are comfortable. They might be a bit out of shape and a little worn around the edges, but they fit well."
Link five can be about anything you choose: Boogie with Stu

Post your five links and then tag five (or more) other people. At least two of the people you tag must be newer acquaintances so that you get to know each other better.

I tag:
Phil!
KC!
Aunt Becky!
MissHum22!
Lone Chatelaine!

Except for Phil, all these people I don't know in real life but would love to get to know better through their awesome blogs. I just threw Phil in there for good measure - so no one would think I was sexist in my tagging - and so that I wouldn't have to listen to him whine again about how I didn't tag him.

Thank, Kiki!

falling off the wagon

2008-03-13T15:25:00.000-05:00

(I'm terribly behind on mostly everything in my life right now thanks to some large, last-minute work projects that have been owning me for the last few weeks. This entire post is about the month of February. Please close your browser now if you have no desire to live in the past with me.)

The last half of February was not good for me and my resolutions.

Food
Work sucked, which led to lots of late nights and weekends spent in the good ol' office, which led to not having the energy to cook... or even go to the grocery store, really. Plus, my fridge was acting up for a while, so I was hesitant to put anything in there that could spoil. All month, I think I cooked a total of three things, and two of them were probably cheese omelettes. Healthy, huh?

(Side note... I've eaten three Cadbury Eggs today. I walked into my office this morning to find two boxes sitting on top of my desk - a present from a coworker for whom I'd done a favor last week. He knows they're just about my favorite candy, and he wanted to give me something I'd enjoy... and I'm totally appreciative of his thoughtfulness... but I don't think he realized the enormity of the mistake he'd made. Now I'm on a sugar high, my fingers are sticky, and I kinda feel like I might throw up.)

Reading
Early into last month, I decided to temporarily give up on Great Expectations. For the second time since 9th grade. I made it much further this time, though - a little over halfway. But........ I'd been reading it since January 1st and "officially" gave up around February 10. That's depressing. What's more is that GE had started to make me think of reading as a chore instead of something I loved and looked forward to doing.

So just when I made the painful decision to put it aside but keep it on the top of the pile, I realized that February's book for Reading Dangerously is The Bluest Eye, which I've been looking forward to rereading since I first found this challenge at Andi's place in December. I figured if anyone could rekindle my passion for reading, it would definitely be Toni Morrisson. Sorry, Chuck.

But what's this? I can't find my copy anywhere? Oh, that's right, I loaned it to a friend a few months ago... a friend who moved away and with whom I'm now required to schedule visits months in advance. So instead of picking up another book to replace The Bluest Eye for February, I ended up not reading anything. Unless you count last month's issue of Shape... which I don't.

Money
I've had some emergencies come up in the last month that have exhausted the paltry savings I had to begin with, and it's been hard to get back on track since then. But I'm not going to let it get me down - emergency funds are the exact reason I wanted to have a savings account to begin with, so I'm treating this as a test. It worked. Now I'll start over.

Fingernails
For a while, I was doing really great. I could drum my fingers on the table AND ACTUALLY HEAR MY LITTLE NAILS CLICKING BACK AT ME. Then I had a minor freakout over something stupid and bit them all off. Then I decided to get back on the wagon and start over. Then I freaked out about some other stupid thing and chewed my cuticles. They've been in a perpetually bitten-down state since then. As soon as I see some white growth, I work like mad to nibble it off. I really am twisted.

Writing
This is the only one I've been doing really well with, and I owe most of it to the x365 challenge. Just making my list of people (I have over 200 now!) was really inspirational and helped me remember a couple incidents from my past that made for some entertaining writing. It's been a good pre-bedtime activity, and just making time to be in front of the computer for a non-work-related writing task every night has helped get me into a routine - it's easy to write my x365 story for the day and segue right into another story from a previous night.

Also, I've been making an effort to blog more consistently (although my track record for the last week has been awful). I used to go for months without posting, and I really think it had something to do with the fact that I was just bored with my blog. I was reading all these stories on other sites about people dating, getting married, having babies, adopting puppies, changing careers, and it was so easy to get discouraged with my own lack of entertaining writing. But somewhere along the road I decided that I would just need to make do with what I have, and if what I have isn't marriage or babies, puppies or awesome jobs, then that was just fine. I'd write about what I did have: an overactive imagination, several neuroses, obsessive compulsive tendencies, and frizzy hair.

Photos
I haven't been too shabby with this one, either. I've gone through all the pictures on my laptop and sent away for prints. Next step will be to get some awesome photo albums and organize. I think I'll also write labels and quick summaries on the back of all or most of them, just in case I get so senile one day that I don't remember the names of my hott college friends. I think my next project in the way of photography will be making sure to bring my camera out with me more often when I visit friends and family.
--

Here's to a more productive March (now that we're like halfway through it) and climbing back on the wagon for good. Except for St. Patrick's Day. As any good Irish lass would do, I'm giving myself a get-out-of-jail-free card for all days surrounding the blessed event. Because even though I've never made corned beef, nothing's going to stop me from enjoying my mom's. And what's corn beef without a couple pints of Guinness? Nothing. That's what.

time for a quick meme!

2008-03-11T13:07:00.004-05:00

I was tagged - my first official tag since I started blogging in '04 - for this book meme by the very cool KC. I don't even remember how I found her blog, but it's one of my favorites to read. And not just because she's in Chicago :)

Directions: Pick up the closest book. Open the book, turn to page 123, count down to the fifth sentence on that page, and then post the next three sentences.

I think I'm going to cheat a little bit. The actual closet book at this moment in time is The Associated Press Stylebook... but since there aren't full sentences - just phrases - on page 123, I'm going to use the book directly underneath it on my desk:

Saint Joseph's College: A Chronology, by Rev. Charles J. Robbins, C.PP.S.

"What could not be expressed in words was the realization that the building, which had at one time practically been the College, and the temporary home for thousands of alumni, was gone. Apart from any sentiment or loss of contents was the fact that the institution had lost 68,000 square feet of space containing faculty and administrative offices, eleven classrooms, and meeting and storage rooms. Fortunately, Xavier Hall was not in use at the time, since the seminarians had vacated it to allow for repairs, they themselves having moved into Schwietermann Hall; the administration at once moved into Xavier."

Reading this book cover to cover was one of the first things I did when I got this job. It's really interesting; it chronicals the history of my alma mater (and place of employment) from its beginnings in 1867 through the year 1989. It was written by an alumnus and a priest who used to teach here.

Fully understanding that most likely none of them will complete this meme, I'm going to tagggggggg.......... Scott Booker, Alli, and Melanie.

week three: old girlfriends*

2008-03-11T10:47:00.000-05:00

15/365. Lindsay (S.) E. (1994-present)
Friends forever, sad that we've grown apart. Every time I think to call, I get second thoughts... wonder if it's the same for you.

16/365. Brienne (S.) M. (1993-present)
Love that we can continue like we never missed a beat. Hope you don't hold it against me that I haven't visited Seamus yet.

17/365. Gretchen (G.) B. (1995-2003)
You/our friendship gave me a lot of issues about myself. I do miss you, but I'm not sure if I'm ready to start over.

18/365. Heidi (G.) H. (1995-2002)
Loved seeing you at Bri's wedding last year. I wonder if we can pick up where we left off. I'd like to think so.

19/365. Becky V. (1994-2002)
We had matching band shirts and passed poems in class. Wrote a song about Mario... we were so dumb. But dammit we had fun.

20/365. Brianne (B.) B. (1996-2002)
We met over a shared hatred of Mrs. Beamer and then tormented Mr. Campbell. Now you're married with a daughter... thank goodness for MySpace!

21/365. Michelle B. (1994-2001)
So independent at your house. We used to love it, but now I know why. Whatever you're doing now, I honestly hope you're happy.

*25x365 is posted every Tuesday.

i'm not gonna write you a love song...

2008-03-06T14:34:00.000-06:00

'Cause you ask for it, 'cause you need one
You see, I'm not gonna write you love song
'Cause you tell me it's make or breaking this
If you're on your way, I'm not gonna write you to stay
If all you have is leaving, I'm gonna need a better reason
To write you a love song today

When C and I were "breaking up" for the first time, he threw a lot of particularly nasty accusations my way. He accused me of lying to him all the time, about everything - even what kind of pizza I liked, because one time he saw me eat a slice with green peppers when he knew I didn't like green peppers. I reminded him that it was homemade pizza, and I didn't want to insult our host, so I tried a slice. We moved on. He accused me of talking about him with my girlfriends and giving away all his secrets. I reminded him that since we'd started "dating," I didn't have any girlfriends with whom to boy-talk and secret-share. We moved on. He accused me of plotting against him and trying to get him to incriminate himself. I reminded him that I'm not smart enough to be plotting against anyone, and if he's worried about incriminating himself, then maybe we have bigger problems here. We moved on. Sort of.

"Well, you never write anything about me." I stared dumbly at him, in complete disbelief that it had seriously come to this. "I mean it," he continued. "You say you're a writer. Why don't you ever write anything about me?"

"How do you know I never write about you?" I decided to be cute before realizing - too late - what a mistake that was. He scowled, accused me of keeping secrets from him. "It's not a secret... I just don't show you everything that I write. We agreed on that, remember?" Several times I had tried to share things with him - a few of them even about him, but I guess too obtuse for him to notice - and he'd stopped just short of ridiculing me. Halfway to his credit, though, he'd realized that he'd hurt me and said that he just didn't understand writing. At least not your writing, anyway, he threw in for good measure. That day, "we" decided it'd be best if I did my writing on my own time.

"Still... if you really loved me, you'd write about me." Instantly, I compiled a list of at least fifty things that I "really loved" and had never written about, but I threw in the towel.

"You're right," I said. I looked at him, but it was dark on the porch, and the streetlight made his eyes look like empty sockets. "Someday when I write a novel about naive girls and the hell their older boyfriends put them through, I'll dedicate it to you. Then you'll know that I wrote about you." I picked up the sandwich that I'd made him from the plate resting on his lap and threw it on the ground. The top piece of bread fell off and landed mustard-side down on the pavement, and the wind blew two leaves of lettuce from the top to reveal neatly-folded black forest ham. I walked calmly to my car, concentrating on the thud of my Nikes and the swing of my hips. I thought how I'd have to clean up the sandwich in the morning before we got ants.

When I drove off, I stole a glance at him, confident he couldn't see me in the dark. He sat still on the bench and removed the plate from his lap, resting it where I used to sit, crossing his legs. He held the other half of the ham sandwich in his left hand. He draped his right arm over the back of the bench and took a bite. I knew he was chewing with his mouth open, but I couldn't tell if it was a good or bad thing that I still cared.

week two: high school boys*

2008-03-04T11:13:00.003-06:00

8/365. Tim S. (1994-2005)
I always liked you more than I should. Best friends, even through separate colleges, now it's just quiet tension... if it's anything at all.

9/365. Jeremy D. (1994-2001)
I liked you after I read your story in 8th grade English. You asked me to our prom; I said no. I was scared.

10/365. Chris M. (1996-2003)
Coolest (and cutest) guy in school - felt so good to really be your friend. I hated when girls used me to get to you.

11/365. Tony K. (1996-2004)
We danced together in show choir; you asked me to your senior prom. I said no before I knew we'd be neighbors in college.

12/365. Doug W. (1998-2001)
Locker buddies, passing notes, shy smiles - fast friends but hated your sister. I always thought you were sweet; now you're pretty much an Adonis.

13/365. Sean M. (1996-present)
Experienced everything new with you. Then you liked my friend, so I had a party... you moved away together, got married, had a baby.

14/365. Chris S. (2000-2005)
Dated my friend. Even though technically I was the third wheel, she didn't know it was really her. I never told... neither did you.

*25x365 is posted every Tuesday.

ben folds: rockin' the suburbs and my socks off

2008-03-03T14:13:00.002-06:00

Sometimes I think that I could live off the euphoria of live music and never need another ounce of sustenance ever for all the rest of my days. The way you can feel the bass pulsating through your body, radiating in your chest and fingertips... the halting glances of your friends and other fans that you can catch through the spin of the strobe and colored lights... the delicious way that an entire auditorium clapping in unison can make you feel so empowered. Even the way you're only slightly embarrassed to cry at the sad songs in front of your friends because you know they just have to be feeling it, too. Especially the way you keep yelling even though your throat is numb with pain and you keep clapping even though your hands are on fire... all to make sure it's known how badly you want another set. How when the lights go up after the first encore and you're sure there's no more, it's like sifting through the mounds of torn wrapping paper on Christmas morning as a six-year-old and realizing there's nothing left to open.

Ben Folds was, needless to say, absolutely incredible - the rocking-est show I've been to in a while. A few times throughout the show, I caught myself sort of reflecting on the situation before it had passed. It felt so strange to know that I'd been dying to be here for so many years, and then there I was. I'd never be able to say that I've never seen Ben Folds before again. And then he'd play a chord that would jar me out of it, and I'd be back in the moment, right where I wanted to be. Sort of reminded me of that line in "Bastard": "They get nostaligc about the last ten years before the last ten years have passed."

He played just about everything that I'd wanted to hear, with the exception of "Emaline" and "Song for the Dumped." I would have loved to hear "Best Imitation of Myself" and "Philosophy," too. I kept waiting for "Brick," but it never came. I'm so surprised he didn't play that one, since it's arguably his most famous song... but I'm not too broken up about it. It would have just made me cry, anyway, and my mascara was already running down my face from "Still Fighting It." It would have been cool to hear "Gracie" and "One Down," too - and "Give Judy My Notice" because it reminds me of when Steve and I shared an office.

We (Purdue University) were the first stop on the BF college tour, and I think it was pretty evident from their energy that they were pumped to be touring again. Ben's stories and jokes were told with the sort of enthusiasm that shows he hasn't grown tired of them yet, and he recorded us to use on some tracks on the new CD! I've never been to a concert where they told you ahead of time that you'd be used on the tracks. They played quite a bit of new stuff, and the CD sounds like it's going to be an awesome one. A couple of the tracks reminded me of Whatever and Ever Amen - which, if they released another CD like that one, would be like Christmas, my birthday, and the Fourth of July all in one hard-to-open plastic case.

The drummer and bass player left the stage for a while, and Ben did some really beautiful piano stuff, including "The Luckiest"... which made me wish I had someone special there with me (or in my life at all) to share it with. Didn't help that the people we met in front of us were all couple-y throughout the whole song.

Some highlights:

Annie Waits (my favorite BF song)
Still Fighting It (my second favorite and, incidentally, the one that makes me cry everytime I hear it - so much so that I can't listen to it very often - and made me cry even harder live)
Not the Same (so much fun when he divides the crowd up for the three-part harmony!)
Narcolepsy (one of my favorites, but I was NOT expecting him to rock out like he did! What an awesome surprise.)
Army
Bitches Ain't Shit (of course!)
JesusLand
Bastard
Kate (looove this song - I was so happy when they busted it out!)
Rockin' the Suburbs
One Angry Dwarf and 200 Solemn Faces (one my faves from Whatever and Ever Amen)

I was hoping for a few more tracks from Whatever and Ever Amen, but knowing what I know now, I wouldn't trade in any of the songs they played for anything different. It was just the pick-me-up that I've been needing lately - I'm starting to feel a little bit more like myself.

On a sidenote, HUGE thank you to my brother, who stood out in the cold for several hours to get us kickass tickets (at student price, nonetheless!). While we weren't close enough to see him sweat, we could easily make out Ben's facial expressions and see his individual toes moving when he took off his shoes to play the keyboard with his feet. (I told you it rocked!!) You're the best, brother! Incidentally, that night my wonderful bro and his crazy roommates introduced me to Beer Pong (no clue how I made it through four years of college without ever having played), and our sibling team ROCKED THE HOUSE (suburbs).

I'LL BE IN THE SAME ROOM AS BEN FOLDS IN 3.5 HOURS... oh, and fridge friday 2.29

2008-02-29T15:29:00.000-06:00

That's right. Today I'm knocking out one of my top five on my Concert Wishlist: Ben Folds. In junior high, I listened to my copy of "Whatever and Ever Amen" so many times that certain tracks now skip, and I've had to buy a new one. "Still Fighting It" has helped me through so many tough times; "Gracie" has made me want a zillion babies for 2 minutes and 37 seconds at a time; "One Angry Dwarf and 200 Solemn Faces" has made me laugh through all the shit that mean bitches used to give me. "Song for the Dumped" helped me get over every break up I had in high school, and "Best Imitation of Myself" scored me an A on an English project in college. Ben's been there through pretty much every step of my adolescent and adult lives, and now we get to sit mere feet from each other and breathe the same air for a couple hours. The anticipation has been sexy as hell. Hott.

The excitement, coupled with the fact that I worked through lunch so I could guiltlessly take off early today for the concert... means that I didn't get a chance to take a picture of the fridge for today. I'm sure you're crushed. Instead, I'll tell you about how many carrots I currently have on my shelves. I have two huge bags of pre-cut, pre-washed baby carrots for snacking. I have one small-ish bag of regular carrots to use in the beef vegetable soup I plan to make this weekend. I have one small-ish bag of organic carrots because I was curious what they tasted like. (I've never eaten organic veggies before, but I'd possibly like to start.) I have one quart-sized Ziploc bag full of cut carrot sticks leftover from a veggie tray I made for a party last weekend. I think tomorrow I'll make a big batch of dill dip and just munch on carrots all day long. Fun, huh? The unpredictable life of a 25-year-old. And I'm single, too! Bet you didn't guess that!

I have one more thing I want to get done before I leave in the next half hour or so. It's been hard to accomplish anything today at work because - did you hear? - I'M SEEING BEN FOLDS TONIGHT.

I love you all! Talk to you when I'm a changed woman!

you probably didn't know

2008-02-28T12:45:00.001-06:00

I'm most self conscious about my eyebrows.

I'm very obsessive about numbers. I can't function until I know everything in my apartment, car, and office is a multiple of 5 or ends in a 3 or 7. There are very few things I want more in this world than a dog. I drink seven glasses of water every day. I miss having a friend nearby to watch bad TV with. I sleep on my stomach, and I hate the feel of a top sheet.

I love Cheez-Its more than is humanly possible. Sometimes I dream about leaving everything and everyone I know behind and reinventing myself in an exotic country; I know I would never be able to leave my family. I can't decide if that makes me feel comforted or just plain sad. I sing jazz songs very quietly in the shower every morning.

I love to flirt, but I only do it with people I'm not interested in. I have pretty eyes, dimples on my cheeks, and small hands. I hate shoe shopping. I've been a spontaneous crier my whole life. I often try to cover this fact up by feigning a sudden attack of sneezes. I chew the insides of my cheeks and lips habitually. I constantly misspell my signature on credit card receipts.

(I stole this idea from This Fish.)

fish in a barrel

2008-02-27T10:58:00.000-06:00

I used to think there was nothing more embarrassing than being out with a male friend... (who you may just happen to have a bit of a crush on)... and having someone mistake the two of you as a couple. A married couple.

Once upon a time, P and I went to get some dinner and see a movie. After the movie, he wanted to stop at a nearby music store and get some guitar picks. We ended up hanging out for quite a while, looking at the instruments and watching the Dave Matthews Central Park DVD that the clerk had playing. A couple hours later, when we went to check out, the clerk said to P, "You spent a lot of time with those guitars - your wife must be bored out of her mind." He went right on ringing up the packages of picks while my heart stopped and I nearly died, right there on the dirty, guitar-string laden floor.

