I have returned from Vegas 100% intact. Well, my wallet took a beating (more at JCrew than in the casinos) but you know, you go to Vegas to spend money, and at least I came back with goodies to show for it.
Some of my favorite Vegas stories:
We (Lizzy, Molly, Annie, Bridget) are walking down Las Vegas Blvd and a guy runs up next to us and says:
"Hey ladies are you going out tonight?"
"No" (all of us)
"Well I wish you would because it's my brother's 21st birthday and we're trying to make this a real party so I wish you would come. So will you be there?"
"Probably not." (me)
"But-" (him)
"We're all married" (Molly Vaughn, flashing her ring finger while I try to hide my conspicuously bare one)
"Welp, see you later!" (him)
There may as well have been a smoke path behind this guy he ran away from us so quickly. I loved it. I laughed all the way back to the hotel.
Molly Vaughn kissing Annie's chin when Annie tried to say goodbye to her (Molly I beg you to please post that story on your blog in more detail, I don't want to steal it)
Annie sitting on Molly's lap while she applied sunscreen to her back instead of both of them standing like capable adults
The shouts that Annie and I got while we went running/jogging down the strip on Saturday evening:
"You're in Vegas!"
"Stop running, you're making me feel lazy!"
"You're ON VACATION!"
"Did you see that? They were jogging"
"Where the hell is the University of Virginia?" (I was wearing a UVa tee. I particularly liked that comment)
Then there was the one aggressive woman who decided to jog alongside the two of us until we lost her...it was obnoxious.
We also passed approximately 7 able bodied (we assume) teenagers racing down the sidewalk on motorized wheelchairs. They each cheered us on as we ran, but the last one was our favorite who simply looked up and said "Hello" as he scooted on by.
All in all the trip was a success (minus my flight being delayed 40 minutes which made me an angry angry girl last night as I didn't even touch the ground until 11:30 pm and I had to get my luggage and be up for work this morning). We ate at Mesa Grill (yum), saw Love by Cirque du Soleil (fun and a little creepy - sorry Lizzy), laid out by the pool at the Wynn and the Encore, gambled a tiny bit (Lizzy DOUBLED HER MONEY!) and basically bought everything on sale in JCrew. If you haven't been to Vegas yet, I urge you to go. It's not what you think it's going to be - everyone can create their own unique version of Vegas.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
NO PARENTS!
So I had an awkward moment on my birthday. We were sitting at the dinner table and there were like 10 of us, and I think we had just finished cutting the birthday cake or something, and someone said "Happy birthday!" and I said "BIRTHDAYYYY!"...so when I said "birthday" excitedly, my friend Paul put up his hand for a high five, and then I followed it up with "NO PARENTS!" He kindly kept his hand there while I completed the high five, but he looked at me like I was crazy.
No one here has ever heard of No Parents. Do you guys remember that?? Was it just us? We used to say that, right? It was a thing? Or did I make this up? I distinctly remember this being yelled (I think by Foley) at FIJI parties, (except it was usually "COLLEGE! NO PARENTS!") so now I can't figure out if it was a FIJI/XO thing, or just a FIJI thing, or really just something I made up and then attributed in my head to one of my favorites.
Can someone please clarify this for me? Because I am totally planning on yelling "VEGAS! NO PARENTS!" this weekend and I don't want it to be awkward.
No one here has ever heard of No Parents. Do you guys remember that?? Was it just us? We used to say that, right? It was a thing? Or did I make this up? I distinctly remember this being yelled (I think by Foley) at FIJI parties, (except it was usually "COLLEGE! NO PARENTS!") so now I can't figure out if it was a FIJI/XO thing, or just a FIJI thing, or really just something I made up and then attributed in my head to one of my favorites.
Can someone please clarify this for me? Because I am totally planning on yelling "VEGAS! NO PARENTS!" this weekend and I don't want it to be awkward.
Monday, March 22, 2010
As seen on Facebook
I have got to stop cross-contaminating my storytelling devices (ie posting the same things on Twitter as I do on Facebook and my blog). You may have already heard this story from my status message this weekend on Facebook, but even if you did, you didn't hear the whole story, so here it is.
Four years ago I started working in Columbus, Ohio. One of the first weekends I was out in Columbus, I went to a bar called Brothers with some friends from my training class. Brothers has a large outdoor patio. They specialize in $1 shots some nights of the week - this might tell you what kind of bar it is and what kind of people patronize Brothers (but I was there, so what can I say). Let's just say it was a good bar to use to transition from college to professional life. And again I use the term professional loosely as it relates to my job.
So my friends and I were standing in a large circle on this outdoor patio and a guy comes up, taps me on the shoulder (kind of aggressively, actually), and says "Hello, you are looking very cool tonight" with a thick accent. I said thanks and tried to go back to my conversation...he persisted. He introduced himself as "Ali-sahn" and stood there talking to me until I gave him a phone number (fake) to get him to leave. He then said "I'll call you right now so you have my number" and I said "Oh I don't have service right now so it must not be coming through" (honestly, men, if this ever happens to you, it is a SURE SIGN that she is fake-numbering you. Just delete the number immediately). Life went on, but my friends and I never forgot the legend of the guy-named-Alison-who-said-you-are-looking-very-cool-tonight. NOR have I forgotten that my friend Paul who was standing next to me at the time did NOT pretend to be my boyfriend to get that CREEP to go away.
Fast forward 4 years to this past Saturday night. I was feeling preeeeetty bad for myself because a guy who I wanted to call me hadn't (he has since gotten in touch and claims he had the wrong phone number for me...I don't know if I buy it, but he's getting the benefit of the doubt for the moment), so I went to Trader Joe's, by myself, at 8 pm on a Saturday night. I am the ultimate of cool, in case you were wondering.
In my self-pity-frenzy, I buy the following (let's see how good my memory is):
apple slices
garlic hummus (love)
2 bags of pretzel thins
1 bag of pita chips
cheese sticks
2 frozen pizzas
sugar snap peas
gallon of milk (this becomes important)
3 frozen-indian-food meals
2 bags of salad greens
Ok I think that's it. Regardless, I buy all of these groceries and I'm struggling to get from the store to my car with two full bags in one hand and my car keys + gallon of milk in the other hand. I exit the store and walk past a guy who appears to be kind of confused (he's just kind of lingering by the entrance). As I walk by he says "Excuse me, miss?" and I turn, thinking that he's lost (he has a foreign accent, and there's a hotel next to Trader Joe's, snap judgement). Guess what he says to me.
No really, just guess.
"You are looking very nice tonight."
Do you see where this story is going?
It was the same mother-effing dude. He, again, talks to me for a solid 5 minutes, even though I repeatedly shift my weight, indicating how uncomfortable I am standing there with my pounds and pounds of groceries, not to mention frozen and refrigerated goods. He says to me "I'm surprised you didn't ask about my accent, I'm French Guinea" to which I thought "I didn't ask because I don't effing care," but to which I replied with some unintelligible bit of murmuring. I mean, at LEAST the guy has updated the word from cool to nice in 4 years, but COME ON.
He asked for my phone number, and I again gave him my go-to fake number.
My life has reached an all-time low.
I mean, yeah, I should be flattered that the same person (really, that ANY person) found me attractive enough multiple times to work up the nerve to speak to me and put himself out there in that way, but COME ON PEOPLE. First of all, women do not appreciate being picked up SO BLATANTLY solely on the basis of their looks. He knew nothing about me aside from the fact that I shopped at Trader Joe's on a Saturday night by myself (scent of desperation?) and that I am female. Oh, and that I wear casual clothing. The end. To me, that is not a good enough reason to ask someone for their phone number, but maybe I just need to carpe my diem a little more. I don't know.
But before you ask, no, I do not for even a second feel bad for giving this guy a fake number. I have zero interest in ever seeing him again, but maybe I'll just give it 4 more years and see how it goes next time around.
Four years ago I started working in Columbus, Ohio. One of the first weekends I was out in Columbus, I went to a bar called Brothers with some friends from my training class. Brothers has a large outdoor patio. They specialize in $1 shots some nights of the week - this might tell you what kind of bar it is and what kind of people patronize Brothers (but I was there, so what can I say). Let's just say it was a good bar to use to transition from college to professional life. And again I use the term professional loosely as it relates to my job.
So my friends and I were standing in a large circle on this outdoor patio and a guy comes up, taps me on the shoulder (kind of aggressively, actually), and says "Hello, you are looking very cool tonight" with a thick accent. I said thanks and tried to go back to my conversation...he persisted. He introduced himself as "Ali-sahn" and stood there talking to me until I gave him a phone number (fake) to get him to leave. He then said "I'll call you right now so you have my number" and I said "Oh I don't have service right now so it must not be coming through" (honestly, men, if this ever happens to you, it is a SURE SIGN that she is fake-numbering you. Just delete the number immediately). Life went on, but my friends and I never forgot the legend of the guy-named-Alison-who-said-you-are-looking-very-cool-tonight. NOR have I forgotten that my friend Paul who was standing next to me at the time did NOT pretend to be my boyfriend to get that CREEP to go away.
Fast forward 4 years to this past Saturday night. I was feeling preeeeetty bad for myself because a guy who I wanted to call me hadn't (he has since gotten in touch and claims he had the wrong phone number for me...I don't know if I buy it, but he's getting the benefit of the doubt for the moment), so I went to Trader Joe's, by myself, at 8 pm on a Saturday night. I am the ultimate of cool, in case you were wondering.