Neither P nor I said anything for a minute - he was probably just as stunned as I was - and the clerk handed him the bag. "You two have a nice night, now... take your wife some place special." I found my voice before P could.

"I'm not his wife... he's not my husband... we're not married," I stammered, my cheeks beginning to burn. P laughed awkwardly - "We're just friends," he said.

"Oh, I'm sorry - I saw the ring on her finger and just assumed. You make a nice couple anyway, for what it's worth."

P and I smiled politely, walked quickly to the parking lot, and got in his truck without a word. Once I was buckled in, I glanced down at my left hand - my grandmother's ring. Dammit. I had forgotten that I had begun wearing it on that hand once the chain that I used to wear around my neck broke. It only fit my ring finger on my left hand.

"That was weird, huh?" he asked. I laughed. "Yeah... what a strange guy." P turned up the music, and we drove home, the comfortable silence that was our friendship slowly settling back in around us, filling the cab and the gaps between us.

I don't even know if he remembers that night. For a long time, my embarrassment continued, and I wondered if P resented me for it at all. He knew about those feelings I used to have for him, and the whole situation in the music store sort of felt like fate rubbing it in my face that I'd never have what I had wanted so badly at the time. I used to think there was nothing more awkward than that.

Until last weekend.

I met my dad in Hammond so he could help me get some new tires for my car. We walked into the store, and I instantly felt high from the smell of rubber. The foul-mouthed man behind the counter talked to my dad, and I stood next to him silently. Finally the clerk seemed to realize there was a woman present in the room full of tough car men and said, "Excuse my language, hon." I smiled politely. Then he said to my dad: "I hope these tires aren't a Valentine's Day present! That's an easy way to find yourself in the doghouse," and he winked at me. In the back of my mind, I knew what he was insinuating, but I'm blaming my silence on the tire fumes. My dad started to make his way outside, and the clerk yelled to him, "I'll just give the change to your wife here."

"Daughter," I said, dejectedly. Immediately I began silently reassuring myself that all the comment meant was that my dad looks young for his age... not that I look old for mine.

"Oh! Sorry." He laughed, my dad laughed, I laughed - but I'm sure I was the only one who was faking it. "She's not my wife... I'm 50 years old," my dad said as he opened the door. Mortified, I followed him out, where we joked about it for the duration of his cigarette. As soon as we walked back inside, the clerk handed me the keys, said they'd pushed my car to the front of the line and everything was ready to go.

"I'm really sorry if I embarrassed you, sweetie," he said to me with a wink. To my dad, he said, "Sir, you really just don't look 50!"

My dad had a grand time telling the story to my mom when we got back to their house, and I'm glad at least someone got some enjoyment out of the situation. On my way home that night, I bought my very first jar of anti-wrinkle cream. I told my dad I can't be seen alone with him in public for another 4-6 weeks. He seemed okay with it.

american idol - top ten men

2008-02-26T20:37:00.000-06:00

Michael Johns - Fleetwood Mac YAY! A little rough on the edges tonight... the verses sounded nice, but the chorus was strained. The ending was cool - I dug that. I really liked the arrangement they used, too. I agree with Randy: it kinda seemed like Michael was holding back tonight. I was waiting/hoping for him to start rocking out at some point.

Jason Castro - How cute is he?! He's completely adorable. Not his best - less than desirable song choice, I think, but still decent. I think he'll be in it for a while yet, but I don't think he's strong enough (yet, anyway) to win it. As long as he keeps the guitar with him, he'll be safe.

Luke Menard - My favorite Queen song! I just think he's so weird to watch. I know they keep talking about his incredible range... but I'm just not a fan of it. He sounds nasally and constantly sharp - Randy had it right when he said whiny. Weird ending on this song tonight, but it was better than last week (not that that's a tough accomplishment!). And did I just completely miss the "Dawson's Creek" comparison Ryan tossed out?

Robbie Carrico - Kid Rock had an excellent night! I really liked this performance. I agree with Randy to a degree... Robbie didn't really pull out all the stops, but I liked him tonight a lot more than the judges did. Of the first four performances, I thought his was the best.

Danny Noriega - I hated just about everything about this performance. The only thing I liked was that the song reminded me of the scene in Tommy Boy when they're in the car and there's a montage of them singing to all the hilarious songs. I'm just totally not a fan of this guy, and I wish the judges would listen to me.

David Hernandez - Great performance, a really fun one to watch. Best one of the night so far, no question - I thought he rocked, completely. I love that Simon told him at Hollywood that he'd have to work harder than anyone to stay in this competition, and he clearly has worked harder than anyone else so far. Good for him! Side note: do you think he gets his eyebrows waxed? Cause I do.

Jason Yeager - I just can't stand watching him. All his show choir smiling creeps me out. Randy was totally right - that song is more about the instrumentation (read: rocking out) than the vocals. I'm not a fan of Jason, and I won't be surprised (or disappointed) if he's voted off this week. Frankly, I'm surprised he's still here right now. I will say that I did feel a pang of guilt for disliking him so much after Simon was so mean to him. And what was with the weird picture-in-picture type thing that the producers did when they panned away from him?

Chikezie - Great performance! Of course, there's no way he could have done any worse than last week, but this was awesome! Lots of fun to watch him looking comfortable and having a good time on stage. The banter between him and Simon after he sang was hilarious, and his intro video was really cool - interesting and entertaining. I'm a fan.

David - Word nerd?! LET ME AT HIM. I love the song he chose - one of my faves. I thought this was a really great and fun performance - his vocals were great (although I think he could have done just a little bit more to switch up the chorus every now and then), the guitar was awesome, he completely worked the crowd - just an all-around entertaining performance. DID SIMON JUST SAY THAT WORDS ARE BORING??????????????????? My ears are burning - I can't believe I just heard that. And from a British man! I completely disagree with him in that David's video didn't "do" anything for him... and I also don't think that David was trying to "point out the rules" of the competition to Simon. He was making a joke, trying to make the people laugh so they'd remember him - and they did, and I think they will. Maybe Simon needs to take a page from his own book and not be so defensive.

David Archuleta - As much as I hate to say it, that performance made me a huge David fan. That was gorgeous... brought tears to my eyes. David has been getting on my nerves so badly for the last few weeks - and all the girls screaming at him tonight didn't help that - but I'm a big enough to person to admit that that was an absolutely moving performance, and Simon was 100% right: David is now the person to beat (ughhh).

I'm saying Luke Menard and Jason Yeager will be voted out this round - but that's the same stinkin' thing I said last week.

week one: family*

2008-02-26T15:34:00.003-06:00

1/365. Kim S. (1982-present)
Your love will always be the biggest inspiration in my life. I hope I grow up to achieve all that you want for me.

2/365. Greg S. (1982-present)
I'd be lost without you in my life. Selfless, giving, hilarious - my rock on so many occasions. My hero and love of a lifetime.

3/365. Tim S. (1987-present)
I love few things as much as you - watching you grow, mature, become a man so much like Dad but so much your own.

4/365. Jen M. (1982-present)
I miss you since you moved to Tennessee - come back! Definitely my favorite aunt, but I hardly think of you as an aunt anymore.

5/365. Jim Mc. (1993-present)
We don't like each other, but we pretend well. Except for three Easters ago when you insulted me - I cried, cursed you, left early.

6/365. Peggy N. (1982-present)
I've always wanted us to be like a fairytale: stories, bonding, laughing, sharing. But I like what we are instead - comfortable, friendly, honest. Loved.

7/365. Marty N. (1982-present)
I used to think you didn't really like me - just the grandsons. Now I think we're both just uncomfortable together... hardly know each other.

*25x365 is posted every Tuesday.

don't make fun of me, but...

2008-02-25T11:12:00.001-06:00

...I really like scrapbooking.

Two of my best friends just had a baby earlier this month (who I still haven't been able to visit), and I've been working my patootee off trying to convince K that she needs to start scrapbooking.

I'd do it myself if I had anything special in my life to document. Here are some memories I'd be preserving if I hopped on the wagon right now:

- The day my landlord finally fixed the leaky pipe on my toilet
- The deliciousness of the burger I had at Scottie's Brewhouse over the weekend
- Fitting all my trash into one bag for pickup this week
- Resisting the terrible urge to buy a new Coach last month (just what I need)
- Finally finishing a story for work that I've been stuck on for almost a week
- The totally incredible experience of seeing Ben Folds live in concert (wouldn't be able to include that one until after Friday!)
- The super long workout I forced myself to complete Friday night and the super healthy and Lent-friendly veggie dinner I made afterwards
- The let down of Almay's smart shade blush
- My four new tires, also known as the most boring way to drop three hundred bucks
- The late arrival of all the new books I ordered from B&N
- My newly-organized closets
- The fact that I've had a houseplant since September that I haven't yet killed

Riveting, huh? I can sense that you're all on the edge of your seats, your mice (mouses?) poised over the scroll bars.

Anyway, K - if you're reading this - please let me live vicariously through your pinking shears, frilly paper, and little stickers. I'm begging you.

dear internet,

2008-02-24T17:24:00.000-06:00

DID YOU KNOW ABOUT THIS?!

http://www.mysegwayexperience.com/tours.html

How could you have made this information public without telling me? I thought we were close - I thought my happiness meant something to you. You know it's been my dream for years to ride a Segway - you'e seen my Google history. And now I hear from someone else - that's what really gets me, that you couldn't tell me yourself - that I can throw some cash at the problem and hop right on? I don't even care if they make me wear that stupid helmet... if I'm on a Segway, nothing else is going to matter. I need some time to think about our relationship - I need to get away for a while. Say, for about two hours on a two-wheeled, self-balancing, electronic transportation device.

lylas,
Becky

P.S.: In conjunction with If I Want Your Advice, I'll Ask, I'm going to bring "lylas" back. Maybe that's how we can start signing our "circle yes or no" letters?

fridge friday: 2.22

2008-02-22T11:10:00.002-06:00

I'm going to hop on board the Fridge Friday train. I feel like I need to give a disclaimer about the awkwardness of my refrigerator and kitchen as a whole... but I'm going to save that for another Friday. Instead, here's a picture of the top shelf in my fridge:

Aside from those bread products below (a loaf of bread, tortillas, four hamburger buns - all of which are probably expired by now), that's just about all that's in my fridge at this moment. We've had our annual "Phonathon" at work - a month straight of calling people and begging for cash so we can keep our doors open - and I've worked pretty much every day/night since the beginning of the month. Not a lot of time for filling the fridge.

This year for Lent, I gave up Ranch dressing and diet root beer - two of my most favorite things in the entire world - and I left them sitting on the shelf to remind me that Lent sucks. For the last two-and-a-half-weeks, my life has been Aspartame- and Hidden Valley- free. Everytime I open the fridge, I'm confronted with two of my vices (both probably spoiled by now since they've been there since the beginning of the season, but they're staying right there till the end of it), and it's been a great practice in self control. Also a great practice in how to make Becky very grumpy.

american idol - top twelve women

2008-02-20T22:18:00.001-06:00

Kristy Lee Cook - Sick or not, this was a totally boring opener for the show. She's really pretty, but she's so lifeless to watch... except for that weird eye thing she started doing at the beginning. I really liked her when she sang "Amazing Grace"... I kinda hope she gets the chance to show us which one of these performances was a fluke.

Joanna Borgella - Eh. Kinda on the boring side. I guess maybe I just expect more out of someone who sang at Madison Square Garden. If they're picking their own songs at this point, why didn't Joanna pick something that fit into her lower range? Totally unrelated to her performance, this girl has the most beautiful skin I've ever seen in my entire life.

Alaina Whitacker - She really has to stop doing that yodel-y thing with her voice. A pretty good performance - she should get her birthday present to stay on the show. I don't know. She's definitely not my favorite, but she did all right.

Amanda Overmeyer - This is her first performance that I haven't been completely on board with her. I love her style and the fact that she's so unique... I'll admit that I find her a little frightening... but I do like her. Just a very strange song choice, I think. Plenty of other female rock songs she could have chosen - I think she could definitely rock some Melissa Etheridge.

Amy Davis - Brutally honest... I absolutely hate her. Tonight's performance just solidified what I already knew: she's only here because Simon liked her huge cans. Even though she's from my hometown (sort of), I cannot wait for her to get the hell off this show. I really wanted to be the first person from The Region to make it on Idol - and after tonight's performance, at least I still have a chance! Bye bye, Amy.

Brooke White - First off, it's so not fair that she gets to have curly hair and bangs. That's just not supposed to work... you can't have both. Anyway, this was a little weird for me. I guess I just dislike when people scat or vamp or whatever you want to call it. The performance was a little boring for me. I really liked Brooke's other performances, though, and I hope she gets the chance to bring it up a notch again.

Alexandrea Lushington - I think she definitely has a cool voice - she probably needs to work on her higher register a little bit, but a cool sound. I don't know... it was a little strange, but she did it really well. She kinda reminds me of Lauren Hill in a way. I dug it.

Kady Malloy - This girl bores the heck out of me. She has a really nice voice, but I hate watching her. Her film tonight kinda made me think she's annoying and has a bad attitude. But that's unrelated. Her performance tonight was boring - nothing special about it. That Brittney impression is dead on, though - maybe there's a career in that.

Asia'H Epperson - I really wish they would stop showing her audition clip, because it makes me bawl every time. This girl has my complete respect for keeping it together this whole time as well as she has. Is it just me, or does she do something strange with her consonants every time? I liked this performance - I thought it was really fun. She's very comfortable and easy to watch on stage. In addition to her awesome voice, I think that's what's putting her over the top so far. So many of the other seem so uptight up there. And I really like her haircut :)

Ramiele Malubay - One of my favorite songs. A pretty nice performance from Ramiele tonight - I'd love to see what she's really got, though. I disagree with Randy - I don't think she saved her big voice for the end... at least I *hope* that's not her big voice. I think she's holding out on us. And if she's not? Well... I think she'll be leaving us before too long. But for now - she's definitely safe.

Syesha Mercado - I love her. From the beginning, she's reminded me of Stephanie (can't remember her last name - from last season). I loved Stephanie. MAN what a performance. Fun, high-spirited - just great. Love her!

Carly Smithson - You know what? I'd make out with her. Yeah. I'd probably turn momentarily gay for her if she asked me to. She was a little pitchy tonight, but she's definitely still the best female vocalist this season by far. Simply beautiful voice, wonderful performance.

I'm saying that Amy White (PLEASE GOD) and Joanna Borgella will be voted out this round.

ice mushrooms

2008-02-20T11:31:00.001-06:00

(click for larger view)

american idol - top twelve men

2008-02-19T22:06:00.001-06:00

Quick note: Have they always started the "theme nights" this early in the game? I thought they used to do a round or two where the contestants got to choose their own songs.

David Hernendez - I really liked the beginning and the middle... well, I really liked everything up until that second-to-last note when he lost it. Great song choice, though.

Chikezie - NICE. SUIT. I didn't feel the beginning of his song - it actually took me a bit to realize what song he was performing. He has a nice voice, though.

David Cook - My Bon Jovi man. I really liked his rendition of "Happy Together" - I agreed with Simon during the Hollywood rounds when he said that David would become too vulnerable on stage without his guitar... and I was expecting him to lose it... but I'm pleasantly surprised. I'm always rooting for the rockers, and I'm glad David brought his game.

Jason Yeager - Am I the only one who's a little bit distracted by this guy's hair? It freaks me out when he smiles so much while singing. "Moon River" is one of my favorite songs... but I can't say I was really on board with Jason's rendition. I didn't think it was particularly bad or anything, but it was very boring... and I thought it was fake. Contrived.

Robbie Carrico - He looks so much like Kid Rock that I can hardly stand it. And what is a "boy girl group"? I do like his voice, though - his Hollywood song "Hemorrhage" was awesome. Tonight's song "One" wasn't bad at all, either. I don't think it showed off enough of his voice, though. I sure am digging the doo-rag, though.

David Archuleta - Man alive, is anyone sick of this kid yet? Boring performance... he reminds me of a Disney Channel kid or something - you know? Like he should have a show where his character sings. Hook up with Hannah Montana or something. Why do the judges like him so much? Sure, he has a good voice... but there's no way he's as good as Simon proclaimed him to be. Ho hum, I can't wait till he gets voted off.

Danny Noriega - Danny has "Sanjaya" written all over him, if you ask me. Terrible performance, but his flamboyant attitude to Simon's comments was mildly amusing. Probably not a good idea to sass the judges this early on, though. I don't really follow the cutting-edge fashions... but is it "in" for guys to wear skinny jeans now, too?

Luke Menard - Whenever he walks onto the stage, I just keep expecting Kelly and Brenda to come out and give him an ultimatum or something. I sort of liked Luke before - I thought he had a chance... but this performance was awful. Even worse than Danny Noriega's. Back to the bustling metropolis that is Crawfordsville, Indiana, for you, Luke!

Colton Berry - WHY IS HE STILL HERE. After his initial audition, they should have sent him back to show choir. I can't believe that Paula and Randy aren't losing sleep over their decision to keep Colton over Kyle. And what's up with the freaky smiling?! It's like this season's theme so far. I didn't think this performance was as bad as his others - he actually showed a little non-show-tune personality tonight. I still won't be buying a ticket for the Colton train any time soon, though.

Garrett Haley - Nice try with the Ellen joke, Garrett. During his audition, I actually thought this guy was just an unfortunate-looking girl. A perfect example of a young kid who should have waited another year or two before auditioning. Just a ridiculous performance.

Jason Castro - Completely digging the dreads - huge fan. I was totally - surprisingly - impressed with his performance! I thought it was awesome that he had the guts to go out there with a guitar. Without the guitar, it would have been laughable, I think, but his take this time really worked. Very simple, but very good. He's very fun to watch - and I loved that a guy we've hardly seen at all thus far had "one of the top two performances of the night" according to Simon. Not cool - in my book - that he compared him to David Archuleta, though.

Michael Johns - Having a guy like Michael in the competition kinda makes it a waste of time for the other dudes. I love how his talent just doesn't even seem to phase him whatsoever. Completely effortless. Just totally awesome performance tonight - really, really wonderful.

I'm saying that Jason Yeager and Luke Menard will be voted out this round.

25 x 365

2008-02-19T11:19:00.003-06:00

Over the last few months, I've come across many blogs featuring a (#) x 365 category. Through some reading and research, I discovered the source of the project, and I fell in love. For weeks I made a mental list of all the people I could write about, and I decided that I'd join the ranks on my next birthday. Well, November came and went... and then so did December, January, and most of February. Needless to say, I forgot about the super cool idea that I once loved.

I was reminded of it once again when I noticed a new tab on Being Thirty. So now, more than three months after my 25th birthday, I'm finally going to jump in.

Starting next week, every Tuesday I'll be posting one week's worth of 25-word stories about 365 people I've met, one for every day of my 25th year of life (plus about three months of my 26th year).

You can join me and people all over the world here: http://www.x365.org/

the semantics of an affair

2008-02-18T15:29:00.003-06:00

Becky: Zep Speedwell* just said "i like your hair today, becky - you're having a good hair day." do you think that's code for "i want to leave my wife for you"?????

Phil: i think you'd be remiss for not finding out.

Becky: i think you're right. i think this situation definitely calls for a "circle yes or no" letter." Dear Zep - Do you want to leave your wife for me? Circle yes or no."

Phil: make a bookmark, and hide the circle yes or no message INSIDE the bookmark.