In my self-pity-frenzy, I buy the following (let's see how good my memory is):
apple slices
garlic hummus (love)
2 bags of pretzel thins
1 bag of pita chips
cheese sticks
2 frozen pizzas
sugar snap peas
gallon of milk (this becomes important)
3 frozen-indian-food meals
2 bags of salad greens
Ok I think that's it. Regardless, I buy all of these groceries and I'm struggling to get from the store to my car with two full bags in one hand and my car keys + gallon of milk in the other hand. I exit the store and walk past a guy who appears to be kind of confused (he's just kind of lingering by the entrance). As I walk by he says "Excuse me, miss?" and I turn, thinking that he's lost (he has a foreign accent, and there's a hotel next to Trader Joe's, snap judgement). Guess what he says to me.
No really, just guess.
"You are looking very nice tonight."
Do you see where this story is going?
It was the same mother-effing dude. He, again, talks to me for a solid 5 minutes, even though I repeatedly shift my weight, indicating how uncomfortable I am standing there with my pounds and pounds of groceries, not to mention frozen and refrigerated goods. He says to me "I'm surprised you didn't ask about my accent, I'm French Guinea" to which I thought "I didn't ask because I don't effing care," but to which I replied with some unintelligible bit of murmuring. I mean, at LEAST the guy has updated the word from cool to nice in 4 years, but COME ON.
He asked for my phone number, and I again gave him my go-to fake number.
My life has reached an all-time low.
I mean, yeah, I should be flattered that the same person (really, that ANY person) found me attractive enough multiple times to work up the nerve to speak to me and put himself out there in that way, but COME ON PEOPLE. First of all, women do not appreciate being picked up SO BLATANTLY solely on the basis of their looks. He knew nothing about me aside from the fact that I shopped at Trader Joe's on a Saturday night by myself (scent of desperation?) and that I am female. Oh, and that I wear casual clothing. The end. To me, that is not a good enough reason to ask someone for their phone number, but maybe I just need to carpe my diem a little more. I don't know.
But before you ask, no, I do not for even a second feel bad for giving this guy a fake number. I have zero interest in ever seeing him again, but maybe I'll just give it 4 more years and see how it goes next time around.
Friday, March 19, 2010
This is the best birthday present ever
(except for the ones all of you sent me ;) )
XOs check this out to learn about Alby the skateboarding owl!!
(credit goes to Mr. Paul Soper for sending me this link. And for getting me a cozy horse for my birthday.)
(credit goes to Mr. Paul Soper for sending me this link. And for getting me a cozy horse for my birthday.)
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Poetry and motion
Two separate stories for you today.
The first I have been meaning to tell on here for a quite a while, and Molly Laufer, this one goes out to you again because I hope it will make you laugh long enough to get you through the VERY FEW DAYS you have left before you return home!!
So I have started taking this dance class at the gym on Sunday afternoons. I can't remember if I've mentioned this class before or not, but it is amazing. Seriously it's me and a bunch of 60+ yr old women shaking our booties to "Oh hot damn, this is my jam" (which, coincidentally, IS my jam). So anyway a few weeks ago we were dancing to "Single Ladies" and I got super excited...I have been seriously considering freeze-framing the video for months in order to learn the dance. There's really no reason for me to be learning this dance, other than the potential fulfillment of my lifelong dream that someday my life will become a musical. Anyway, the dance was slightly modified from the video, and there was one part where we do (this is all very technical, please try to keep up) - spin spin clap right, spin spin clap left, stripper booty drop, shoulder shoulder shoulder. So I was so into this dance and thinking I was so awesome that instead of the above, I did spin spin clap right, spin spin clap left, spin spin clap right, ohgodnooneelseisspinningilooklikeanidiot.
While everyone else was stripper booty dropping, I was still spinning around the middle of the room. By myself. Luckily none of the ladies my mom's age are too judgemental...no one laughed (audibly, at least).
The second is - I'm not sure how many of you know this - but I write poetry frequently. This past summer I got up the courage to go downtown to an open mic poetry reading and read some of my poetry. It's usually in a park but the weather wasn't the best so it was moved into a local dive bar, and the two readers that night were myself and a Vietnam vet. My friend Meghan and her boyfriend Cam came to support me. I drank some of our shared pitcher of beer and went up to the mic and read my two poems - both about the same guy, one written at the beginning of our relationship, one at the end. After the reading was over, I went up to the bar to settle up my tab, and the bartender - this big, burly dude with huge muscles and a shaved head - said "I liked your poems. They were real good," with the most earnest, sincere expression on his face.
It made my day.
The first I have been meaning to tell on here for a quite a while, and Molly Laufer, this one goes out to you again because I hope it will make you laugh long enough to get you through the VERY FEW DAYS you have left before you return home!!
So I have started taking this dance class at the gym on Sunday afternoons. I can't remember if I've mentioned this class before or not, but it is amazing. Seriously it's me and a bunch of 60+ yr old women shaking our booties to "Oh hot damn, this is my jam" (which, coincidentally, IS my jam). So anyway a few weeks ago we were dancing to "Single Ladies" and I got super excited...I have been seriously considering freeze-framing the video for months in order to learn the dance. There's really no reason for me to be learning this dance, other than the potential fulfillment of my lifelong dream that someday my life will become a musical. Anyway, the dance was slightly modified from the video, and there was one part where we do (this is all very technical, please try to keep up) - spin spin clap right, spin spin clap left, stripper booty drop, shoulder shoulder shoulder. So I was so into this dance and thinking I was so awesome that instead of the above, I did spin spin clap right, spin spin clap left, spin spin clap right, ohgodnooneelseisspinningilooklikeanidiot.
While everyone else was stripper booty dropping, I was still spinning around the middle of the room. By myself. Luckily none of the ladies my mom's age are too judgemental...no one laughed (audibly, at least).
The second is - I'm not sure how many of you know this - but I write poetry frequently. This past summer I got up the courage to go downtown to an open mic poetry reading and read some of my poetry. It's usually in a park but the weather wasn't the best so it was moved into a local dive bar, and the two readers that night were myself and a Vietnam vet. My friend Meghan and her boyfriend Cam came to support me. I drank some of our shared pitcher of beer and went up to the mic and read my two poems - both about the same guy, one written at the beginning of our relationship, one at the end. After the reading was over, I went up to the bar to settle up my tab, and the bartender - this big, burly dude with huge muscles and a shaved head - said "I liked your poems. They were real good," with the most earnest, sincere expression on his face.
It made my day.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Just in case you were wondering...
The forecast for Friday, March 26 in Las Vegas, NV is 75* and sunny.
Viva Las Vegas!
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Text based conversation strikes again
(Thanks to Molly Vaughn for reminding me about this story with her latest comment)
So a couple of weeks ago I was talking to my best friend on Gchat and she said "that's what she said" and, being the 5 year old I am, I assumed that she meant it in the pop culture way that Michael from the Office says it (if you don't know what I'm referring to, you probably shouldn't read this blog, it will probably offend you). So, I'd never heard her say "That's what she said" before that I can remember, so even though I couldn't for the life of me figure out what she was referring to, I just tried to be supportive and said "Oh, haha!" while trying to figure out how it related to the conversation.
So eventually I say "You saying that is funny to me" and I tell her that I'd just told everyone at my table that she'd said it (and that I still couldn't figure out why) - so she goes "What are you talking about? That's what she said? I just realized I said that" and I was like Oh my gosh, she like, subconsciously typed That's what she said without meaning to, this is weird. We go back and forth like this with a ton of "What? What did you realize? What was funny?" for a few minutes until finally she says that she meant to include a question mark when she originally said it - as in, really asking the question of "That's what she said?" and in no way trying to make a dirty joke, which, when you think about me sitting here typing "Hahaha!" and trying to figure out what was funny, is great. I was just really trying to be supportive of her foray into inappropriate jokes.
Sigh. I need to grow up. And I just realized no one will probably find this as funny as I do.
So a couple of weeks ago I was talking to my best friend on Gchat and she said "that's what she said" and, being the 5 year old I am, I assumed that she meant it in the pop culture way that Michael from the Office says it (if you don't know what I'm referring to, you probably shouldn't read this blog, it will probably offend you). So, I'd never heard her say "That's what she said" before that I can remember, so even though I couldn't for the life of me figure out what she was referring to, I just tried to be supportive and said "Oh, haha!" while trying to figure out how it related to the conversation.
So eventually I say "You saying that is funny to me" and I tell her that I'd just told everyone at my table that she'd said it (and that I still couldn't figure out why) - so she goes "What are you talking about? That's what she said? I just realized I said that" and I was like Oh my gosh, she like, subconsciously typed That's what she said without meaning to, this is weird. We go back and forth like this with a ton of "What? What did you realize? What was funny?" for a few minutes until finally she says that she meant to include a question mark when she originally said it - as in, really asking the question of "That's what she said?" and in no way trying to make a dirty joke, which, when you think about me sitting here typing "Hahaha!" and trying to figure out what was funny, is great. I was just really trying to be supportive of her foray into inappropriate jokes.
Sigh. I need to grow up. And I just realized no one will probably find this as funny as I do.
What the what?