Becky: great idea. i can see you've done this before.

Phil: yes. trust me, if you put "Zep's Bookmark" on the front of the bookmark, no one will suspect a thing.

Becky: maybe i should include an addendum: "I'd also be willing to accept a cheap affair in which we are both left with shameful feelings of guilt. Circle yes or no below to select that option."

Phil: too wordy, becky.

Becky: "Zep - wanna do it? yes or no."

Phil: Do you want to leave your wife for me? Yes - No - No, but let's bang

Becky: lolllllll

Phil: aaahahahahahaha "bang" does it, doesn't it.

Becky: absolutely.

* Some names have been changed to protect the innocent, happily married, and sinfully good looking.

period

2008-02-15T14:48:00.001-06:00

I was feigning a smile and stirring the rum and coke I hadn't yet tasted when I felt the air in the room change. It became hard to breathe, and something made me turn towards the door. I saw a head of sleek brunette hair and an extended arm shaking the hand of a stranger. She gently tugged at the back of her slate gray suit jacket and passed her briefcase into the coat check. A silver sparkle on her left hand caught the light as she turned toward me. Our eyes met for less than a second and left me reeling. I knew who it was before I even turned to the door.

I spent the evening stealing glances at her from a corner, staring at her over the rim of my glass, watching her out of the corner of my eye. I kept waiting for my heart to drop, bottom out – for that hollow feeling to swallow me whole. But it never came. I never felt empty.

I tried hard to picture them at home on a Friday night: pizza and beer, a rented video, pajamas. Their comfort was inevitable, their love quiet and convenient. I imagined the day he gave her that ring. He’d be nervous, stumbling over his words, and she’d find it endearing. He’d finally say what he came to, she’d smile and whisper his name. Neither of them would cry.

I watched her make her way around the room, watched as the people she hugged goodbye smiled genuinely, sincerely. I tried to remember a time when I’d felt a shred of affection for her. I couldn’t, and imagined the rest of the room to be faking it.

I thought that she’d ride the train home that night, enter their apartment to find him reading in a chair, waiting for her to return. He’d rise to greet her and slip her shoes off. Kiss her lightly, say he missed her. Soon they’d go to bed. They probably hadn’t gotten a new one since the time I’d shared it with him. But he never thought of that now, not with her under the covers. He’d lie between the sheets and watch her as she hung her skirt in the closet, unashamed.

Numb. A small part of me missed the sweet torture, ached for the dull throb of the familiar realization that they are real. I found myself alone in a crowded room drudging up old memories, trying to resurface an ounce of that former pain. But I couldn't. For all my hard work, nothing came. No vacancy, no sadness, no heavy sigh. As she exited the room, I thought this certainly meant I was over him, her, it. I felt my shoulders square and my chin rise. I thought surely I’d find someone new – a new lover, a new friend. A new scenario not destined for tragedy.

But I still didn't feel anything.

check it out check it out check it out check it out check it out check it out...

2008-02-12T14:30:00.000-06:00

A 'Saved by the Bell' Quiz

Score: 100% (15 out of 15)

This quiz has been taken 4537 times with an average score of 67%

YEAH!!!

I know I should be slightly more embarrassed about this than I actually am... but whatever!

I'm so excited! I'm so excited! I'm so.... SCARED!

there really is always room for jello.

2008-02-08T21:24:00.000-06:00

Remember that cute scene towards the end of Jurassic Park I where Tim and Lex Murphy are taken back to the main building and they start digging into the buffet feast? And then a velociraptor sneaks up behind them in silhouette? And Lex has a big, fat spoonful of green Jello, and she starts shaking because she's scared?

When my brother and I were kids, we used to always act out that scene every time our mom made something for dinner that required the use of a spoon for eating. We used to hungrily shovel spoonful after spoonful into our mouths, periodically smiling broadly at each other between mouthfuls. Then, without warning, one of us would pause right before the spoon entered our mouths, and the smile would slowly fade off our faces. Our hands would start shaking wildly, always ending in whatever we were eating falling off our spoon and splattering back onto the plate. We would cackle in laughter - our parents so stunned to see us getting along and laughing at a mutually innocent antic that they just ignored the mess. And then we'd do it again, each time the smiling and shaking getting more and more dramatic until our food was flung off our spoons before it got anywhere near our mouths.

I used to love green Jello, and I ate it rather frequently. (That's what you're left with when you have a family who loves to serve holiday cakes and pies for dessert, but you're not really a big sweets fan.) Every time I ate it, I thought of my brother and I acting like idiots at the dinner table and cracking up about it. I haven't eaten green Jello in years, but when I saw that AMC was playing Jurassic Park I tonight, I knew I had to watch just long enough to get to the legendary food scene. I tuned in pretty close to the beginning, but I decided to watch the whole thing because it really is a great movie - let's be honest. For over an hour, I sat on my couch with a huge smile on my face, just anticipating the hilarity to come. It felt like those days leading up to Christmas when the end of school was in plain sight, you knew your parents had already started shopping and those gifts were hidden somewhere in the house, and you could almost taste that turkey and those mashed potatoes.

And finally the scene came. And then it was over. And I seemed to remember it being a lot longer and more important - a lot more dramatic. But I guess it's just one of those things that you glorify as a child... something you build up to such unattainable standards that even the real deal can't hold a candle to your imagination.

But that's okay. Because it's only about forty days until Easter, and I'm going to ask my mom to make me some green Jello for dessert. And I'm going to resurrect that old gem for my brother, and we're going to cackle and repeat it over and over again until it's larger than it ever was before. And then it'll be ours again.

june cleaver in training

2008-02-07T10:45:00.000-06:00

When it really comes down to it, I'm a pretty old fashioned girl. At the risk of being burned at the stake, here are some things I believe to be truths:

A woman should do the majority of the cooking and cleaning.
A man should always ask a woman out and never vice versa.
A man should always make the first move, and never vice versa.
A woman should take care of a man domestically, and a man should be the breadwinner.

I don't know what it is about me that makes people think I'm a feminist. Is it because I enjoy working? I just try to make the best of an enevitable task. Is it because I wear pants rather than skirts? I hate my calves. Is it because I swear like a sailor? I just like to, that's all. Everyone always seems so surprised - and ultimately disappointed, but we'll get to that later - when I betray myself and let on that I'm much more old fashioned than anyone, apparently, has ever thought.

Just a few weeks ago, I was chatting with some women at work, and one of them mentioned how sick her husband was and that he was at home moaning on the couch at that very moment. She looked right at me and said, "But I don't feel bad for him - I shouldn't have to take care of him when he's sick. Don't you agree with me?" I backed out of the question politely... I have a knack for emergency subject changes... but later in the day, the topic came up again. "Becky thinks I should be home waiting on my husband hand and foot, don't you, Becky?" she provoked the group at large. "Becky's one of 'those' type of women, aren't you, Becky?" I smiled and went about my day, slightly embarrassed by her lack of tact, but not ashamed of my personal choice of values.

In college, I wrote a poem called Rosie's Advice for an English class. It was about how I constantly felt like I should be more of a feminist - how I felt like something was wrong with me for wanting to cook and clean and let a man do all the heavy lifting. I was a freshman at the time and didn't realize that the professor was a diehard feminist. The day that he returned our graded poems to us, he made an example of mine. I had to read it to the class and talk about the feelings that went into the writing of it, and he - along with the others in the room - critiqued it aloud. (Sidenote: feminist though he was, I still got an A on the poem because I have big boobs. Apparently he wasn't that much of a feminist... or he just recognized a good rack when he saw one.) A fledgling friendship with a woman who would later turn out to be my role model began in that class with the notion on her part that I shared her views on feminism. She was surprised to find that I didn't.

Most recently, I was going out to dinner with my mom and dad, and whoever was on the radio at the time made a joke about Hillary Clinton's candidacy. My dad and I laughed and shared a glance via the rearview mirror, while my mom playfully yelled at me from the front seat. "Don't laugh at that! You don't have to laugh at it just because he [indicting my dad] thinks a woman shouldn't be president." My dad just rolled his eyes, but I spoke up. I told my mom that I didn't think a woman should be president, either.

If she was driving, we would have ended up in a ditch, so severe was her reaction. She asked me - several times - in disbelief - if I was serious. Being a woman myself, how could I honestly say that a woman shouldn't be president? I ran through a couple of points, she rebuttaled each one, and then dropped the ultimate bomb on me:

"I'm so disappointed in you, Beck."

In 25 years of life, neither one of my parents has ever said that to me. I felt like all the wind had been knocked out of me, and it took me a moment to catch my breath. She apologized a second later, said she didn't mean she was disappointed in me, perse, but more in my belief. She said she thought she raised me better than that - I said there's nothing wrong with the way she raised me, that I'm proud of and grateful for the fact that she (and my dad, too) raised me to make up my own mind, form my own opinions. "I just didn't think that would be one of those opinions," she said.

In the end, we agreed to disagree, and I - of course - wasn't angry at her reaction. I think it's a common feeling amongst women today. When most women encounter someone who could single-handedly render the Women's Movement useless, I think the natural instinct is to rebel, to fight for what they value.

I'm very grateful for the women (and men) who long ago fought so hard to give me the right to work, vote, and earn a comparable wage. I'm grateful for the respect they earned for us, and I love that they've given me a plethora of choices. But I think the Movement was all about choices, and if I don't have the right to make up my own mind about gender roles, then I think the Movement itself is, in turn, made obsolete.

I love strong women - women who can hold their own and aren't afraid to leave the safety of The Way Things Have Always Been. And I have the utmost respect for them. But sometimes I have to wonder... what makes their choice better than mine? Just because it's more progressive?

what a way to start the morning

2008-02-05T08:50:00.000-06:00

I have a secret.

Well, it's not so much a secret with the readers who know me outside of the blogging world... but it will be for those who have never met me.

Under no circumstances can I resist giggling like a schoolgirl at any utterance of the word "wiener."

That's why you'll understand why I'm forever in debt to Dooce for posting this video yesterday for me to find today.

Check it out when you're in the mood for some third-grade humor, and give props (can I still say that?) to the anchorman for making it through the entire letter without so much as a hint of laughter.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HUJ4es4cYIU

american idol - omaha

2008-01-30T11:13:00.000-06:00

A pretty decent night for hopeful pop stars and hangers-on. There was a lot more talent in the midwest than in some of the larger cities we've seen so far - REPRESENT! Part of me was glad to see Paula return in her huge, I'm-trying-to-hide-my-hangover-eyes sunglasses and then embarrass herself several times during the auditions for which she was actually present. (Her flight was delayed or something... yeah right. Binging!) Seriously - she was hiccupping, laying all over the table with her ass in Randy's face, and jumping up in the air shouting "TOUCHDOWN!" I thought she had cleaned up her act for a while there, but now I'm not so sure.

AI: Omaha (1/29/08)

Chris - He was kind of adorable save for the fact that he was obsessed with Kelly Clarkson more than should be socially allowed. He definitely couldn't sing, but bless his heart - he made his dream come true by auditioning, and he even showered the judges with gifts. He asked to audition for the red carpet at the finale, and Simon told him to call his Fox affiliate and say that Simon Cowell wants to see him there. I have no idea if Simon has any kind of pull over that, but if he does - awesome for Chris! NO PASS.
Jason - The guy who forgot the words to "When You Say Nothing At All"... and for several minutes, he really did say nothing at all. Every time he sang the first line, I liked him a little bit more, and I'm really glad the judges let him retry his song four times. His voice was kind of sexy in a raspy way. PASS.
Rachel - I really liked this girl's voice. She sang a Le Ann Womack song and did that annoying country yodel-y thing that I hate (and Randy pointed out), but her voice was beautiful. She was an arm-wrestling champ, and wanted to wrestle the judges. Paula's the only one who took her up on it, but the cameras quickly cut away from their contest, probably because hungover Paula couldn't control her noodle arm. PASS.
Sarah - Apparently this chick was a professional wrestler? I forget the name she said she used, but wowwie wow wow... fuh-ree-kee. That laugh scared the bejeesus out of me. I was too busy rocking back and forth in the fetal position after she was done singing, and I only heard half the votes... did Paula actually say "yes"?! All I heard was Simon say "Two nos, one yes..." NO PASS.
Samantha - This poor girl got caught up in the middle of the little fued between the judges and Ryan. Ryan wanted to know what it would be like to do absolutely nothing and get paid for it, so he and Paula switched roles. I liked Samantha's rendition of "Don't Know Why" by Norah Jones - she had a low, jazzy voice. Those are my favorite kinds of contestants... unfortunately, they don't seem to be able to stay in the competition very long. PASS.
Elizabeth - They only showed a couple seconds of Elizabeth, but I wish they would have showed more. She sang "Heard It Through the Grapevine," and she was kickin'. PASS.
Michael - Again, just a few seconds of this guy, but he was blonde and looked like an Abercrombie poster boy. He had a fantastic voice, though - what they let us hear, anyway. PASS.
Angelica - They showed us her backstory about how she left home because of her overbearing father, and then she played some song for him over the phone and he paid for her to audition for Idol. Yeah - I was confused, too. Angelica sang Celine Dion's "The Power of Love," which just annoys me... I hate when people audition with Celine Dion, Whitney Houston, etc. Angelica sounded like a Celine clone, though... she really did have a great voice. And I got a little teary when Ryan called her dad on speakerphone to tell him she made it to Hollywood, and he said "She's always been my American idol." Awh! PASS.
David - I LOVE BON JOVI. David sang "Living on a Prayer," and I was absolutely swooning. If I had a ton of expendable income, I'd pay him to follow me around all day, every day, and sing for me on command. Really fantastic voice. PASS.
Johnny - The shiny coat guy who sang "Shout." I'm not even going to comment. NO PASS.
Leo - Made the judges laugh with his joke about being his town's homecoming queen. Right away, I liked Leo - he seemed like an honest and unassuming guy. He sang "A Song for You," and he had a wonderful voice. I loved it. I think he'll make it really far in this competition. PASS.

Tonight's auditions are in Miami - I hope there's someone awesome to be found in Florida. And I hope Paula gets her act together for the last round of auditions. I love the audition shows, but I'm starting to get anxious for the real competition!

SEACREST, OUT!

my world is a flood.

2008-01-24T14:51:00.000-06:00

...was a flood.

Last week, I took some pictures of the incredible flooding around here, but I had trouble getting them off my camera. When it finally worked, only about half of my photos transferred. Of course, the half that didn't transfer was the better half - obliterated bridges, nonexistant roads, and boats floating in front yards.

Here's one of Rensselaer's main roads (of which there are only two - hah!). It was closed for almost a week due to spillage from the Iroquois River.

This yellow line is the road behind/beside my house, which leads onto the main road above. (The flooding from the above picture was on the other side of the circled house.) They closed this one down on a Tuesday night, also due to river spillage... I left town at 5:00, and when I came home at 11:30, both roads were blocked off, as well as several others I could have taken to get home. I had to pull over and think for a minute before I finally devised a way around all the closings.

This mess used to be my backyard.

Here's a little further east from my house. The yellow line waaay on the right is about where the river usually curves. The flood here stretched from the chiropractor's office next door (I was standing in his parking lot here, for anyone who's familiar with Rensselaer), through about ten yards and houses, across the main road, into three more low-ground houses on the other side of the road, and finally pooled in a nearby park.

These are the scary steps of my back "porch," which I never, ever use but braved for the sake of pictures. I really wanted to know how deep the water was, but I wasn't about to go wading through the river poo water. Luckily, one of my neighbors wasn't as concerned about E. coli nastiness as me - she let her kids splash around in it. They were playing in the circled area, and it was about waist high on the tallest kid, who looked to be about 10 or so.

While I was on the "porch," I looked around, never having seen where I live from this standpoint, and I noticed this on the roof of the bedroom in the first floor apartment:
It looks like poo, right? Is there really poo on my roof?

This is the other side of the river, while standing on the bridge. It banks where the lines are. The flood water to the left of the bank line is the same from the picture of my backyard above - further down the street.
Everything's pretty much back to normal around here - people are back in their houses and the waters have receeded for the most part. Up until a few days ago, all the low areas of town were still flooded, of course, but the subzero temperatures over the weekend fixed that. Now we have pools of ice where there used to be sidewalks and grass, and there were some kids actually ice skating in a front yard near my house. Where's the camera when you really need it!

my friends call me "the merc."

2008-01-24T10:34:00.000-06:00

I was listening to the news over the dull roar of my hair dryer this morning, and I only caught the tail end of the report: "...the fire on the fifth floor of the Chicago Board of Trade."

I was just at the Chicago Board of Trade last night... and our event took place on the 5th floor.

My internet at home was out this morning (stupid cable), so I rushed into the office to visit the Tribune's website. Thank goodness the fire was in an area restricted to us last night.

http://www.chicagotribune.com/business/chi-ap-il-boardoftrade-fire,0,5623802.story

That place, by the way, is incredible. Trading had ended by the time we got there, but our reception area was overlooking the pit, and it truly was awesome. I would love to go back sometime while the market is open - I even learned the hand signals for bid and offer and that certain traders get to wear hilarious jackets to set them apart from the others. I think I'm ready to invest, no?

american idol - charleston

2008-01-24T00:19:00.000-06:00

Tonight wasn't great. It seems to be a trend for Tuesday night auditions to be smokin' and Wednesday night's to be chokin'. I thought it was a little strange that they showed so many mediocre auditions tonight. There were over 20 people who made it to Hollywood, and they only showed us four... which would be all right if there were some hilarious rejects to fill the space. But there really weren't. I just felt sort of blah about tonight's auditions.

AI: Charleston (1/23/08)

Crystal and Randy - GAG ME WITH A SPOON. (You like that?) These sickies need to get a room. NO PASS.
Michelle and Jeffrey - These two were hilarious. I would love to get drunk with them - they looked like so much fun. I really loved Jeffrey's voice, and I thought that they sounded great together... but I agree with the judges in thinking that Jeffrey's talent outshone Michelle's. I just don't think she's strong enough to make it on her own. But I'm really glad the judges put both of them through... I think it would have been awful to split them up. My favorite part of the entire night was when Jeffrey just kept shouting "HALLELUJAH JESUS! HALLELUJAH JESUS!" after he got his golden ticket. PASS.
Amy Abstinence Girl - I really didn't like much of anything about this girl. I almost puked when she said "You can call me Amy, Amy Catherine, AC... Whatevs!" She's only 16 - you know how I feel about the youngins auditioning. She was just pretty much obnoxious, shoving her morals down everyone's throat. I mean, I think it's great that she's selfless and all about abstinence... but the sample speech she would have given a teenager contemplating premarital sex? HILARIOUS. She had an okay voice, but she should have given herself a few more years to develop it before trying out. Her voice - and her personality - were just too immature. I agree with Simon - I found Amy incredibly annoying. PASS.
London - I liked her, and I think she could be really good if she explored the bluesy part of her voice. She needs to cut out the breathy stuff after each line. Great song choice, though - Billie Holiday's "Good Morning Heartache." PASS.
Lindsey - The Army chick. She was very nervous, but I thought her voice had potential. I do think Simon was right in saying that she sounded a little nightclub, though. I probably would have put her through to Hollywood... especially after showing a huge backstory about her. NO PASS.
Rashad - Very Clay Aiken-like in almost every way except for skin pigment. I didn't think he was awful - he was just in the wrong place. Maybe Clay can find him a part in a Monty Python skit. NO PASS.
Oliver - The guy whose wife had a baby during auditions. With all the screen time they gave him, I thought for sure he'd blow us all away. The judges didn't like his voice at all, though, and didn't put him through to Hollywood. He had a crazy vibrato, but I didn't hate him. After they shot him down, he introduced the judges to his new baby girl - Emma Grace. NO PASS.