So I was at the gym last night, and during my running training I have found that one of my favorite activities is to make awkward eye contact with fellow runners/exercise enthusiasts as I make my way around the track. Last night some creepo on the stairmaster wiggled his eyebrows at me. I kept my eyes straight ahead from that point forward (except for one point where I caught my trainer watching me while he was training two older ladies and I then proceeded to smile for the next lap. No movement in that area yet though (that's what she said)).
But to the point of this post - last night I was running my laps and there came a point where there was a big holdup on the track - I glanced over my shoulder after I passed the group to see who the heck they were, and I kid you not, this group of people was 7 asian guys and 1 white guy in a Panda Express t-shirt. Did he really think that was going to help him fit in better?
But to the point of this post - last night I was running my laps and there came a point where there was a big holdup on the track - I glanced over my shoulder after I passed the group to see who the heck they were, and I kid you not, this group of people was 7 asian guys and 1 white guy in a Panda Express t-shirt. Did he really think that was going to help him fit in better?
Thursday, March 11, 2010
More hilarious typos
I frequently make mistakes while typing and I think that the results of those mistakes can provide a lot of humor. Another thing that is quite humorous is when you type something into your phone and it suggests what it thinks you want, but it's totally wrong. So I encourage you to record those things here so that everyone can enjoy.
In an e-mail to a friend, I just typed "Columbus Rubbing Company." Which is NOT the same as "Columbus Running Company." I'd like to know what a Rubbing Company would do.
Happy Thursday.
In an e-mail to a friend, I just typed "Columbus Rubbing Company." Which is NOT the same as "Columbus Running Company." I'd like to know what a Rubbing Company would do.
Happy Thursday.
Monday, March 08, 2010
Bob Loblaw's law blog
UPDATE:
Things that have happened related to the halter monitor (for clarification's sake, I am wearing the monitor part on a belt around my hips, and I've covered the electrodes on my chest today with a more coverage-friendly t-shirt):
1) a guy in my department walks by and says "Are you wearing a digital fanny pack?"
2) my boss' boss asks how my crotch clock is doing
3) i tell people i'm part robot
4) i tell people i'm part bomb
Say the title out loud. It's from Arrested Development. It makes me laugh.
Things that have happened related to the halter monitor (for clarification's sake, I am wearing the monitor part on a belt around my hips, and I've covered the electrodes on my chest today with a more coverage-friendly t-shirt):
1) a guy in my department walks by and says "Are you wearing a digital fanny pack?"
2) my boss' boss asks how my crotch clock is doing
3) i tell people i'm part robot
4) i tell people i'm part bomb
Say the title out loud. It's from Arrested Development. It makes me laugh.
- Today at lunchtime I had to leave work to go to the cardiologist (something's bothering me about my heart lately), so I stopped at Subway to get lunch, and at their soda fountain, I mixed Diet Coke with Coke Zero, and let me tell you, the results were pretty good. I find Coca Cola to be too sweet now that I'm used to Diet Coke, and there's something a teensy bit too acidic/chemical about Coke Zero for me (sorry), so the mixture was perfect. Try it out sometime.
- So I am currently part robot because I am wearing what is essentially a portable EKG machine. I have little electrodes all over my chest (like you see in the movies) and they're connected to a little box I am wearing on a belt around my hips. I have to wear it for 24 hours and it's going to monitor my heart activity. People are kind of looking at me funny. I'll let you know if anything interesting comes of this...
Saturday, March 06, 2010
Blessed and Lucky
So if you came around today looking for a light hearted, "Bridget's sharing her most embarrassing (daily) moments with us again" post, maybe skip this one and continue on to the one below from yesterday - it will fill your requirements much better. This one is lighter on the random and heavier on the honesty.
I got out of bed super late this morning. As in, the "almost this afternoon" kind of "this morning." As I was lolling about in bed, I checked Facebook to see what people were up to and saw a status update of my friend/college roommate Sara Rich. Sara is - and always has been since I've known her - extraordinary. Naturally, I mean, I try to make it a habit to only befriend extraordinary people :-) You can find her blog here. (I almost didn't post that link because her blog made my blog feel so intimidated). Anyway, Sara lived on the same hall as me in Lefevre (one of the "Old Dorms" at UVA) and then we lived together for our 2nd year in an apartment back on Preston.
I think when I knew Sara, I must have had a six pack because she made me laugh so often. She also convinced me to join the rugby team where I got my ankle broken, but that's a story for another day. If you've heard Sara Rich laugh, you never forget it. She literally changed the way that I laugh. I know that sounds funny, but it's like her laugh is an infection, and your laugh hears her laugh and gets laugh-envy and changes to be just like hers. She laughs like a crazy person (in the best way possible) and it's amazing. Try it sometimes - just totally let go while you're laughing and you'll see - it will be come this screaming/laughing thing in your voice. Anyway, this post is not about her laugh. It's about her life and who she is, among other things. I'm not going to get into what she's doing right now because she can tell you much better in her own words on her blog, but basically, Sara quit her job as a teacher, picked up her life, and moved it all to Goma (not gonna lie, I just Googled "Where is Goma?"...it's in the Congo, to save you the trouble) to be a volunteer and to make a difference in the educational programs for young people there.
What?
This chick and I lived together for two years, and after school she moves to the Congo to help people and I move to Ohio (which I'd like to compare to the Congo but I don't want to because I don't want to disrespect what Sara is doing) to make clothing that encourages a lack of self esteem in young people. I just had one of those "What the HELL am I doing?" moments this morning.
Sara. You are an inspiration.
So after I eventually forced myself to get out of bed, I watched some DVR, and then went to Panera to get some lunch. Or breakfast. Brunch. Whatever. Let me tell you, if you go to the Panera on Hamilton on the first sunny Saturday in Columbus in MONTHS, you better really effing want to be there. That place was packed. It reminded me of what it must have been like that time that the manager at the Panera in Barracks asked Austin to leave while she was studying because there were too many people there. I don't know why I remember that. But I digress. You know what I'm really good at? Digressing. You know who else is? Molly Laufer.
Seriously, back to the point. I order my food at Panera and go to wait in line to pick it up, and there's a woman there who is trying to pick up her food as well. She already has her drink in her hand and it's shaking - the drink is shaking, her hands/arms are shaking, and she's really struggling. Then her food is placed on the counter and she tries to get it and when she picks it up, that starts shaking too. I was paralyzed. I had no idea what to do. Do I offer to help, or is that offensive? As if saying to this woman, oh, you obviously can't handle yourself, so why don't I swoop in here and help you because I am so capable? It felt like an argument in favor of all those who believe that volunteerism is really just an exercise in narcissism. In the end she handled it fine and got to her table, but I can't stop thinking about it. What is so hard about my life, after all? Nothing, really. Yeah, I get irritated about every 5 minutes with things that I'd like to change, but let's be real. In the end, I am extremely, embarrassingly lucky. I am able-bodied, I am smart, I've had all the opportunities anyone could want, but what have I done with them? Not enough. Not yet.
And then I think about you people. One time I told my Planner (the person who tells me how much of each item I have to buy in order to make the amount of money I need to make) that I have a couple of blogs, and he said "I always thought blogs were for people who needed another way to talk about themselves." And you know what? He's kind of right. Now, don't get me wrong, I love reading the blogs of all my friends and if you stop blogging I will come to your house and tape your hands to the keyboard (don't think I'm above that. I'm not above much). But the thing is, I have these friends who don't care that all this blog is is another way to talk about myself, and you like it and you read it and you care. How great is that? You don't care when it is just random honesty, you still want to hear what I have to say. That's pretty great.
So I come back to the title of this post - I am blessed and lucky. And the reminders that I get of just how blessed and lucky I am are blessings in themselves. The question then becomes, what am I going to do with this knowledge? Move to Goma? Let's be real, there's a reason that people like Sara are extraordinary - because they have the guts to do something like that. I am not one of those people, and that's another reason on the list of reasons why I respect Sara so much. Maybe I'll just be a little better about letting (or rather, not letting) all those silly little things that I cannot control irritate me. Maybe it's as simple as remembering all the time just how blessed and lucky I am.
I got out of bed super late this morning. As in, the "almost this afternoon" kind of "this morning." As I was lolling about in bed, I checked Facebook to see what people were up to and saw a status update of my friend/college roommate Sara Rich. Sara is - and always has been since I've known her - extraordinary. Naturally, I mean, I try to make it a habit to only befriend extraordinary people :-) You can find her blog here. (I almost didn't post that link because her blog made my blog feel so intimidated). Anyway, Sara lived on the same hall as me in Lefevre (one of the "Old Dorms" at UVA) and then we lived together for our 2nd year in an apartment back on Preston.
I think when I knew Sara, I must have had a six pack because she made me laugh so often. She also convinced me to join the rugby team where I got my ankle broken, but that's a story for another day. If you've heard Sara Rich laugh, you never forget it. She literally changed the way that I laugh. I know that sounds funny, but it's like her laugh is an infection, and your laugh hears her laugh and gets laugh-envy and changes to be just like hers. She laughs like a crazy person (in the best way possible) and it's amazing. Try it sometimes - just totally let go while you're laughing and you'll see - it will be come this screaming/laughing thing in your voice. Anyway, this post is not about her laugh. It's about her life and who she is, among other things. I'm not going to get into what she's doing right now because she can tell you much better in her own words on her blog, but basically, Sara quit her job as a teacher, picked up her life, and moved it all to Goma (not gonna lie, I just Googled "Where is Goma?"...it's in the Congo, to save you the trouble) to be a volunteer and to make a difference in the educational programs for young people there.