I think I'm a little out of order with those last few recaps... but whatevs! (Thanks, Amy C!) Nothing about this night of auditions was very inspiring. Omaha is next week... I hope they find some worthwhile talent in the cornfields.

SEACREAST, OUT!

american idol - san diego

2008-01-23T09:35:00.000-06:00

Tonight was good. Definitely good.

AI: San Diego (1/22/08)

Tatiana - Eh. I agreed with Simon in saying that she's not as good as she thinks she is. She did have impeccable taste in song choice, though - "Someone to Watch Over Me" is my song. I do it better, though ;) PASS.
Perrie - Could have walked right onto stage with Boyz to Men and no one would have ever known the difference. Forgive me for being crude here... but I had to change my underwear and wipe my seat as soon as he opened his mouth. I'll say it again: I love me some black men. His son was adorable - that ponytail! And "whaddup, Randy"... and when he just said "okay" when Ryan told him his daddy ("Papa") was going to Hollywood. *sigh, swoon* PASS.
Michael - What a great, soulful voice. Nice accent... the girls will love him. A little like Sanjaya except Michael has talent. So... really nothing like Sanjaya. Great song choice - Otis Redding's "Loving You Too Long." PASS.
Valerie - Oh maaaan, this girl had me cracking up. I knew as soon as she said she'd never be and American Idol reject that she most definitely would. I've never liked Mariah Carey that much... but I'd take her any day over Valerie "Oh-No-Now-I'm-Gonna-Be-On-the-Rejects!!!" Wannabe. NO PASS.
Christopher - Sang "I Believe the Children are Our Future." Atrocious. After the lyric "Let the children's laughter remind us how we used to be," Simon said "There's not a single child laughing at that." Wrong-o! This child was cracking up. NO PASS.
Samantha - I loved her. She sang Aretha's "Till You Come Back to Me," and she had such a gorgeous, natural voice. Completely unforced. She might be my favorite girl so far. She and Perrie should get together and have some beautiful, vocal-prodigy children. PASS.
Blake - I didn't think he was nearly as bad as the judges evidently did. In fact, I thought he had a pretty good voice, and I probably would have put him through to Hollywood. PASS.
Alberto - The guy with the big fan because he's a big American Idol fan. HAH! Alberto was - hands down - the strangest person I've ever laid eyes on... HE HAD FLOWERS IN HIS TOES, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD. I wish I could ask him for crack-nail growing tips for my resolution. It did make me smile, though, to realize that I don't have the frizziest hair in the world. On the other hand... I did feel really badly when he cried and talked about how Simon just refused to listen to him. NO PASS.
David - Another youngster, but I liked his voice. Great song choice - John Mayer's "Waiting on the World To Change" - made even better by Randy's half-hearted backup. I had to stifle my laughter every time he threw a "waiting!" in between each chorus line. I thought David had an interesting and inspiring story, and he seemed like a genuine guy. PASS.
Carly - The Irish girl who made it to Hollywood in Season 5 but had Visa problems and was disqualified. A really awful story. I loved her husband - I thought his modest and fear of public opinion regarding his tattoos was endearing. Carly's voice brought tears to my eyes. I really, really, really loved her. She and Samantha are gonna have to duke it out to win my Favorite Girl of San Diego.

SEACREST, OUT!

resolution check in

2008-01-22T15:27:00.000-06:00

I have not been doing very well with my resolutions. This is why I never make them - instead of ending up better off, I fail and get angry at myself. But I think that maybe it's time for me to get angry at myself. If the alternative is remaining forever in the place I'm at right now... then some anger isn't much of a deterrent.

Money

Although I haven't yet filled out the paperwork to open an additional savings account, I have been watching my spending pretty well. I started to work out a monthly budget spreadsheet, but I got frustrated with Excel and quit. Guess I should take that whole bit about being "proficient in Microsoft Office technology" off my resume.

I also had a very enlightening conversation with my brother, Smarty Pants Future Huge Salary Accountant. He informed me that I'd be much better off opening a CD, which apparently will give me a much higher interest rate. I know nothing about this kind of stuff... clearly, since I'm 25 and just recently opened my first savings account. But after listening to his advice and feeling incredibly stupid in the eyes of my little brother, I decided that a savings account is the way for me to go right now. I'm just looking for an "emergency fund" - not necessarily another way to make money.

Fingernails

This is probably the area at which I'm failing the most miserably. Work has been more stressful than usual lately (which also explains my lack of posts for more than a week - sorry 'bout that), and my poor fingers are the bearers of my weary load. Tonight I'm pulling out all the stops, though. I'm gonna shellack 'em up with this new O.P.I. strengthener stuff I found... apparently it'll make my nails the envy of all the nails in the world. So sayeth the bottle, anyway.

[aside: in looking up how to spell "shellack," Google was nice enough to point me here. Check out the example for number 5.]

I promise that my hands aren't always so grotesque looking. It's really hard to take a picture of your right hand when you're right handed.

Photos

Miserable. All I've done in the way of organizing my photos is rearrange the frames sitting on top of my entertainment console. The rest of my photos are still sitting in My Documents on my laptop, just waiting for a motherboard crash.

Food

I'm actually doing really well with this one. I've been making dinner every night (except for last... particularly awful day entitles me to one Arby's Beef-n-Cheddar - SHUT UP YES IT DOES) and having the leftovers for lunch the next day. And you know what I found out? I'm a damn good cook!

I made chicken with vegetables and wild rice in a super-awesome herb sauce, made sans recipe... which used to scare the beejeesus out of me. But I had to use a bunch of vegetables before they went bad, and I had some chicken in the freezer, which resulted in me falling madly in love with my slow-cooker. Who knew you could throw some raw things in a pot before work and come home 9 hours later to the wonderful aroma of what would turn out to be a most delicious meal?!

Here's lemon rice soup, also sans recipe... because apparently there's egg in lemon rice soup. I hate eggs. The only way I'll eat them is if they're smothered in cheesy-omeletty-goodness. So I just made up my own recipe minus eggs and other weird things like kale, which I've heard is traditionally used in lemon rice soup. I used a Lipton Rice packet, though, because I didn't have any white rice and it was too cold to go out. It was delicious - nom nom nom.

Writing

Miserable. Aside from this blog - which I've neglected for over a week, although I think I should still get points for keeping up with the sites on my blogroll, thank-you-very-much - I've not written a single thing that could even be construed as creative. Press releases, profiles, newsletters, and magazine article rewrites (because apparently I suck at my job, too) be damned - I'm still determined to write something creative and worthwhile before I die.

[aside: speaking of... I just heard that Heath Ledger died. I thought he was a great actor - First Knight was awesome, and Brokeback Mountain is one of my favorite movies of all time. And I was really looking forward to seeing him in the new Batman. Oh - and he was gorgeous. Another Hollywood-type lost to an overdose. Sigh.]

Reading

I pretty much suck at this, too... but not for lack of trying. That's the theme of this entire blog post. I'm still trying to make my way through Great Expectations for The Challenge, but it's not really going according to plan. The last couple weeks of work have seen a strange influx of large proofreading projects, making my eyes refuse to focus by the time I get home. It's all I can do to follow SoapNet's 90210 reruns, let alone muster up the courage to read a text that drives me insane. Did I mention that? This book still makes me crazy, just like it did in 9th grade. On the plus side, though, I'm about halfway through... which is tons further than I made it in high school. I have less than 10 days to finish before next month's book. I'm trying to believe... but I don't think I want to know the truth.

And there you have it, friends. My awful progress thus far. And I was so pumped up about 2008. So far, the year has given me nothing but an ulcer, some gray hair, and several very large migraines. Chin up, I guess, huh?

american idol - dallas

2008-01-17T21:03:00.000-06:00

I have to say that I was much less enthused with the Dallas auditions. Maybe Philly set the bar too high... maybe I just had a bad day and not even the crazy story about the dude and his dad with the "key" to his heart could cheer me up. But wow - that story was kinda bonkers, huh.

AI: Dallas (1/16/08)

Alaina - I thought she had a pretty nice voice, but it was a little weak sounding. Breathy, to use a Paula-ism. I don't always like the young kids - 16, 17 - that try out... and although I do think Alaina had a nice voice, I hope she can overcome her young age. PASS.
Pia - I really, really liked her. She sang an awesome Gladys Knight song, and her voice was deep and soulful. I hope she can stay in it for a while. She has a cool image - kind of edgy and interesting. PASS.
Brandon - I was completely ready to dismiss this cutie after he started talking about his fingernail collection he's been peeling since high school, AND THEN ACTUALLY PULLED A ZIPLOC BAG FULL OF THEM OUT OF HIS POCKET. I'm glad I stuck with it, though - he had a pretty good voice. I'm not sure if he has what it takes to make it very far... but I definitely liked him. PASS.
Kady - I really didn't like her at first. I thought her Britney impression was awesome, though - she sounded just like her. I found myself getting really annoyed with her really quickly... until the judges finally got her to sing like herself. She's pretty damn good. She sang a beautiful rendition of "Unchained Melody"... I only wish they would have let her go a little further. They stopped her before she hit the best note. PASS.
Drew - A downhome country boy. He was adorable, and he sang very well. Let's make out! PASS.

Like I said, Dallas just didn't do it for me. There wasn't as much talent or even as much funny/horrendous auditions. Man, I hope this isn't a trend!

The guy in the cape and the feather hat definitely deserves his own paragraph, though. He was so hilarious, I swear that I almost peed myself laughing so hard. I was a little mad that the judges were teasing him so badly... but when he just. kept. going., I couldn't help myself. Simon predicted that the Brother song would be on the radio before anyone knew it... and I couldn't agree more. This dude and William Hung are soulmates. I loved you and your song about Simon, cape and feather hat dude!

ALSO! They didn't show the audition save for a few seconds before a commercial, but I CANNOT BELIEVE that two people sang a song from Rigoletto!! I thought only two people in the universe had even heard of "The Love Within Myself"... and I was one of them... and there were two people singing in that audition... so I guess I was wrong! They butchered it, but I love that song - and I was totally happy to hear it.

SEACREST, OUT!

american idol - philly

2008-01-16T15:18:00.000-06:00

Okay, here's the thing. I love American Idol. I used to be ashamed of this fact, but somewhere around Season 5, I just decided to come out of the non-gay closet. If I was a cute little girl that Simon and Randy would love, I'd try out in a heartbeat. But, as it stands, I'm left to live vicariously through the lives of those more courageous and confident than I. And, because I'm so deluded that I sometimes actually think people want to hear my opinions, I'm going to start doing weekly recaps.

(I sort of feel like my writers are on strike, too... I want to keep blogging, but I'm kinda having a hard time writing anything touching or comedic or inspirational or entertaining. So I'm gonna go with the blogging equivalent of Celebrity Apprentice or another what-have-you of awful reality TV filler.)

AI: Philly (1/15/08)

I was so pumped before, during, and after these auditions. What a great round! We saw some wonderful talent, some hilarious rejects, and some So-Paula moments. All in all, the perfect televised audition.

Joey - The lovable guy who lost 200 pounds before auditioning. He had an inspirational story, a great attitude, and a killer voice. I loved him. It definitely didn't hurt that he sang one of my all-time favorite songs: Maroon Five's "Sunday Morning." Sadly, I don't think he'll make it very far on the show... not unless he gets himself some confidence. PASS.
Junot - I probably should just be honest - I love me some black men. I really do. I'd be so very happy if a gorgeous black man with a voice to die for stole the show this year. Junot could just be that show stealer. He sang Elton's "I Guess That's Why They Call it the Blues" and called it "The Blues," which was cute in a clueless sort of way, but he was most definitely awesome. PASS.
Temptress - Was anyone else bawling before she even made it through her song? I hate it when they give you the whole back story about people, make you completely love them, and then send them packing because they end up sucking hard. Poor Temptress. I absolutely loved that the judges were so careful with her feelings and even followed her out to meet her family. Saps like me just ate this audition right up. I was crying pretty much the entire time. No shame, and... NO PASS.
Alexis - This girl completely freaked me - and probably the majority of America - out. Between the glitter, her weird blinking habit, and that tongue thing she did at the end... I'll be having nightmares about this chick for at least a week. Oh, also: I AM GOING FOR ACTRESSING!!!!!!!!! NO PASS.
Angela - Chicago, represent! I'd like to be friends with her and give her little girl a hug. I thought Angela had a great voice, and at first I disagreed with the judges calling her out on the snapping, "ha-s!," and whatnot... but after seeing her recap on the news about forty times this morning, I'm a believer. I still think she had a beautiful voice, and I enjoyed watching her perform... but the extras have got to go. PASS.
Kristi Lee - I really think that only a handful of people in this world can sing "Amazing Grace" the way it was meant to be sung... and Kristi Lee is most definitely one of those people. She rocked. I loved that she sold a horse to get to the auditions, and she traveled a long way to be in Philly. I think she'll be at the top of the country females this season. PASS.
Paul, the Paula lover - um, that was the best song of all time, if only for his incredible use of a Jimmie Walker reference. This guy is sort of my hero. I thought he was hilarious!! Of course, that may have something to do with the fact that he didn't write a stalker song about me. NO PASS.
Chris - I cannot tell you how much I hate the song "Follow Me" by Uncle Kracker. There's just something about it that scratches at my very being like nails on a larger-than-life chalkboard. This dreadlocked honey could sing, though. (Can't believe I just wrote "dreadlocked honey.") I loved his voice, and I wouldn't be surprised if he made it pretty far in the competition. He reminded me quite a bit of Antwon from Season 4, what with being gorgeous and braided... I just hope he has better luck. PASS.
Princess Lea Christina - I just want to know where she found REMOVABLE PRINCESS LEA BUNS. This chick and Alexis should get together for a delusional, freaky-deaky tea party or something. Christina is single-handedly doing her part to revive the word "DUH!!!!" and it kind of hurts my heart a little. NO PASS.

What a great start to the season - I can't wait to see what's next!

SEACREST, OUT!

my year of reading dangerously

2008-01-09T13:39:00.000-06:00

I saw this reading challenge on Andi's blog, and I immediately fell in love with it. What a fantastic idea, to challenge yourself to read the things that you normally wouldn't give a second glance.

january - great expectations, by charles dickens
february - the bluest eye, by toni morrison
march - cat's eye, by margaret atwood
april - transformations, by anne sexton
may - other voices, other rooms, by truman capote
june - lolita, by vladimir nabokov
july - the chocolate war, by robert cormier
august - maus i and ii, by art spiegelman
september - the secret lives of people in love, by simon van booy
october - the human stain, by philip roth
november - classic short stories, tba
december - the grapes of wrath, by john steinbeck

A couple of the books on this list - such as The Bluest Eye, The Chocolate War, and The Grapes of Wrath - I've already read, but I think I'll reread them, since part of the fun in reading a book is discussing it with others, and I haven't had that opportunity in what feels like forever. Other books - like Lolita - have been on my reading wish list for ages, and now I have a reason to attack. And still, some - I'm talking to you, Great Expectations - terrify me... we had to read GE in AP English in high school, and it was the only book I couldn't finish. I hated it. I'm glad this book is in the first month, though... better to get it out of the way early. I'll probably end up loving it (I hope, I hope!), but it scares the bejeezus out of me just the same.

It's a little strange to have an entire year of reading plotted out when the ball has barely dropped in Times Square... but it's sort of refreshing, too. Lately, I've been averaging finishing about one book a month, and that's just sad. There was a time not too long ago in which I would routinely finish a book every week. I even had a pattern - I'd start a book on Monday, finish on Friday, use the weekend for reading newspapers and magazines, and then start a new one on Monday.

Nerdy? Yes. Fulfilling? Absolutely.

Realistically, with my work schedule as it's been lately, I probably can't go back to that standard. But I can try. Of course, fulfilling this challenge requires me to break my personal Book Buying Ban self-instituted in November... but what the hell. Those B&N gift cards I got for Christmas aren't going to last forever!

can't hardly wait, for 2008 - it's gonna be good, it's gonna be great

2008-01-03T15:53:00.000-06:00

I was so excited to bid a not-too-fond farewell to 2007 and welcome 2008 with open arms. I just have a feeling this is going to be a big year for me. 2007 wasn't all bad (just mostly)... but 2008 is going to be awesome.

I've fallen into this kind of nasty rut lately in which I simply wait for things to happen to me instead of making them happen for myself. I don't usually make resolutions because I know I don't have a shot in hell at keeping them. This is the year that I'm going to climb out of that rut, make a promise to myself to get some shit done, and actually go out on a limb and make a resolution or two. Actually, five.

1. Make a point of saving more money each month.

I don't want Suze Orman to have a heart attack - especially since I'm enjoying her book Women & Money so much - but for a long time, I didn't have a savings account. I just let all my funds sit in my checking account... which, admittedly, isn't much. I opened a savings recently and set aside a measley amount of my bi-monthly paycheck to be automatically deposited. By January 31, I'm going to open another account at a different bank - one with a better interest rate - and set aside a bigger chunk of my check to be deposited.

2. Stop biting my fingernails.

Every so often, I get the urge to have long, beautiful nails, so I vow to stop biting mine. I use the smelly, tacky clear polish with the taste so horrendous that you barely want to use your hands for eating, lest your tastebuds happen along even a miniscule trace of the horrid stuff... and it works. For about two weeks. For two weeks, I'll drum my fingernails and revel in the sharp tap-tap-tap-tap on the desk and listen intently to the new sound of my fingers striking the keyboard. Then I'll get bored or stressed and bite them off, nevermind the icky taste. I don't stop there, though. I bite my cuticles and the skin beside and under my nails, so that more often than not, my fingers are nothing but painful, gnawed stumps of flesh. A person can only have so many Bandaids on her fingers before people start to look at her differently.

3. Organize my photos of family and friends.

For Christmas my sophomore year at SJC, my parents bought me a digital camera. Since then, I - probably like many other people - have neglected to print out the photos I've taken. I leave them in a folder on my computer and look at them once or twice a year, if I'm lucky. This year, I want to print out all the photos I've taken over the years and organize them into albums... and if I'm feeling really ambitious, I'd like to explore something like mypublisher.com for special events. 2007 was the loneliest year of my life, and I can't bank on my living situation to make a miraculous change anytime soon... so instead of missing the people I love, I'm going to make it so that I can be reminded of them everyday.

4. Eat healthier foods.

I know this is on everyone's list, so I'll be brief. Especially in the last year or so, I've gotten a lot worse about eating healthy foods. I live in a town where there's not much going on social-wise, so I work late a lot of the time. When you're getting home after 8:00 each night, it's a lot easier to pick up something for dinner rather than go home and cook. I'm not going to make an outrageous claim about never eating-out ever again, but when I do, I'm going to try to be a lot more conscious of my choice from the menu and limit the meals I pick up. I really enjoy cooking - I want to make an effort to do it more often.