What?
This chick and I lived together for two years, and after school she moves to the Congo to help people and I move to Ohio (which I'd like to compare to the Congo but I don't want to because I don't want to disrespect what Sara is doing) to make clothing that encourages a lack of self esteem in young people. I just had one of those "What the HELL am I doing?" moments this morning.
Sara. You are an inspiration.
So after I eventually forced myself to get out of bed, I watched some DVR, and then went to Panera to get some lunch. Or breakfast. Brunch. Whatever. Let me tell you, if you go to the Panera on Hamilton on the first sunny Saturday in Columbus in MONTHS, you better really effing want to be there. That place was packed. It reminded me of what it must have been like that time that the manager at the Panera in Barracks asked Austin to leave while she was studying because there were too many people there. I don't know why I remember that. But I digress. You know what I'm really good at? Digressing. You know who else is? Molly Laufer.
Seriously, back to the point. I order my food at Panera and go to wait in line to pick it up, and there's a woman there who is trying to pick up her food as well. She already has her drink in her hand and it's shaking - the drink is shaking, her hands/arms are shaking, and she's really struggling. Then her food is placed on the counter and she tries to get it and when she picks it up, that starts shaking too. I was paralyzed. I had no idea what to do. Do I offer to help, or is that offensive? As if saying to this woman, oh, you obviously can't handle yourself, so why don't I swoop in here and help you because I am so capable? It felt like an argument in favor of all those who believe that volunteerism is really just an exercise in narcissism. In the end she handled it fine and got to her table, but I can't stop thinking about it. What is so hard about my life, after all? Nothing, really. Yeah, I get irritated about every 5 minutes with things that I'd like to change, but let's be real. In the end, I am extremely, embarrassingly lucky. I am able-bodied, I am smart, I've had all the opportunities anyone could want, but what have I done with them? Not enough. Not yet.
And then I think about you people. One time I told my Planner (the person who tells me how much of each item I have to buy in order to make the amount of money I need to make) that I have a couple of blogs, and he said "I always thought blogs were for people who needed another way to talk about themselves." And you know what? He's kind of right. Now, don't get me wrong, I love reading the blogs of all my friends and if you stop blogging I will come to your house and tape your hands to the keyboard (don't think I'm above that. I'm not above much). But the thing is, I have these friends who don't care that all this blog is is another way to talk about myself, and you like it and you read it and you care. How great is that? You don't care when it is just random honesty, you still want to hear what I have to say. That's pretty great.
So I come back to the title of this post - I am blessed and lucky. And the reminders that I get of just how blessed and lucky I am are blessings in themselves. The question then becomes, what am I going to do with this knowledge? Move to Goma? Let's be real, there's a reason that people like Sara are extraordinary - because they have the guts to do something like that. I am not one of those people, and that's another reason on the list of reasons why I respect Sara so much. Maybe I'll just be a little better about letting (or rather, not letting) all those silly little things that I cannot control irritate me. Maybe it's as simple as remembering all the time just how blessed and lucky I am.
Friday, March 05, 2010
I've taken agin' snow.
So everyone knows Ohio is super snowy, right? The other day in an e-mail to my friend Noodle I called it "SNOWhio" and then patted myself on the back. Had anyone else thought of that before? Because I am pretty proud.
Anyway, this story relates to the snow. In the month of February (also known on some calendars as the month-before-bridget-was-born), it snowed probably about a foot a week in the Columbus area (I may or may not be exaggerating, but you don't really know, do you?...because I don't either), and some of the storms were just a foot piling onto the previous foot when the previous foot hadn't had time to melt yet. Temperatures haven't risen above freezing in Columbus....ever, I don't think, so the snow is still just chillin' (pun intended), hanging around taking up precious space on our sidewalks and in our parking lots. It's been so long since local inhabitants have seen grass that the deer on our campus at work have given up on trying to hide and have just started standing directly outside the buildings to eat the patches of grass that are exposed there.
Moving on...so a week ago I was trying to walk to my car, I decided that the snow had had its selfish way with the sidewalk I usually take for LONG ENOUGH! So I proceed stomping down the sidewalk, really showing that snow who's boss, until I come to the point where the sidewalk meets the parking lot and I am met by a 6' tall MOUNTAIN OF SNOW! Ok so it was really more like 3' tall, but it was big. It's too late to give up now, so I climb up the little mountain of snow, reach the top, and come tumbling down the other side. I couldn't find my footing as I slid down the other side, so I basically come sliding hands/face-first into the parking lot and land sprawled across the hood of the first car parked in that row, which is embarrassing enough already, but gets even better when you know that the person who OWNS said car was, at that moment, trying to open the driver's side door to leave for work.
Seriously? My timing is impeccable.