5. Write my own stuff more often.

Having a job that consists of writing original copy for the majority of my day, every day, does something to drain the writing spirit in someone who used to think she might like to write for a living. Well, that's not entirely true. Plenty of people are full-time writers for their jobs and still manage to write and publish their own stories easily. I'm just not one of them. The sad thing is that I can count on one hand every creative thing I've written since I graduated from college over two years ago. This coming from a girl who used to stay up all night, skip class, and not go to the bathroom all day just to finish a story or poem. I want to see if I can get back just a piece of my former dedication.

I have some other things in the works that I can't talk about yet - things that I'm just bursting at the seams to discuss - and others that are getting lost in my mind because all I can do is focus on the larger, more secret-y things. So I'm going to try to dedicate more posts to some of those not-as-immediate-but-still-very-important things on the backburner. At least until I can stop being a secret squirrel. :)

ladies and gentlemen! step right up to see the amazing sad-girl cliche!

2007-12-14T21:34:00.000-06:00

I am the poster child for pathetic.

Tonight is my employee Christmas party, and I'm sitting at home eating frozen pizza and waiting for the fizz to go down on my diet root beer. When I told everyone I wasn't going because I just don't like the event, I was being honest. I really don't. Social soirees and ritzy receptions have become my bread and butter - literally. Just about every other weekend we have some fancy-pants office event, and I'm forced to put on my happy face and pretend that small talk comes naturally to me. I have to stand up straight, cross my legs, and censor my vocabularly. Our events are always very nice, but they're just not... me.

So why would I RSVP for one that I wasn't getting paid to attend? Exactly. Of course I don't want to be there, schmoozing with the people I see every day - half of whom I don't really even care for - working my ass off to ensure that I'm never without a conversation buddy when a slow song comes on. But sitting here munching on my pepperoni-and-tomato thin crust, listening to Sex and the City playing in the background, blogging by the light of my Christmas tree, it's hard not to feel just a wee bit lonely. Cinderella-like, even.

I did go to the party once. My first year as an employee. I brought my best friend as my date and arrived with a potpourri of partiers: an ex of one year, a new flame on the brink of becoming serious, and a male friend who doesn't get any more description than that because he reads this blog. What had all the potential in the world to become terrible, awful, and awkward... totally did. In about thirty minutes. I guess that experience just spoiled the whole thing for me. None of the people in my group that night would be at the party right now, but just the fact of being there would dredge it all up for me again. And - although right now I'm clearly the epitome of Lifetime for Women's target market - I still have a bit of dignity.

After all... I don't have a house full of cats, and my refrigerator is still proudly free of Cathy comics.

never hurts to be prepared, and also, breaking with convention

2007-12-12T12:10:00.000-06:00

I went home over the weekend to visit my parents and ended up getting iced in. When I found out Sunday afternoon that the roads in Rensselaer had been closed, as well as portions of I65, it went without saying that I'd be staying another night and leaving in the morning. Fully aware that there wasn't much I could do about it at this point, I worried that I hadn't packed enough clothes for an extra day. I ran to check my suitcase (which is pink, by the way), mostly afraid that I hadn't packed enough underwear - because, let's face it... what's scarier than being stuck somewhere without clean underwear?

Every single time I pack a bag - no matter if I'm going on an all-day shopping spree, to a friend's for a weekend visit, or to my parents' house for an extended holiday - I pack double the amount of underwear I'll actually need to get me through the trip.

Okay. Now that I've said the U-word three times, here's where I must pause to consider the ramifications of me, a girl, using the word "underwear" when referring to her own - equally feminine - undergarments. I recently conducted a scientific poll consisting of a hastily-written instant message to my one male friend, and the results, needless to say, weren't surprising. What follows is the transcript of our conversation (with all unrelated Guitar Hero references omitted):

me: would it be too inappropriate of me to blog about my underwear? and that also raises the question - if i do, do i have to say "panties"? because i really hate that word.
test subject: i think that if you're not going to say "panties"....as a girl, you must say "unmentionables"
me: that sucks that girls have to use retarded words like that.
test subject: i know, i know, but...hey, what are you gonna do?
me: i think it's directly related to the fact that men get to be bachelors and women have to be spinsters.
test subject: there's also the ever-popular "whore"

(I promise he's not really so misogynistic, folks. He's just trying it on for size.)

So there you have it. Apparently I'm in direct violation of some unwritten code forbidding respectable girls to refer to their underwear as such. But the alternatives are nauseating! Thesaurus.com thoughtfully provided these choices:

Drawers
Intimate things
Lingerie
Panties
Skivvy
Smallclothes
Underclothes
Underclothing
Undergarment
Underpants
Undershirt
Underthings
Undies
Unmentionables
Woollies

I don't like any of those. And I don't think I should be forced to use a word that I don't like just because the one I do like happens to be conventionally associated with men. So on this day, December 12, in the Year of Our Lord 2007, I vow never to allow unwritten etiquette to bind my verbal discourse!

Underwear, underwear, UNDERWEAR!

Now back to our regularly-scheduled blog.

All I wanted to say was that, when I got out of the shower on Monday morning, I wasn't laughing at myself for overpacking.

Overheard

2007-12-04T12:00:00.000-06:00

A friend of mine is in the hospital having some tests done, and he's very concerned that part of this testing regimen is going to require the swallowing of one or more pill(s). This man (who is arguably heterosexual and married with several children), now in his 60s, cannot swallow pills. Over the weekend, one of his nurses brought in a large, white, egg-shaped thing resembling a pill. He immediately panicked and said that there's no way he can swallow that - he physically can't do it. The nurse informed him that it wasn't a pill, but was, in fact, a suppository. With a sigh of relief, he replied, "Oh good! Things go in my ass much easier than they do my throat."

Pardon me while I go find some trauma counseling.

Office supplies are like my porn.

2007-11-30T10:01:00.000-06:00

I love highlighters and Sharpies. Ever since I was a kid, I'd find tons of highlighters and Sharpies (mostly stolen from my dad's desk and hoarded from the drug reps at my mom's work... I didn't mind that they all said Viagra and Lincare and Celebrex) and just keep them tucked away somewhere in my room. I didn't particularly have a lot of things that needed to be highlighted or written in permanent marker, but there was something comforting about having them. Sometimes I'd take them out and line them up, rearrange them in order of most favorite to least favorite, scribble on scrap paper just to see what they looked like, and - of course - smell them from time to time.

I realize that that makes me a bit of a freak and has most likely contributed to a lot of the problems I have today (and perhaps even to the habit of collecting office supplies in the first place), but I'm okay with that. They smell good! What can I say.

Before coming to college, I bought three boxes of highlighters containing six markers each. I was just glad to finally have an excuse. The lady behind the checkout counter raised a judgmental eyebrow at me, but I smiled and said, "I'm starting college next month." She congratulated me, and like magic, I had taken my under-the-table, brown-bag habit into the light of day. It was glorious.

But I didn't stop there.

I became friends with an art major who lived in my building. We used to paint the floor and ceiling tiles of the rooms on our floor. We did lots of projects together - advertisements for our Student Union Board activities, dorm signs, homemade birthday cards for our friends - before I discovered her Sharpie collection. It was the motherload. She had every color under the sun - colors I didn't even know existed! - and they were all contained in a sexy, black vinyl case. There were hundreds of them. And she let me use them whenever I wanted.

Some people consciously feed their friends' addictions... others just enable them.

Suffice to say, I quickly learned that college would not be the best place for me to kick my office supply habit. Obviously, neither is "the real world." Now I can buy highlighters, markers, paper clips, pens, staplers, scissors, White Out, and binder clips AND CHARGE THEM TO MY OFFICE. I even get wholesale catalogs full of discounts and BULK NUMBERS delivered straight to my office mailbox.

The addiction? I'm afraid she's not going anywhere.

The things that once were so big suddenly seem so small

2007-11-16T11:57:00.000-06:00

I went to see Phantom of the Opera in Chicago a few nights ago, and I had a bunch of time to kill between dinner and curtain. My ankle, although much less swollen and not nearly as black-and-blue, is still pretty tender and painful, so I had to stay pretty much within the vicinity of the theatre. I decided to take a walk over to Marshall Fields (now Macy's) and enjoy the windows. The city is wonderful - it was cold, and I was walking slowly, so people were throwing nasty looks at me, but it was still great. Just walking the two blocks, lost in crowds of busy people trying to get home after a long day of work, did so much to cheer my spirits.

When I was a kid, we used to go see the windows around Thanksgiving time for my birthday and then again at Christmastime, and I remember having to push my way to the front through big groups of people. The last time I was there was my senior year of high school - some friends and I took the train up to see the windows, all decorated with a Harry Potter theme. Even then, at 18 years old, I remember it being a special time. It's like something hangs in the air of the city at Christmastime - as soon as those first lights are strung, the city is filled with magic.

Needless to say, I was getting pumped up on the walk over there - remembering that warm feeling of excitement that came with the first glance of the first windows was intoxicating. When I got there, though, I was surprised not to see crowds of people surrounding the store, ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the holiday displays. Even though it's early in the season, there should have been a good amount of people stopping to look for at least a minute or two. Undisturbed, I strolled around the parameter, smiling at the old signs that still read "Marshall Fields," and examined the displays. They were nothing like what I remember - I actually thought they were kinda cheesy. Nothing remained of the former elegance I used to enjoy - crave - and I began to realize why I was the only one stopped in front of the building.

Not yet ready to give up, though, I went inside to visit the new FAO Schwarz, "store within a store." FAO was one of my favorite places as a kid, obviously. That place was like Mecca. Between the giant keyboard and the store-wide Mouse-Trap-ball-roller-coaster thing, a kid could get lost in there for days and not have to come up for air. When they filed bankruptcy a few years ago, I was crushed. Even as a teenager and college student, I used to love to walk around and look at all the awesome toys - and I was never ashamed to be the oldest person not accompanied by a child to play with said awesome toys.

I knew the Macy's location wouldn't be as cool, but I wasn't expecting it to suck, either. I was wrong. It was awful. It's located on a very small portion of the 5th floor, surrounded by children's and women's clothes. The only thing worth looking at was the life-size Lego Batman, but even the novelty of that wears off after a few minutes, as its $27,000 price tag makes anyone afraid to touch it, let alone get close enough to inspect the blocks. I guess they were trying to carry on the popular tradition of the giant keyboard when they displayed a dwarfed version of it - probaby 1/6 the original size and completely lame. There was one girl trying to play with it, and her tiny foot would barely fit on one key, it was so small.

There were hardly any kids there, no shouts of joy of exclamations of excitement. That's what I missed the most, I think - the looks of wonder and amazement on the kids' faces... and the expressions of nostalgia on the parents' faces. I rode the escalator back down feeling depressed, like the air was let out of my sails. I know that the things you loved as a kid are bound to change... but I wasn't expecting how old witnessing the change would make me feel.

I knew that Macy's bought Marshall's and FAO Schwarz closed its doors, and that both of them are nothing more than retail stores. But they meant something to me, and I suspect they meant something to a lot of people. It's strange and sad that those things were taken from us and nothing worthwhile was given back.

I'm On My Way

2007-11-13T12:22:00.000-06:00

When everything is said and done, I honestly believe that I am a genuinely good person.

I am responsible, and I always try to do the right thing – even if I realize “the right thing” doesn’t always seem right at the time I decide to do it – I try hard to make sure that it will be the “the right thing” sometime down the line, when it really matters.

I’m a hard worker, volunteering to work evenings and weekends if need be, even sacrificing or canceling personal commitments in order to make sure that my work is my best.

I’m kind towards others, and I often reach out and help people who are in need of assistance sometimes even before their need for assistance is made clear. I volunteer, and I contribute to service organizations.

I think the most important thing about me, though, is that I care. I care very deeply about those around me and many times put them and their happiness before myself and my own. On my judgment day, for all the wrongs and sins I’ve committed in my life, no one will ever be able to honestly convict me of not caring enough about the people, events, and issues that surround me.

All of these attributes make me very proud of myself. Even though there are several things I don’t like about myself – just like anyone else – I try to focus on these four aspects to remind myself that, when it comes down to it, I’m a good and decent person.

But every so often I’m hit with people who won’t accept me for what I am and misread my attempts. They think I’m irresponsible, lazy, mean, and uncaring. To these people, I constantly want to justify myself and my actions, but I’m constantly silent. I was raised to believe that if you have to broadcast it, then it defeats the purpose – the meek shall inherit the earth. So that’s what I’m doing today – trying desperately to remind myself that these people just don’t know me, and their judgment of me and my actions won’t matter in the end, so they shouldn’t matter now. But it’s just not working out for me as well as it usually does.

I’m beginning to think that there are people out there who exist solely to break one’s spirit, who have no other purpose than to bring someone down. For all my efforts, today I can’t convince myself of otherwise. Right now, I’m questioning every choice I’ve made and every action I’ve committed since choosing to start my career in this small town. I can’t help but play other scenarios in my head, over and over again, trying to see where else I could have ended up – if the grass would be greener on that side of the fence. It doesn’t bother me at all to think that I might have been wrong in believing that this was the place I was meant to be. What bothers me the most – the hump that I can’t quite get myself over at this point – is that my morals and core beliefs about myself are being questioned and, ultimately, doubted.

And I’m left to wonder if there’s ever a point where it’s acceptable for a person to stop caring, to give up on everything she’s attempted to build over the years. Or should she compromise herself to become more like what those around her are suddenly begging for? Does it lie in continuing to try to convince herself that this too shall pass?

Maybe it’s just time to leave.

Me: As Told By...

2007-11-09T10:22:00.000-06:00

I have a good friend who teaches English to some of the luckiest kids in the nation. Annie is the type of teacher who makes me want to go back to school just to be in her class - I'd put up with the hell-on-earth that was high school for the opportunity to discuss a book, complete an assignment, or diagram a sentence within the confines of her classroom.

Luckily, I don't have to pull a Never Been Kissed and go back to high school because Annie is juuust geeky enough to regularly do all those things (and more!) with me. We lived together for a year in college while she was student teaching, so I got to hear all her unique lesson plans, relive the beautiful stories of juvenile literature, and test myself with grammar games. After she graduated and began teaching full time in Northwest Indiana, I was able to sit in on some of her classes one day for a story I was writing. She was even better than I had remembered. Ever since that day, she sometimes shares lesson plans and assignments with me, and it's like Christmas morning every time I get one in an email from her.

"Me: As Told By..." was a project she assigned last year that asks her students to use the internet to look up and choose quotations that represent their viewpoints or experiences. She provided a bunch of topics for them, through the words of others, to comment on. I always thought that was such a cool way to allow the students to describe themselves without assigning the dreaded essay or theme writing, while simultaneously exposing them to many classic and cherished quotes.

I've kept the assignment tucked away since she gave it to me, pulling it out from time to time to marvel at her ingenuity, always intending to complete my own. I started to complete it once and saved it as a draft on this lovely blog. Now I'm going to finish it.
--

Me: As Told By...

Attitude
"Every day may not be good, but there's something good in every day." - Author Unknown

Beauty
"Our hearts are drunk with a beauty our eyes could never see." - George W. Russell

Books
"I would be most content if my children grew up to be the kind of people who think decorating consists mostly of building enough bookshelves." - Anna Quindlen
"My test of a good novel is dreading to begin the last chapter." - Thomas Helm
"It is what you read when you don't have to that determines what you will be when you can't help it." - Oscar Wilde

Character
"I have found some of the best reasons I ever had for remaining at the bottom simply by looking at the [people] at the top." - Frank Moore Colby

Confidence
"All of us have wonders hidden in our breasts, only needing circumstances to evoke them." - Charles Dickens

Creativity
"Creativity comes from trust. Trust your instincts. And never hope more than you work." - Rita Mae Brown

Criticism
"It is better to be making the news than taking it; to be an actor rather than a critic." - Sir Winston Churchill

Death
"Life is better than death, I believe, if only because it is less boring, and because it has fresh peaches in it." - Alice Walker

Dreams
"Sometimes you wake up. Sometimes the fall kills you. And sometimes, when you fall, you fly." - Neil Gaiman

Education
"The whole purpose of education is to turn mirrors into windows." - Sydney J. Harris
"A child educated only at school is an uneducated child." - George Santayana

Failure
"A man may fall many times, but he won't be a failure until he says that someone pushed him." - Elmer G. Letterman

Faith
"Faith is the bird that sings when the dawn is still dark." - Rabindranath Tagore
"Never confuse the faith with the supposedly faithful." - Randy K. Milholland

Forgiveness
"Love is an act of endless forgiveness, a tender look which becomes a habit." - Peter Ustinov

Friendship
"Friendship isn't a big thing - it's a million little things." - Author Unknown

Happiness
"If only we'd stop trying to be happy, we could have a pretty good time." - Edith Wharton
"Happiness is excitement that has found a settling down place. But there is always a little corner that keeps flapping around." - E. L. Konigsburg

Honesty
"The greatest way to live with honor in this world is to be what we pretend to be." - Socrates

Heroes
"You don't raise heroes, you raise sons. And if you treat them like sons, they'll turn out to be heroes, even if it's just in your own eyes." - Walter M. Schirra, Sr.

Learning
"It's what you learn after you know it all that counts." - Harry S. Truman
"You have learned something. That always feels at first as if you had lost something." - H. G. Wells

Life
"The first step to getting the things you want out of life is this: Decide what you want." - Ben Stein
"Life is like playing a violin in public and learning the instrument as one goes on." - Samuel Butler

Love
"You have to walk carefully in the beginning of love; the running across fields into your lover's arms can only come later when you're sure they won't laugh if you trip." - Jonathan Carroll
"Love one another, and you will be happy. It's as simple and as difficult as that." - Michael Leunig

Money
"You can only become truly accomplished at something you love. Don't make money your goal. Instead, pursue the things you love doing and then do them so well that people can't take their eyes off you." - Maya Angelou

Morality
"Do not be too moral. You may cheat yourself out of much life. Aim abovev morality. Be not simply good; be good for something." - Henry David Thoreau

Religion
"It is a fine thing to establish one's own religion in one's heart, not to dependent on tradition and second-hand ideals. Life will seem to you, later, not a lesser, but a great thing." - D. H. Lawrence
"Everyone ought to worship God according to his own inclinations and not to be constrained by force." - Flavius Josephus

Suffering
"In the depth of winter, I finally learned that there was within me an invincible summer." - Albert Camus
"Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, vision cleared, ambition inspired, and success achieved." - Helen Keller

The future
"The future is an opaque mirror. Anyone who tries to look into it sees nothing but the dim outlines of an old and worried face." - Jim Bishop

The past
"You can clutch the past so tightly to your chest that it leaves your arms too full to embrace the present." - Jan Glidewell
"For the majority of us, the past is a regret, the future an experiment." - Mark Twain

Truth
"Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth." - Oscar Wilde

Trust
"You may be deceived if you trust too much, but you will live in torment if you don't trust enough." - Frank Crane
"When I'm trusting and being myself... everything in my life reflects this by falling into place easily, often miraculously." - Shakti Gawain

War
"War does not determine who is right - only who is left." - Bertrand Russell
"The problem in defense is how far you can go without destroying from within what you are trying to defend from without." - Dwight D. Eisenhower

Writing
"Writing gives you the illusion of control, and then you realize it's just an illusion - that people are going to bring their own stuff into it." - David Sedaris
"A word is not the same with one writer as with another. One tears it from his guts. The other pulls it out of his overcoat pocket." - Charles Peguy
"Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass." - Anton Chekhov

To Walk and Chew Gum

2007-11-07T12:53:00.000-06:00

I've spent the last four days hobbling around town on crutches. Actually, it was more like hobbling around my apartment and my parents' house on crutches, wincing with pain everytime I moved and laughing at how ridiculous I must look, too embarrassed to head into town.

(I've never quite mastered the art of using crutches. Instead of swinging my legs out like any normal person would, I kind of just... hop. Or something. Regardless, it's amusing, and I know it.)

In all honesty, who - other than an idiot - trips over her own feet while walking across campus to a meeting? Nothing got in my way - I checked the sidewalk afterwards, and there was nothing there. I was walking across campus to a meeting I would have normally driven to - but it was a beautiful morning, and I wanted to look at the leaves. The next thing I knew, my entire left leg was on fire and I was shouting some very not-nice words in the middle of a Catholic college campus. I guess there was an uneven portion of sidewalk, and I, of course, stepped on it in just the right manner to roll my ankle, snap some tendons or ligaments or whatever, and thereby alleviate myself of the huge burdan of walking.

I actually thought it was broken. In high school, I had some big problems with my other ankle, and I remember the pain exactly. It was horrible. The pain on Friday morning was considerably worse, and I couldn't put any pressure on it whatsoever without letting loose a string of obscenities, so I just figured it must be a fracture. Security came to pick me up from the patch of sidewalk (someone saw me fall and called them since I couldn't walk - EMBARRASSING) and took me back to my office where they informed me that I'd be required to report the incident to Human Resources. AWESOME.

HR made me an appointment at emergency care, and every person I've ever met while living and working in Rensselaer was in the waiting room, checking out my two-grapefruit-sized ankle (seriously - it looked two very large pieces of fruit were inside my foot, one protruding from each side of my ankle) and asking millions of questions. After several xrays and lectures from my doctor, he decided it wasn't broken, but called it "the worst sprain" he'd seen "in years." I had to keep it wrapped, iced, and elevated all weekend, and crutches were mandatory. He gave me Darvocet, which didn't do a damn thing for me, and sent me on my way.

(Relatedly, if anyone's interested in some "recreational" drugs, give me a call.)

I spent the weekend at my parents' house where my mom lovingly waited on me hand and foot. She made me grilled cheese and tomato soup, washed my laundry, and let me control the remote (WITH TIVO). I promised to do the same for her when she gets old and breaks a hip. She's a great lady.

HR made me go back to the doctor yesterday morning, where they took more xrays after they saw the size of the swelling. Not quite two grapefruits anymore, it was still considerably bigger than it should have been. Maybe the size of a softball. Anyway, my doctor wasn't at all pleased with my recovery, but still didn't see a fracture. He said "something just popped out of place, and we've got to get it back in there." Wha? So now I'm in an aircast, limping like a feeble old lady.

Last weekend was the first weekend in over a month that I didn't have to work, and I was looking forward to going shopping for a friend's baby shower. I had to miss the shopping and the shower (it was in a building with lots of stairs and no elevator), but I did finish three books in four days, a new personal best for a geek like me. Also, my peg leg got me out of a work event tonight in Indy.

Oh - and yes, it's true: I was, indeed, chewing gum when I fell, making me the world's only real-life Blonde Joke. Keep the kiddies away.

A Milroy Moment

2007-10-24T14:34:00.000-05:00

Something's been up with my sleep schedule lately. I've been having very strange and often very scary dreams that have caused me to wake up every hour, on the hour... which is weird enough in itself... but I've also been having a recurring dream that I haven't had since college (but which I used to have on a nightly basis when I was younger) that causes me to wake up at 3 a.m. Naturally, my first thought when I look at the clock during one of these episodes is of the movie The Exorcism of Emily Rose, in which they talk of 3 a.m. being the devil's hour. Insanely scary movie, by the way.

This, coupled with the howling wind (made worse by my apartment's poor insulation and useless double-paned, POS windows) that this sudden temperature plunge has brought with it, and added to the fact that I've always been nearly convinced my apartment is haunted... needless to say, it's been a freaky couple of weeks.

So I thought I would take this chance and share some of my stories with you guys, in the spirit of Halloween and all. Plus, I'm totally trying to make my own collection of October Moments a'la Magazine Man over at Somewhere on the Masthead. (Not that I'll ever be such a fantastic story teller... but, you know. High hopes.) I think I'll call mine Milroy Moments, in honor of the beautiful street I live on... even though, technically, I live on the crappy side of it.

--
HE'S MAKING EGGS!
(A recollection of a dream I had a few nights ago. This is more funny than it is anything else... but I still woke up in a cold sweat.)

I was sleeping in my bed, but I was right at that point of the waking stage where you’re aware of what’s going on around you, but not aware enough to do anything about it. In my dream, I woke up slowly. I had a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach – a nervous feeling. I looked around at my bedroom. It had been torn apart; things were strewn across the room. I didn’t panic, though, until I saw that the closet door nearest me (I have two) had been open. Something was in front of it, right in the crook of the door where the hinges are... all I could see was a silhouette of something, not quite shaped like a human, but something about it gave me the feeling that it wasn't simply an inanimate object. I’m not sure what it was, but it made me realize that the door couldn’t have just blown open if something had been placed before it.

(Note: The closets in my bedroom have always scared the bejeesus out of me - but that's a different story - so the fact that one was open in my dream nearly made me wet myself.)

I sat up slowly, terrified. I very slowly left the bedroom and entered the rest of the apartment, which looked exactly the same. Laundry baskets full of my clothes had been rooted through and carelessly tossed to the side. Kitchen cabinets were open and things were strewn across the counters and onto the stove and floor. Even my furniture had been moved. My first thought was that I had been robbed. I looked for a sweater in one of the laundry baskets on the living room floor, and I moved a chair out of the way from the front door. I pounded on my neighbor's door several times until he answered – I had awoken him. He chuckled and said, “Here’s my wake up call lady.” I apologized and asked if he would come to my place with me – I put my head in my hands and my voice broke when I told him I was really scared. He came over and was appalled at the sight.

The next thing I knew, the two of us were in my bedroom, and there were two other people there, although I’m not sure who they were. I was laying in bed on my side, looking at the three others who were sitting on the floor and in chairs at the bedside. I don’t know what we were talking about, but the atmosphere seemed somewhat relaxed. Then we all heard a noise from the kitchen – it sounded like my stove burners were being turned on, like the clicking noise the burners make when you're waiting for the flame to ignite.

(Except that I have an electric stove in my apartment, so it makes no noise at all.)

We all looked at each other and walked out of the bedroom together, crowded in the small hallway between the bedroom and the kitchen. Frightened, someone cried, “He’s making eggs!” And I realized that there was a frying pan indeed cooking something on the stove of its own accord - no one was standing before it. The pan was in the air and the food inside turning itself over, as if someone had flipped the eggs just by jostling the pan in the air. I was horrified and didn’t move from the clan of people gathered just outside my bedroom door. Suddenly, I realized it wasn’t eggs being cooked but ground beef of some sort – the pan had tipped forward and emptied its contents into a big red dish made of plastic on the floor. It reminded me of a dog dish.

I woke up terrified and hoarse from trying to scream. I don’t think I completely awoke, though, because there was really no break between that dream and the next one.

Which will have to wait for another day.
--

So there you have it, folks. I've been trying to force myself out of bed after a dream wakes me up so that I can write down its contents for research the following day. (So I believe that dreams carry a degree of meaning along with them. Sue me.) I was in luck this night because I had been working on my laptop before I fell asleep; it was lying next to me on the bed. My hands shaking, I typed the entire thing out (and laughed for like five minutes when I reread the "He's making eggs!" part") then turned on a Fresh Prince rerun to calm me down before trying to fall asleep again.

Major elements for research: closet, laundry, furniture, kitchen, stove, eggs, beef, dish.

DONE... FOREVER.

2007-07-23T22:11:00.000-05:00

I'm still crying, so I can't put much on here right now... but I wanted to say one thing - the one thought that's been resounding through my head since the start of chapter one of The Deathly Hallows and the one thing that remains true since I last closed the book 10 minutes ago:

I want to have J.K. Rowling's baby.

Still hopeful, through it all

2007-07-22T10:52:00.000-05:00

Since I saw the new Harry Potter movie last Wednesday, I've been wanting to write about it. But how does one begin a story detailing the biggest disappointment of her life? So I decided to wait, hoping that a short time would clear my mind.

It did not.

I hated that movie. Really - from deep inside, I despised it. I had tried so hard to go into the experience virginal, without having read a single review or listened to a single friend's account. Then, a mere three hours before showtime, I broke. I listened to a friend's negative opinion and did a quick Google for reviews. Instantly, my shoulders sank with the first headline: "New 'Harry Potter' Loses the Old Magic."

When I think about it now, I went into the situation expecting more than was humanly possible to deliver. Nothing that any director could have created would have lived up to my standards for this movie. I know it sounds silly, but the book The Order of the Phoenix is very special to me. Not only is it my absolute favorite book in the series, but it affects me in a way that very few books can - it just gets to me. I'm not even being dramatic, here... this book is very important to me. Needless to say, I was anticipating the movie to be just as incredible.

Within the first half hour, I was ready to leave the theater. Then I reminded myself that there's no way the movie could include everything from the book - but so far the basics were the same. A little more than halfway through, though, something in the movie was so drastically different than the book that I felt anger rise from my throat. I watched the rest of the film with a scowl on my face.

Last Saturday, I went to see it again. After my initial anger faded into disappointment, I realized that I had gone into that theater expecting to see the movie that played out in my mind each time I read Phoenix... which is way more times than I'm willing to admit to anyone. I stealed myself for any comparison to the book - I forced myself to think of the movie as an independent being with characters that just happen to have the same names. By the end, I wasn't nearly as angry as I was days before, but I still didn't enjoy it as much as I could have.

There was no excitement, no mystery - nothing like the previous movies, especially "The Goblet of Fire." It seemed like the other characters were only present to give Harry a break from hyperventilating all the time - they didn't work together as a team like they always have. Just writing about it is making me depressed all over again.

It's strange (and a little bit pathetic) how a set of juvenile books and adapted films can be such a big part of my life. Bear with me.

It was like when you were a kid, and you waited all year for Christmas to come because you just knew that your parents had picked up your millions of hints you'd been dropping all year about the really expensive bike you needed. But then when you come out of your bedroom on Christmas morning, you look around at all the packages and notice that not a single one is large enough to hold the extravagant gift you swore you were getting. Still, you rush in to your pile, hopeful through it all, and nothing is like you thought it would be - your parents had bought you rollerskates. Sure, they're practical and they'll get you around, same as a bike would, but they leave so much left to be desired. You smile grudgingly and thank them for the gift, silently stewing that they couldn't deliver your dreams. It was like they hadn't listened, and they couldn't give you what had been so important to you for so long. You set the roller skates aside and don't so much as glance in their direction for days. Finally you pick them up and hold them, realizing that you shouldn't hate them because of what they're not, but appreciate them for what they are. You should be happy that you were given a gift at all, even if it didn't live up to your standards.

Boohoo.

Anyway, I picked up my reserved copy of The Deathly Hallows yesterday morning, but was too busy to start it until now. I plan on spending my entire day on the couch, reading as quickly as I can and praying that none of my favorite characters die. It's weird to think that in just a few minutes, nothing will ever be the same - there'll be no more anxiety waiting for the next book to come out, no more racing through a text and chiding myself for not making it last, no more predictions that Harry couldn't possibly be the one to die.

See you when it's over......................

My Life Before I Knew It

2007-05-07T11:45:00.000-05:00

I liked rainy days
when you didn't have to go outside and play.
At night I'd tell my sister
there were snakes under her bed.
When I mowed the lawn I imagined being famous.
Cautious and stubborn, unwilling to fail,
I knew for certain what I didn't want to know.

I hated to dance, I hated baseball,
and collected airplane cards instead.
I learned to laugh at jokes I didn't get.
The death of Christ moved me,
but only at the end of Ben-Hur.
I thought Henry Mancini was a great composer.

My secret desire was to own a collie
who would walk with me in the woods
when the leaves were falling
and I was thinking about writing the stories
that would make me famous.

Sullen, overweight, melancholy,
writers didn't have to be good at sports.
They stayed inside for long periods of time.
They often wore glasses. But strangers
were moved by what they accomplished
and wrote them letters. One day

one of those strangers would introduce
herself to me, and then
the life I'd never been able to foresee
would begin, and everything
before I became myself would appear
necessary to the rest of the story.

-- Lawrence Raab

Never-ending

2007-04-27T13:15:00.000-05:00

I've been tossing around an idea in my head for a post having to do with how easy it is to get caught up in the lives of people we don't know and probably never will meet, such as reality television characters, celebrities, movie stars, and - especially (for me, anyway) - bloggers.

Before I could get around to writing anything, though, I checked in on my favorite blog - "Somewhere on the Masthead," a sacred ritual I perform at least 12 times per day. My heart skipped a beat and my breath caught in my chest when I read Magazine Man's latest post... explaining the death of both his parents.

They were on their way to MM's house to meet their new baby granddaughter, and there was a pile up on the highway... they were killed on impact. MM's readers have been no stranger to his hilarious stories about his parents... I feel like I knew them myself. MM has an uncanny way of making anyone who happens upon his pages feel like they're part of the family... and I've been reading regularly for almost three years now, so I've been pretty much in like Flynn. In such a tragedy, it's nearly impossible not to imagine yourself and your loved ones in such a horrible position. As soon as my voice steadies and my eyes dry, I'll be calling my own parents.

Please keep MM and his family in your prayers... he has two young children who adored their grandparents and one newborn who would have followed suit if she was given the chance.

My heart, my thoughts, and my prayers are with you.

bragging rights

2007-04-27T10:27:00.000-05:00

Friday night was very depressing for me. It might have started on Thursday, when I decided there was no better time to get going on cleaning out my inbox, file folders, and desk drawers. I came across a lot of sentimental stuff and threw away (recycled!) even more every-day things. The throwing away (RECYCLING!) got to me more than the sentimentaling (I know it doesn't exist, k?) because it solidified my current situation. That magazine clipping I've been holding on to for two years, intending to someday imitate for our alumni magazine? Well, I won't be writing for another issue of the magazine, so I can toss that. The note about how to fix the installation for my scanner? It's not my scanner anymore, and I won't ever use it again, so that can go. I even sighed a little as I was shredding my employee benefits information, because I won't ever have to visit another Rensselaer PPO doctor.

Regardless of when it began, Friday evening culminated with the realization that my problem of letting other people get to me is still at large. Then, as the icing on my cake, I was forced to make small talk with a boy I once had very strong feelings for... and his skanky, horse-faced girlfriend who might as well have been cemented to the sleeve of his jacket because she never once let go of his arm.

This boy and I have been friends for years - very, very close friends - and we've gone out on many dates. And these dates were not just regular, plain old dates. They were record-breaking, earth-shattering dates. Dates that promised conversation so engrossing that we'd often not notice the waitstaff glaring at us and loudly clearing their throats, having already closed the restaurant and cleaned up around us. Dates that felt as comfortable as a lazy Saturday morning curled up on the couch with a good book, a spring breeze, and your most comfortable sweatpants. And most importantly, dates that were special enough to make the memory of every horrible date I'd ever gone in my entire life nothing more than an insignificant speck of dust on the shelf of life.

In short, I considered him a very special boy and our relationship a very special thing, and I was constantly reassured that he felt the same way.

A few months ago, out of the complete blue, he stopped returning my calls and emails. If I saw him around, he'd wave from across the room but never come over to say hi. He stopped asking our mutual friends about me - stopped telling them how much he cared for me. I didn't know what to make of it, and quite honestly, I was pretty hurt for a while. Not having balls large enough to simply ask him what was up, I assumed the worst, of course, and decided that he'd met someone better. He's a pretty shy guy - which, admittedly, is one of the first things that attracted me to him - and I figured he just didn't know how to tell me that he'd moved on.

I wasn't expecting him to flaunt the piece of ass he'd moved on to right in my face. Since I was at work, I had to sit at the greeting table after our reception until every guest had exited the room. He and his ho stood directly in front of me for nearly 45 minutes, and I was stuck there, sitting dumbly behind the table the entire time without a coworker in sight to save me or at least pretend to talk to me. I watched as she winked at me and flipped her hair every time she laughed at one of his effortless jokes. She "we"-d him - exclaimed "We'd love to see you there!" He didn't even tell me her name.

Most heartbreakingly, he leaned into her. One of my favorite intimate actions a man can take is to lean into a woman. Not hug her, not put his arm around her, but simply lean his body into her. Let her support his weight for a moment before breaking contact. Nothing more than a sway of his body into her general direction, but an action that says so very much.

She's tall and leggy and blonde. Her laugh sounded like nails on a chalkboard. She has sleek hair in a stylish cut. Her dress left not a single thing up to the imagination. She agreed with or reaffirmed every word that came out of his mouth the entire night.

Everything I like about myself went completely out the window in favor a short black skirt and a yes-(wo)man. And I've never felt worse.

because i no longer have to worry about getting dooced

2007-04-25T22:25:00.000-05:00

Three long years ago, I made the very stupid mistake of becoming friends with my boss. I didn't think it was a mistake then - she's fun, goofy, and carefree - and I was thankful to her for showing me the ropes and taking a personal interest in me. Our personalities complement each other very well. She makes the jokes, and I laugh. For three years, I was her office pet and her weekend movie buddy. Now I've become so insignificant in her eyes that she's stopped making eye contact with me completely, avoided me in the hallways, and timed her bathroom visits so that there's absolutely no chance whatsoever that we might end up alone together in front of the paper towel dispenser.

I had to make a very hard choice when I started looking for new employment back in November. I had to decide if I wanted to make her aware of my actions or simply go about my business without her knowing. Ultimately, I chose to keep my search to myself (and a few select friends and secret-keeping colleagues), and I didn't tell her until last week, about an hour after I had officially accepted the job with Big-Time University. I completely blindsided her - she didn't even know I was playing the field - and for that, I feel very guilty.

Part of me honestly wishes I had done everything differently - and if I could go back in time, I can't promise that I wouldn't do everything differently - but I do have my reasons for why I did what I did.

For instance. As much as I love my boss and consider her to be one of my very best friends, she does not handle bad news very well. She tends to take everything personally, and I knew that if I told her I was leaving to pursue a new opportunity, she'd misconstrue it as I was leaving her instead of the institution. She's one of the hardest working individuals I think I'll ever meet in my lifetime, but for all her positive points, there are just as many negative. I weighed my options. I could give her a few months notice ("I haven't come across any opportunities yet, but you should know that I've put the word out there"), and she would make my life hell from that moment until the day I closed my office door for the very last time. Or... I could take the selfish route and not tell her until I had a solid endpoint in sight. Which is exactly what I did. "I've accepted a new position, and my last day here will be May 9." Point blank.

I know she felt blindsided on a professional level and probably betrayed on a personal level. And I hate knowing that I've caused such a good friend such a large amount of pain. Mostly, I hate that the choice I made was nothing more than my selfish way of avoiding six weeks of awkward cohabitation and limited confrontation. Instead, I opted to expedite the process and have three weeks of it.

Everything kind of culminated for me tonight. We were all at a work event, schmoozing it up with the big wigs, and I began to notice that my boss was never closer than fifteen feet from me. Her back was always turned to me. She didn't look at anyone who happened to be talking to me. Normally at these events, we stand in the back and make fun of the presenters or talk about people's misguided choices in personal attire. Professional we (usually) are not. Normally, we are each other's air bags, safety zones, and sarcasm-friendly sounding boards. Sitting at the registration table, faking a smile for every familiar face that walked through the door, fiercely pretending there was no where else in the world I would rather be... and I finally stopped discounting my own feelings.