I mumbled apologies and scampered around her car to make it to my own, parked next to hers. I wonder how many people she's told that story to ("So this idiot falls on my car..."). Anyway, I thought this would make you laugh so I wanted to pass it along and brighten your Friday a bit.
Anyway, this story relates to the snow. In the month of February (also known on some calendars as the month-before-bridget-was-born), it snowed probably about a foot a week in the Columbus area (I may or may not be exaggerating, but you don't really know, do you?...because I don't either), and some of the storms were just a foot piling onto the previous foot when the previous foot hadn't had time to melt yet. Temperatures haven't risen above freezing in Columbus....ever, I don't think, so the snow is still just chillin' (pun intended), hanging around taking up precious space on our sidewalks and in our parking lots. It's been so long since local inhabitants have seen grass that the deer on our campus at work have given up on trying to hide and have just started standing directly outside the buildings to eat the patches of grass that are exposed there.
Moving on...so a week ago I was trying to walk to my car, I decided that the snow had had its selfish way with the sidewalk I usually take for LONG ENOUGH! So I proceed stomping down the sidewalk, really showing that snow who's boss, until I come to the point where the sidewalk meets the parking lot and I am met by a 6' tall MOUNTAIN OF SNOW! Ok so it was really more like 3' tall, but it was big. It's too late to give up now, so I climb up the little mountain of snow, reach the top, and come tumbling down the other side. I couldn't find my footing as I slid down the other side, so I basically come sliding hands/face-first into the parking lot and land sprawled across the hood of the first car parked in that row, which is embarrassing enough already, but gets even better when you know that the person who OWNS said car was, at that moment, trying to open the driver's side door to leave for work.
Seriously? My timing is impeccable.
I mumbled apologies and scampered around her car to make it to my own, parked next to hers. I wonder how many people she's told that story to ("So this idiot falls on my car..."). Anyway, I thought this would make you laugh so I wanted to pass it along and brighten your Friday a bit.
Monday, March 01, 2010
Bad and random signs
So I am wearing this top today (I just searched for like 10 min and couldn't find a picture of it, so you're just going to have to imagine in your mind). It has all the colors of the rainbow on it, it's a jersey knit material, deep v in the front and back with a navy band that cinches under the bust and ties in a bow in the back. It's not striped or anything, just kind of colors splashed in an abstract geometrical pattern.
Anyway, people keep complimenting me on my top and telling me how cute it is, and my thing is, it's not from any of the brands that our company owns. It's from a different brand (Lizzy, you'll not be surprised to learn it is from Anthro. They called me when you stopped shopping for a month and said I had to help make up the deficit in their sales, so I helped them out a bit). Don't you think that's a bad sign? 95% of the time, I'm wearing stuff from our stores, and 95% of the time, I don't get compliments on my outfits. But then I wear something not by us, and I've gotten more compliments than I can count today. Well, one girl did say "Your top makes me feel like I'm on drugs" because of all the colors, but I'll take that as a positive thing. Anyway, don't think it's a good sign that I've gotten all these compliments based on wearing something not from our brands.
On another note, one of the things I really appreciate about this company is that they provide free name-brand tampons (Not entirely sure it matters that they're name-brand, but it makes me feel better) in the women's bathrooms (I mean, they may supply them in the men's too, but that would be weird if I were in there, and it would also be weird if they were in there), but the tampons have been missing from the bathroom for the last week (which, depending on what week it is, can be very inconvenient). So today I go into the bathroom and there's a post-it on the mirror that says "TAMPONS PLEASE."
I laughed. I thought you might too.
Anyway, people keep complimenting me on my top and telling me how cute it is, and my thing is, it's not from any of the brands that our company owns. It's from a different brand (Lizzy, you'll not be surprised to learn it is from Anthro. They called me when you stopped shopping for a month and said I had to help make up the deficit in their sales, so I helped them out a bit). Don't you think that's a bad sign? 95% of the time, I'm wearing stuff from our stores, and 95% of the time, I don't get compliments on my outfits. But then I wear something not by us, and I've gotten more compliments than I can count today. Well, one girl did say "Your top makes me feel like I'm on drugs" because of all the colors, but I'll take that as a positive thing. Anyway, don't think it's a good sign that I've gotten all these compliments based on wearing something not from our brands.
On another note, one of the things I really appreciate about this company is that they provide free name-brand tampons (Not entirely sure it matters that they're name-brand, but it makes me feel better) in the women's bathrooms (I mean, they may supply them in the men's too, but that would be weird if I were in there, and it would also be weird if they were in there), but the tampons have been missing from the bathroom for the last week (which, depending on what week it is, can be very inconvenient). So today I go into the bathroom and there's a post-it on the mirror that says "TAMPONS PLEASE."
I laughed. I thought you might too.
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