Tonight was the night I stopped focusing on the positive - a dance I've been doing quite well lately - and accepted just how very hurt I am that my boss - my friend - is acting like such a child. I don't expect her to make this transition easy on me, especially considering the circumstances under which everything went down. But I also didn't expect her to go out of her way to make me feel horrible. I guess I've been relying too much on the fact that I believed us to be friends first and foremost... and I'd die before I did anything so hurtful to any of my friends.

So I went in the bathroom and cried for a little bit, of course, because I am a girl, and then I called my mom as soon as I got home - again, because I'm a girl. And a pathetic one at that.

I'm trying very hard not to let the shortsightedness of one person affect what should be - and was until tonight - one of the most exciting and exhilarating events of my life. I feel like I'm finally growing up and forging my own paths, experiencing something completely brand new in a time when I really haven't done anything or gone anywhere new in my life for the last seven years. But ultimately, at the end of the day, it keeps coming back to that one person going out of her way to not only ruin it for me, but also to remind me that she still has the power to do so. And, sadly, I'm beginning to realize that she'll always have that power. When I come back to Saint Joe for an alumni event or just to visit old friends, I'm quite positive she'll go out of her way to ignore my presence and probably try her very best to just plumb forget the fact that I ever existed in Rensselaer in the first place.

And try as I might, I know that's always going to tug on my heart just a little bit.

Monday

2007-04-18T15:26:00.000-05:00

The chapel that brings such comfort and familiarity on Sunday mornings can seem so foreign and impatient when you’re there to bid someone farewell. The pews are cold and unforgiving; the light through the stained-glass windows appears dull and dreary. Your normal front-row seat is now reserved for family, and the view from the back seems miles away. The only saving grace is that it’s nearly impossible to see the white-dressed casket before the altar through the teased hair of the woman in front of you. When you kneel to pray, she does not move, and you awkwardly search for a gap in which to place your folded hands. All around you are familiar faces and the embarrassed echoes of choked sniffles. You cross yourself and sit back, pulling the collection of tissues from your left pocket: right for used, left for clean.

You subtly glance around the filling chapel and try to overlook the mourners entering in pairs, the fragile women sobbing into damp Kleenexes, and the men feigning strength as they press tear-stained faces into their lapels. In another situation a world of bad news away, you’d turn your nose on all of them, scoffing at their codependency and silently patting yourself on the back for rising above it. On this day, however, you close your eyes and let your head fall back, hoping to hide the longing you feel for a strong arm around your shoulders and the presence of a familiar body warming the space beside you. You push the ache somewhere deep inside of you and open your eyes.

You’re surrounded by the well-known faces of coworkers, few of whom you’d venture to call friends. They are merely people you see everyday, people with whom you exchange polite hallway smiles and nervous bathroom laughter, people who call daily meetings and waste your precious time. That notion of time has become quite apparent of late. You didn’t have time to return your brother’s phone call, so you vow to speak to him tomorrow. You didn’t have time for a healthy breakfast, so you settle for hastily eaten fast food. You didn’t have time to iron the black trousers you planned to wear to the funeral, so you pull the loathed, gray, herringbone slacks from the back annals of your closet. You blink yourself back and realize that the service has begun, and all around you sniffles are keeping cadence while sighs harmonize with stretched rivulets of tears.

Before you know it, it’s over. You’re singing the closing hymn to the tune of Danny Boy, your tissues are saturated and stretched thin, and the pallbearers are carefully avoiding your eyes. Outside, the sun is shining and the earth seems joyful to know it will soon swallow a woman so good. You give the sad nods and the closed-lipped smiles; you receive the necessary hugs. You hold hands with a woman who looks as if she’s about to crumble, and together you watch the hearse pull out into traffic, red and blue lights heralding it on its way.

You slip out of the crowd as soon as you see an opening and walk the few feet back to your office. You close the door behind you, catch your breath, and fall into your big leather chair. You read the same sentence six times before you realize that you haven’t a clue what it says. So you stop pretending and rest your head in your hands, alone in your space and alone with your thoughts. And you think how wonderful it would be to go for ice cream.

Sunday

2007-04-17T07:02:00.000-05:00

Mourning the loss of someone close is the hardest thing about living alone. There are many difficulties that come with being on your own, like falling asleep alone each night, the echo of your solitary laugh at an evening sitcom, the fear of being seen unaccompanied in a restaurant. Nothing can compare, though, to the day when you learn someone close to you has died – from the moment you receive the news, to coming home to an empty apartment that evening, to dressing for the wake, to climbing the steps to the chapel, to reshelving your emotions after it’s all over.

I’ve found over the years that I prefer being alone. I’ve grown to savor the feeling of stretching out in bed and wrapping the entire blanket tightly around my body, and I’ve even gotten comfortable being seen around town by myself. I’ve learned that the best way to avoid the empty feeling of your single laughter is simply to watch The History Channel and Animal Planet instead of Seinfeld or Friends. I’ve even discovered the beauty of simply ignoring the debilitating ache that fills my heart and forces me to sadly sigh each time I see people happily being together. I’ve found out that it is indeed possible to triumph in sadness rather than work to overcome it and that a somehow-pleasing apathy waits just below the surface of loneliness.

And although I’ve perfected the necessary tactics to staying home alone on a Friday night, and I’ve cinched pretending to read a book while I pray no one sees me sitting alone at Sunday brunch after church, the one thing I can’t seem to master is how to deal with the death of someone close. The drive home is possibly the hardest part of the entire process. Tonight, driving the short distance from the funeral home, I couldn’t help but think that mine would be the next unexpected death to shake this small town, having perished in a horrible car wreck because my eyes were so filled with tears that I couldn’t see clearly behind the wheel. When I did, in fact, make it home, I tried to laugh at the absurdity of my dramatics, but it only made me cry harder. I turned off the car and sat a moment, trying to collect myself. The moment I finally made it in the door, I collapsed against the wall and dragged myself up the narrow staircase. I looked around, angry that I lived here in this aging house and angry that I had conditioned myself not to care enough to do anything about it.

After I had closed and locked the door behind me, I didn’t know what else to do. I looked around the living room expressionless and walked into the bathroom. I brushed my hair, staring at my splotchy face and glassy eyes in the mirror. I changed my clothes, finding the same worn sweatshirt I had slept in the night before and pulling a pair of trackpants from the hamper. I laced up my tennis shoes. And I went for ice cream.

2007-04-12T09:49:00.001-05:00

It's funny sometimes how quickly your life can be put into perspective. I woke up this morning hating the alarm clock, pleased to be awake only when I remembered the cold pizza leftover in the fridge. I walked into the office this morning planning to make fun of Jake - call his phone a couple times and hang up. Maybe make a joke or two about what a nerd I am that I was excited to find a typo on CNN's scrolling news banner this morning.

Then - at the risk of using a cliche - everything changed in an instant.

I had barely even removed my coat when I got a message informing me that a coworker had passed away last night. At first I didn't believe it - "but she's young and healthy," I said. What I didn't dare say aloud was but she's my friend, and I love her. It took ten minutes of denial and speculation and nervous whispers before it was confirmed.

My first thought was how I only gave her a hurried wave in the hallway yesterday. I was busy and not in the best mood. I didn't feel like stopping to talk, even though she could have cheered me right up. I was content in my sour mood. I thought I'll go up and see her tomorrow when I'm feeling better.

My second thought was of her granddaughter. I was about her age when my great-grandmother passed away, and I hardly remember her at all. I have two or three choppy memories of us together and one from her funeral, but that's it. I hate to think that this sweet little girl will barely remember the grandma she loved so much when she's a grown woman.

My third thought was how much this place is going to change without her. Everyone hopes to make an impact on the world during their time... and she most definitely did. She was the happiest, most cheerful person I think I'll ever meet in my life - there wasn't any bad news she couldn't turn around. My building is silent and somber today, and it will be for a time, but it won't stay that way forever. She'll turn this bad news around, too, and our hearts will be warmed with the memories of the effortless sunshine she brought to our lives and the special way she impacted all of us.

Love you.

Thanks, Steve!

2007-03-07T14:37:00.001-06:00

pjwshlst (2:28:10 PM): we did - we saw "zodiac" and had dinner at chili's.
pjwshlst (2:29:00 PM): the movie was good - it was creepy. i had read the book years ago, and it was better, of course, but i really liked the movie.
st3v3 brady (2:29:20 PM): you know what I liked about the movie? No reading
pjwshlst (2:29:39 PM): well maybe someday you'll be as big a nerd as i am and you'll like reading better.
st3v3 brady (2:30:42 PM): If I watched star trek 24-7 and did calculus for fun for a month I still wouldn't be close to as big a nerd as you are.
st3v3 brady (2:30:46 PM): no offense. :^)

The Cheap Kind

2007-02-28T11:51:00.000-06:00

I was in our local grocery store the other day, and I passed the same woman four times in four different areas of the store. Not too surprising - it's a relatively small place - but what really surprised me (and ultimately got on my nerves) was that she was looking for the same item all four times that I passed her. She was with her mom and kept shouting (though the women were standing so close that their elbows were touching), "Ma, I need the cheap bacon. Where's the cheap bacon? It's gotta be the cheap kind." Every time I passed her, she said the samething - verbatim.

Just as I was walking towards the front of the store to the checkout lines, I passed the couple again - the fourth and final time. The daughter had a package of what I can only assume was "the cheap kind" of bacon in her hand, and as she was placing it in her cart, she looked at me. I smiled politely and said hello as is customary in a small town, and she thought twice about resting the package in her cart. She held it up in her right hand and patted the side of it with her left, saying to me:

"Always get the cheap kind, sweetie. It's the one thing you learn as you get older."

We parted ways, and I let the advice marinate for a minute while I placed my items on the conveyer belt. Does "the cheap kind" apply to other instances in life besides fatty meat products? Should I be searching for cheap men? Cheap beer? Cheap hair products? And of all the things I hope to learn as I grow older, why should thriftiness appear at the top of my list?

Her simple statement aroused many questions upon further introspection, but one thing remained clear:

Of all the things I buy generic... raw, graded meat from the underbelly of a pig will never be one of them.

The Great Mouse Trap, Pt. 3 - FINALLY

2007-01-03T16:10:00.000-06:00

Everything happens for a reason. After making several attempts a month ago to finish my mouse story as promised, I realized that the third installment in no way measured up to the first two. The first two were funny and silly. I had a hard time making the third one even remotely amusing since I could sum it up in one sentence:

I caught the mouse, and I threw it out.

Lots of people brought up the story to me in person or through email, which really surprised me, because this blog of mine? I wouldn't recommend it to anyone, really. But after explaining the situation to the people kind enough to inquire, I was handed several different nuggets of advice, my favorite being:

Steve: "Just put on your blog: 'Mouse Story Part 3. I told the mouse I was going to write about him in my blog, and he eventually died of boredom waiting for me to finish, and then I threw him away. THE END.'"
---

I left off with my naive hope that the live traps would work, and I'd soon be humming "Born Free" as I released him back into the wild, and he scampered into the sunset, persumably having learned his lesson about inhabiting homes and thankful the one he did inhabit was occupied by such a kind and sympathetic animal lover. When I went home for lunch that day, the traps were closed again, the peanut butter eaten, and the mouse long gone. It took me a mere moment to drop the hippie mindset - the mouse had really pissed me off now, if for the only reason that I love peanut butter, and I had wasted four undeserving globs of it on him.

Still on my lunchbreak, I returned to the hardware store I had visited just two days before, and - of course - the same salespeople were working. They all recognized me and asked how my hunt was going... I said I was done screwing around. It was time to get serious. They laughed, and I expertly made my way to the back of the store, heading straight for the pest control aisle. This time, I didn't cringe when I saw the glue traps and the box of poison. I went straight for the spring-loaded kind, picked up two double packs, and headed for the register. The same man once again wished me "happy hunting" as I left, and I returned home to lay my traps. I parted with four more globs of peanut butter. I returned to my office to finish the last three-and-a-half hours of my Friday, fuming and praying that when I caught the sucker, it wouldn't be too disgusting.

A friend was coming to stay with me that weekend, and she was set to arrive between 4:30 and 5:00. I had called her the night before to warn her of my mouse - it was the polite thing to do, I thought. I certainly wouldn't want to arrive at a friend's house anticipating a weekend of drunken debauchery and stumble upon strategically-placed and loaded mouse traps as I walked through the door. She laughed and said she'd come anyway. I only hoped I could beat her to my place to remove the evidence I hoped I'd have before she got there.

Beat her I did, and evidence there was. The first trap I had laid - in the cabinet under the sink which houses two buckets, an extra container of dish soap, and three cans of half-empty paint - had killed the mouse. I was officially a murderer. I saw it laying dead in the trap, and I screamed, of course, then slammed the cabinet shut. The two guys who live in my building also work at Saint Joe, and I figured they'd be arriving home shortly... I could wait up to ten minutes with a dead mouse under my sink if it meant they'd have to touch it instead of me. I practiced my best pouty face and eyelash bat, certain that they wouldnt' be able to resist my charms when I begged one of them to dispose of the rotting rodent carcass. Who could?

Fifteen minutes later, neither of them had arrived home. Then there was a quick knock at the door, and Brandy came in, and for the moment I forgot about the task at hand. We chatted, got caught up, and decided what we'd have for dinner. As an afterthought, she asked me where the traps were placed so that she wouldn't run into one. That's when I remembered it. I told her I had caught the mouse, and she was excited. "Who got rid of it for you?" she asked. She laughed when I told her it was still there, and she convinced me that I didn't need a man - I could do it myself, and she'd be there for moral support.

I tenatively walked over to the sink with an inside-out garbage bag in my hand. I got down on my knees, took a deep breath and held it, and opened the cabinet. With my cat-like reflexes, I scooped the whole thing up quickly... and let out my breath with a wail. "IT'S COLD AND HARD! OH MY GOD!" I shouted loud enough that my neighbors probably heard... and that's just the sentence you want your neighbors to hear permeating your walls on a Friday afternoon after a young woman just entered your building.

I was screaming, Brady was screaming, and we were both laughing at our ultra-girlish displays of disgust and fear. Somehow through all of that, I managed to get the garbage bag tied, slipped that bag into a brown paper lunch bag, and threw the final product into another garbage bag. I screamed the entire time, and once my hands were free, I started shaking them in the air like an excited child on Christmas morning or a complete idiot freaking out in her kitchen about a dead mouse. After putting the bag outside, we both washed our hands for about ten minutes and went about the rest of our evening with pruned fingers.

Which brings me back to my opening statement: Everything happens for a reason. For my month-long blogging hiatus, I've been dying to write anything but the mouse story, but I didn't feel like I could post something different until I finished it. I reluctantly accepted the unfinished fate of my blog, and decided that I'd probably never write again. Until yesterday afternoon when I went to the doctor.

I know it doesn't seem like a trip to the doctor could have anything to do with a mouse murder almost a month and a half stale... but I promise it does. And you'll have to come back tomorrow to find out why.

(Muhahahaha!)

The Great Mouse Trap, Pt. 2

2006-11-29T12:40:00.000-06:00

When I woke up the next morning, evidence of the previous night's hunt was everywhere: the flashlight still turned on (batteries now dead, of course) and resting on its side on the counter, the frying pan looking out of place in the bathroom where I apparently set it down and forgot to put it away, and the tea kettle with a long scratch in its cornflower blue paint. I got ready for work in record time that morning - I didn't want to be in that apartment for longer than was absolutely necessary.

I spent part of my lunch hour in the hardware store searching for mouse traps. I thought it'd be like choosing a soft drink: Pepsi or Coke. Springy-trap-with-cheese or something-else-I-hadn't-determined-yet. Little did I know that when it comes to rodent extermination, the choices are almost endless.

I walked in the store and was immediately met by two salespeople asking if I needed help. Both were men, and both had a hint of a smile on their faces to see a young woman in the store.

I've never been offended by a man's natural tendancy to automatically conclude that a woman has no idea what she's doing in a hardware store. This is mostly because I always seem to have no idea what I'm doing in a hardware store. Even if I go in with an end point in sight, like I need an extension cord... I get distracted and intimidated by the smell of the wood, the various wattage of the light bulbs in the ceiling fans, and the realization that I'm wearing pink sandals and carrying a pink Coach purse.

I decided to be strong, though - I politely refused any help and made my way towards the back of the store. I glanced down each aisle and found the pest control products relatively quickly. My eyes opened wide like a kid in a candy store... except opposite of that. All around me were boxes of poison, huge pointy stick-like things, and various other torture devices too horrifying to explain here.

I started at the opposite end where there was a familiar object: the typical spring-loaded trap. There was regular size and disgustingly-oversized-if-I-had-a-rodent-that-large-I'd-kill-myself industrial versions. I picked up a regular one and turned it over in my hands. I had a vivid picture in my mind of my home becoming quite like a cartoon for the duration of the trap usage. I pictured myself forgetting the traps were on the floor, snapping my big toe in one, and having those red lightning bolts of pain shoot out from my foot. After that, there'd be a full brass section or maybe just one lonely trombone playing an anticipated "wah, wah, wahhhhhh." I put it back on the shelf and moved down the aisle.

Next were boxes of poison. They were green and yellow and had pictures of cockroaches, silverfish, ants, spiders, mice, and birds all in black silhouettes with a yellow circle around their forms. There was a harsh red line drawn through each circle. I decided then that I didn't want to kill my mouse. He was just looking for warmth and shelter, and, contrary to popular opinion, I'm not a coldhearted monster. I've just recently discovered my inner bitch; I have yet to completely unleash her. Further down the aisle I went.

Next were the glue traps. I've always had horrible feelings about glue traps. When I worked at the hospital, we used to lay glue traps around the perimeter and near the ovens. Whoever got there first in the morning was always charged with the wonderful task of checking the traps. That person was usually me, being the breakfast cook and all. In the winter, not a morning went by that I wasn't greeted by a poor little ball of fluff struggling to free its leg from the sticky mess. I used to sweep all the traps to the area of the room away from the appliances and food; the next person to come in was Ray, a big, angry guy who did our ordering and stocking. He used to throw the traps into the trash compacter one by one.

I shook the uncomfortable memory off and moved down a little more... I couldn't help but wonder where the cardboard-box-propped-up-on-a-stick-tied-with-a-string-that-you-pull-when-the-mouse-went-under-for-the-food traps were located. Then I saw the modern-day, non-cartoon version of such a product: the live trap. I picked two up, paid for my purchases, obliged laughter when the salesman wished me happy hunting, and went straight home to set them. There was no doubt in my mind that one of them would be successful, and my visitor would be safely trapped by the time my workday ended.

I spread peanut butter on the very back wall of the trap and placed one behind the microwave (where I had seen it the night before) and the empty cabinet under the sink (where I had found some "evidence" during my hunt). I returned to work confident that I'd come home that evening to a mouse-free home. I hadn't yet decided how I would get rid of the mouse once it was in the trap... I didn't want to let it go in the yard just so it could find its way in again, but I didn't want to get in my car and drive to the park with a mouse in a box on the seat next to me.

The doors to both traps were shut tightly when I got home. I decided there must have been two mice, and I'd caught them both in the span of a few hours. I set the traps together in the empty sink (I have no idea why) and wondered at their weight: they seemed to weigh just as much as they did when I bought them. I needed to open them up to see if the mice were actually in there. I put both the traps in a brown paper bag and walked them outside to the parkway in front of my house. I stood on the steps of the General Milroy statue that greets the southbound traffic of highway 231 and held one trap out as far as I could, stretching my arm until it hurt. I opened it, turned it upside down, and braced myself for what would surely result in the mouse falling out, biting me, and giving me the plague or some other disease carried by rodents.

Nothing. Nada. In either trap. I walked back home cursing and wondering how the damn thing managed to eat the peanut butter off both traps and still get away. I put them back confident that I'd get him this time. By the time I woke up the next morning, I knew I'd have my mouse. I decided I would have to ask one of my two neighbors or my officemate - all men - to dispose of the creature for me. It never once dawned on me that I could do it myself; call me old fashioned.

One more installment to the story - I promise! Look for the real conclusion on Friday.

Oh, and by the way...

2006-11-27T17:04:00.000-06:00

... I apologize to anyone who read this post and whose resolution was set in such a way that the only visible parts without scrolling down were the title "Twenty-Four" and the unbelievably sexy picture of Jack Bauer and assumed the story would be about the show and the insane hotness of its lead character. I really am sorry to disappoint. I wanted it to be about that, too.

I'm also sorry for the length and run-on-ed-ness of the first sentence of my previous apology. And for the multiple uses of the word "and."

In which I'm continually baffled by the inhabitants of this world...

2006-11-27T16:49:00.000-06:00

I came across this story today and it completely blew me away. It's a short read - it'll just take you a minute. I'll wait.

....

...

..

Okay. Isn't that ridiculous?! First, it's a peace sign, for cryin' out loud. Why can't people understand that it's possible to still be supportive of our troops in Iraq and at the same time hope for peace? Maybe it's just me, but I think that if I had a child serving in the war, I wouldn't be offended if someone displayed a peace sign on their home. Doesn't peace indicate that our soldiers can come home?

Second, I loved The Da Vinci Code just as much as the next person - probably more, in fact - but really? A symbol of Satan? Come on.

It's a Christmas wreath. I think that Christmas and the idea of peace on earth sort of go hand-in-hand... to me, the ideas are interchangeable. I think the hanger of the wreath put it nicely when she said, "Peace is way bigger than not being at war. This is a spiritual thing."

Does anyone remember that X-Files episode where Mulder and Scully went undercover as Rob and Laura Petrie ("like the dish") in the weird, gated community? And the community association won't let them do anything to make their house stand out from the others? No basketball hoop, no lawn ornaments, no mailboxes painted anything other than "Desert Sage"?

Anyway, the community in this article reminded me of that episode: "The subdivision's rules say no signs, billboards or advertising are permitted without the consent of the architectural control committee." Um... it's a Christmas decoration. Arguably, I wouldn't classify a Christmas wreath as a sign, billboard, or advertisement of any kind. Those stupid, blow-up, oversized snow globes everyone has in their front yards now really get on my nerves, but I'd never complain to the homeowners about them... if that's what they want to do, fine. They're the ones looking stupid, not me.

At least there are some people on the association board with a little common sense:

Kearns ordered the committee to require Jensen to remove the wreath, but members refused after concluding that it was merely a seasonal symbol that didn't say anything.

But then again........

Kearns fired all five committee members.

The Great Mouse Trap, Pt. 1

2006-11-26T22:36:00.001-06:00

In the grand tradition of shitty things happening on November 14, this year was no exception. Summarily, I lost my favorite ring down the sink in my bathroom at work, it still stung that The Fray had sold out Elliot Hall two days before (leaving me without tickets), and I discovered that I have a mouse cohabitating alongside me in my apartment.

Thanks a lot, Twenty-four... so far you've been a huge bitch.

It wasn't an expensive ring or anything, but I did like it a lot. And the thing is - I never even use the bathroom in my office. I check my hair sometimes in the mirror (a lot of good it does, too), but that's about it. I was eating lunch at my desk that day, and when I finished, I washed my hands. As I was drying them, my ring slipped off and fell square down the drain pipe - nothing but net. And since it's an old bathroom, the pipe runs directly straight into the floor... no curvy part to take apart and fish it out. I called the Physical Plant, and they said it was lost - to just forget about it. It really isn't a big deal, since it was inexpensive and had little sentimental value... but still. I've been wearing it for years, and my right hand feels strangely empty now.

I was reading a book on Tuesday evening trying to ignore my naked finger as I turned the pages, when I heard a strange scraping sound. I listened for a minute but quickly disregarded it - my building is very old and makes freaky, old-house noises. I heard it again a few minutes later and realized it wasn't a settling-house noise... it sounded like something running back and forth across a piece of tin or metal. My first thought was that it was a mouse, then I decided otherwise, reminding myself that I'm convinced every time I walk through the front door there's someone waiting in the shadows to kill me. I'm a little paranoid.

So I halfheartedly investigated... opened up some cabinets, moved some boxes around, checked the pots and pans. Nothing. I sat down at my dining room table and checked my e-mail. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the laptop cord move from the wall... I figured I bumped it with my feet. A second later, I saw something shimmying its way - head first - down the backside of my kitchen cabinets, and I realized the thing I thought was my laptop cord was the stinky tail of a nasty mouse climbing around my home. I did what all girls do when rodents are involved - I screamed a pitiful, high-pitched shriek and grabbed the largest item next to me at the moment: my GRE study guide book. In my head, I smiled at the irony... I thought of how many times I've wanted to throw that book against the wall, and how satisfying it might be to smack a mouse with it on its way. By this time it had disappeared, presumably into a crack in the wall where it convened with its tiny mouse friends and made fun of the big dumb girl who screamed like a big dumb baby.

Next, I did the only logical thing I could think to do: I retreated to my bedroom, closed the door, and sat Indian-style on the bed for 30 minutes. It was nearly midnight at this time. If I was living in a normal town, I would have immediately run out to the nearest 24-hour convenience store and picked up a few traps and maybe a man who knew how the hell to use them. But I live in Rensselaer. The entire town had been empty for about two hours; I was on my own.

Soon I realized that if I ever wanted to fall asleep that night, I was going to have to trap this thing and get it out of my home. I grabbed a flashlight and made my way to the kitchen, picking up a frying pan from the dish drainer. I opened up all the cabinets and shined the light in there, part of me hoping it would reflect off a beady, black eye, and another part of me nearly gagging with the thought of that actually happening. I went through all the cabinets that way: throw open the door, shine the light, poise the frying pan. Nothing. I stood in the center of the room, defeated, when I heard a noise by the stove. I tossed the flashlight and snatched up the tea kettle from one of the burners, and behind it was a gray mass of fur, four tiny feet, and a long, flesh-colored tail. I dropped the kettle and the mouse ran behind the microwave. The kettle fell on my foot, and I wanted to curl up right there and die... but if I did, I figured the mouse and his friends would probably feast on my decaying body - in my own home - and I couldn't have that.

I limped over to the microwave and shook it... I heard the mouse's little toes clicking across the counter, but I couldn't see it. I stepped back and scanned the area. Finally, I bent down to right the kettle. As I bent, I heard a scuffling noise and looked straight ahead... no more than two feet from my face, that creepy rodent was glaring at me, hunkering in a corner below one of the cabinets. I, of course, jumped back and screamed again, and it escaped. And I dropped the kettle on my foot again. The same foot, as my typical birthday luck would have it.

What did I think I was going to do? Somehow corner the thing and beat it mercilessly with the frying pan? I'm not a violent person... I didn't want to kill it, just wanted it not to be there any longer. And it was my favorite frying pan... no way was I going to let it touch that nasty thing.

I had to go to bed that night knowing there was a mouse - probably an army of them - making themselves comfortable in the walls of my home, perhaps scampering across my dishes and helping themselves to my food. I was certain I would wake up and one of them would be crawling across my face, getting tangled in my hair... I didn't sleep more than two hours collectively that night.

Tomorrow I'll post the conclusion... I'm getting a little jumpy all over again just remembering the little thing.

You can find parts 2 and 3 here and here, respectively.

Twenty-four

2006-11-21T12:46:00.000-06:00

Twenty-four hours to save the United States of America.

Recently turned twenty-four years of age in the United States of America.

On your birthday, people always seem to ask "So, do you feel any older?" It's a stupid question, really, because of course no one "feels" older on that specific day - it's not like a switch is flipped at midnight, automatically giving you some sort of insight or wisdom or wrinkles intended to make you "feel" older. I usually just smile politely, shake my head, and say no. This year, however... if someone had asked me last week if I felt any older on my birthday, I would have said yes. This is the first time in my life that I actually do feel older.

A number of events and happenings have combined to make this year very hard for me. Some things I've blogged about... others I've not even mentioned to my best friends. I try to steer clear of blogging unless I have something happy or funny to relate... no one wants to read all about some random girl's heartache and sorrow. So I fake it. I fake it with my friends, my coworkers, my family. If my life was a Seinfeld episode, I'd have to give everyone another chance to proove themselves once they found out I'd been faking it this whole time. (I'm hoping at the very least Phil will remember that episode.)

And I know I'm too young to feel this way. I've not lived long enough to justify depression; I've not had enough epic misfortunes befall me to allow me to despair. I think that's part of the reason I spend most of my day ignoring things and pretending to be someone I'm not: I don't feel like I've earned the right to feel this way. As if depression were a prize and everyone's racing to the finish line to be the first to grasp it.

I've been lucky enough to have suffered through only a very minute number of deaths of those close to me... for the most part, my family members are all in decent health... I'm physically able to earn my keep in a worthwhile trade... I guess those are the categories that come to mind when I think of life events that might spawn depression. I guess I feel that if I put myself on the same level as people who have experienced "real" and "justified" depression, that I'm making their suffering seem less, somehow. Like how a few weeks ago I mentioned that my back was sore, and my pregnant coworker shot me a death look.

Nonetheless, I continue to feel worse every day. It's a culmination of many things: a palpable air of lonliness has hung over the year 2006. And it seems to have made itself comfortable here... I don't think it will be leaving any time soon.

And I can't seem to shake off the knowledge that hardly anyone even remembered my birthday. Not that I have an outstanding number of friends anymore... but I was still a little surprised by how few people remembered. I don't even know why it bothers me so much. Why does it sting when someone forgets something like a birthday? I guess part of me just wanted to know that someone took a moment out of their day to acknowledge my existence or smile at the thought of me. Why do I feel like I deserve some sort of get-out-of-jail-free card just because it's my birthday? Maybe because at this point in my life, it's so easy to feel alone and abandoned instead of special and celebrated. And it's even easier to focus on those times of imposed solitude and allow the good times to slip away.

I know it's just a birthday, and as we get older, we want to acknowledge them less and less. But I guess when every day you feel like you're grasping at straws and coming up empty every single time, something as simple as a birthday wish can be monumental.

Involved For Life... even back then.

2006-11-20T15:22:00.000-06:00

This morning at work I had to go through some old SJC yearbooks to find a picture for a story I'm working on. I love when I have the opportunity to peruse our "back room" - it's filled with all kinds of neat memoribillia. It's so easy to imagine what Saint Joe was like during its infant years when you're standing amongst a wall full of yearbooks, student senate documents, framed photos of old presidents, and an ancient typewriter covered in yellowing plastic.

The books from 1960-1975 are my favorites. Influences of Woodstock, Vietnam, peace rallies, and JFK resonate throughout their pages in the students' attire, hairstyles, actions, club involvement, passion, and chosen quotations. Especially chosen quotations.

I came across one that made tears well up in my eyes (big surprise, huh?). It made all my work-related stress seem obsolete and gave me a chance to remember what Saint Joe was to me before it simply was my place of employment.

The majority of my vast audience (read: three people) are SJC alumni or have close enough ties to the College to be considered alumni on some level, so I thought I'd copy the quote on here for everyone to enjoy.

"Wonder if we'll be back in ten years. Maybe Saint Joe will remain untouched, only repainted with new blues and greens. Maybe we'll come back, a few of us, on different days, making each one special, even though we may be alone out in a field near Schwietermann. We know we don't have to be invited and maybe each one of us will try to find a little time, a little more time to come back... if only to revisit what we once knew to be ours."

The best defense against the atom bomb is not to be there when it goes off.

2006-11-17T16:06:00.000-06:00

One of my favorite Friends episodes is the one in Season 5 when Monica and Chandler are trying to hide their relationship from everyone, and only Joey knows the truth about it. Monica and Chandler keep almost getting caught: Pheobe finds his underwear between the cushions on Monica's couch, Rachel walks in to find a steamy love nest complete with candles and a video camera in Chandler's apartment, and everyone finds a naked picture of Monica in his kitchen. They blame everything on Joey. It's Joey's underwear; Joey's trying to seduce a girl with candles and a video camera, Joey's caught leering at the naked picture of Monica. Finally, it comes out that Joey's a sex addict, and that explains it. His defense is "I'm Joey. I'm disgusting." And that's that. Everyone drops the subject because everyone knows he's right. He's Joey; that's how he's expected to behave. And pointing out the obvious ("I'm Joey") effectively takes the place of him actually explaining his actions ("I put the underwear there because...").

I do love that episode, but I promise there's a point for me summarizing it. Today at work, I got to thinking about stereotypes that we give ourselves, and that episode came to mind. Joey justifies his disgusting actions by implying that that's just what he does because he's Joey.

I've been having some problems with someone at work, and in discussing the situation today with a coworker, I found myself using the same argument. "Yes," I said, "I know I should stick up for myself. But I won't. Because I'm Becky, and that's how I work." My friend just raised her eyebrows at me, suggesting what I already knew: what a terrible way to back up your actions.

Someone needs to say something about the situation, and it has to be me because I'm directly involved. However, I can count the number of times on one hand that I've actually confronted someone about something that's been bothering me. It's two. In my whole life. I just can't do it. And I've always been defensive about it, and my ingenius way of dealing with it has been self-deprecation. I poke fun at myself, saying things similar to "I'm Becky; I'm disgusting" so that I don't have to actually change something about myself. I'm terrified of trying something new, even if I'm positive that that new element will fix my crappy situation.

It seems that the Friends defense won't work this time, though. I'm going to have to do something about it much sooner than later. I just have no idea where to begin. My natural coping mechanism is to cry until it feels better... but something in the back of my head tells me that crying during a heavy confrontation probably won't get me the results I'm looking for.

For years, I've wondered when would come the time that I'd stop being a wuss and put my foot down... when I'd decide I'd finally had my fill of being a doormat and that my convictions matter just as much as the next person's... when I'd stop putting other people's emotions before the truth and the job that needs to be done.

My grace period is running out. I guess I'm gonna have to be a man about it. You know... per se.

In order to protect the innocent...

2006-11-16T10:32:00.000-06:00

... it is important to note that those involved in this conversation do not actually associate with people named CHET and MARJORIE.

Becky: he came up and gave me a hug, then i started to pull away when it was the proper time for a friendly hug to end.... but then he goes "oh my god, rebecca. you smell so delicious right now." and kept holding on to me. he had his face like on my neck and he was smelling my hair and perfume and stuff..... and i swear to god phil, i have no idea how i didn't just lose it right then.
Phil: that's why you need a "phil whistle", so that when this happens, you can let me know and i can silently guide MARJORIE to a different location so that i can molest her, and oh yeah, you can have your way with CHET.
Becky: so then he called MARJORIE over - still holding me - and told her to smell me. so she came up behind and smelled me (lol)... finally CHET let go and said "MANNY! come over here and smell becky." so then MANNY did the same thing, only he was wasted and it was a little freaky. then every time CHET walked by me all night, he'd smell me and want to talk about my perfume. it was the best birthday present i ever could have received.
Becky: lol is that like a rape whistle?
Becky: or when you blow into it, it plays barry manilow or something. al green, maybe.
Phil: no. more like a dog whislte, that only i can hear
Phil: hahahahahaha
Phil: or the Saved By The Bell theme song.
Becky: LOL
Becky: ......the saved by the bell theme song gets you in the mood?
Becky: fuck no. any time i'm around MARJORIE i'm in the mood. but if you needed a whistle that would get my attention, that might do it.
Becky: hahahahaha okay.
Phil: i'd be in the middle of a bass solo......HEY, IS THAT SAVED BY THE BELL??????????
Becky: i seriously think that if you guyswere ever all hanging out and drinking, etc, and you broached the topic of a 3some... there's a good chance she'd be into it.
Becky: LOL i can just imagine that..... your ears would perk up and your eyes would dart around the room, looking for the source.
Phil: yeah....but......well, not even yeah......all i know is that CHET? CHET would not be into it.
Becky: and when you finally found her, you'd jump off the stage and click your heels in the air.
Phil: hahahahaha
Phil: yes i would.
Becky: well MARJORIE's got to have a hot friend who would be.
Phil: but then that's an orgy.
Becky: CHET doesn't have to know.
Phil: wait, what?
Becky: and you're suddenly opposed to an orgy?
Phil: um.....?
Phil: watching one on video? fantastic. taking part in one? i'm not 22 anymore.
Becky: lol
Becky: sorry - forgot about the age cutoff.
Phil: however, if that's the only way i could bed MARJORIE, i'd do it. no questions asked. as long as *i* wasn't getting violated.
Becky: lol
Becky: i don't think that people use "bed" as a verb often enough.
Phil: i switched from "tag" to "bed" in that sentence.
Phil: lol
Phil: seriously, this entire thing should be a blog post. does MARJORIE read your blog?
Becky: lol "tag"... i can honestly say i've never heard that word used in that way. but i like it.
Becky: it SHOULD be a blog post. not that i know of - i don't think she has the url.
Phil: you've never head "i'd tag that"?
Becky: no! i've heard "i'd hit that" but that's it.
Phil: wow
Phil: so sheltered.
Becky: my friends and i usually say "i'd enjoy a romantic evening with 'that' where upon we commence the night by making love."
Becky: ok, i was just kidding. i really hate when people say "make love." it sounds so gay.
Phil: hahahahahahahahahaha
Phil: i know.....i usually just say "fuck", because....hey! everyone likes to say "fuck".
Becky: i agree! "fuck" is the best term you can use, i think.
Phil: but in reality, girls don't usually want to hear it as a verb when it pertains to what they might be doing in 5 minutes.
Becky: lol
Phil: so now, usually when i'm soliciting, i just get an erection, point down to it, and say "hey! you wanna hop on THIS????"
Phil: works EVERY time.
Becky: lmao
Phil: oh god, i just made myself lol.
Becky: i'm soooo glad jake isn't here right now becuase i'd have to explain to him why i'm cracking up.
Becky: "oh... no reason... just thinking of phil's dialog involving his erection..."
Phil: lol
Phil: seriously....if you have any balls at all, a large portion of this will go unedited onto your blog.
Becky: oh i'll do it.
Becky: i'll probably take out MARJORIE's name though.
Becky: i know, i know.
Phil: sigh.....
Phil: you'll also have to take CHET's name out then.
Becky: wanna give them fake names?
Becky: what's the sexiest female name?
Becky: ...winni?
Phil: chet and marjorie.
Becky: LOL seriously
Phil: hahahahaha
Phil: i know, i know.
Becky: no - now it's going to be chet and marjorie.
Phil: hahahahaha
Becky: and i think i'm going to capitalize their names every time.
Phil: at the top of the post, you MUST state that we don't actually hang out with people named chet and marjorie.
Becky: good idea.