Gooey butter cake = love

So I mentioned in yesterday's post that I would get to gooey cake in a later post - and I'll briefly get into it now.

Gooey Butter Cake (that is its full name...Gooey Cake or Gooey for short) is a treat that is popular in the Midwest - my family picked it up in St Louis. My mom made it for us when we were little but I didn't remember/pick it back up until college. I started making it for friends in college and continued on making it at my first job. I thought that people out here in Columbus would have heard of the greatness that is Gooey before I came around, but apparently it's really not all that widely known outside of St. Louis. Gooey butter cake tastes like nothing else. It's not like yellow cake, it's not like coffee cake. It's like happiness in cake form. It seriously just tastes like sweet butter. I wish I could describe it better...but you really have to taste it for yourself.

Given that the recipe is currently printed on the side of the Kroger brand cream cheese box, I'm not going to be shy about sharing the recipe...so pls see below:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees...pull out a 9" x 13" pan (no need to grease since there is so much butter in the cake)
Ingredients:
3 eggs
1 stick of butter (melted)
1 8 oz brick of cream cheese (softened)
1 box of butter cake mix (I recommend Duncan Hines)
1 lb of powdered sugar

Mix together melted butter, 1 egg, and cake mix. Once all of the cake mix is moistened, press into the bottom of the pan (I recommend turning out the dough, covering it with plastic wrap, and using your hands to press it uniformly into the pan - much easier than trying to use a spatula).

Mix together softened cream cheese, remaining 2 eggs, and 1 lb of powdered sugar (reserve a couple of tablespoons to sprinkle on top of the cake). The ingredients will form a thick liquid. Once all the ingredients are combined, pour over the top of the dough that has been pressed into the bottom of the pan.

Bake for 30-35 minutes, until top is golden brown and puffy. Sprinkle with reserved powdered sugar.

Devour, and/or fend off hoards of people with forks trying to steal your cake.

ANYWAY.

Today I brought a gooey cake to work for a friend's birthday. I saved a piece to the side for a friend on my desk, and while it was sitting there, a guy from my design team came over and was talking to me about some comments...the conversation went like this:

Brian: Ok so I think we're going to get out these (stops short and grabs my wrist in a vice) IS THAT GOOEY BUTTER CAKE?
Me: Ummm...yes? Do you like gooey cake?
Brian: SHUT UP. SHUT UP.
Me: Are you from St. Louis??
Brian: I'm from Springfield!!
Me: GO TO THE CONFERENCE ROOM RIGHT NOW AND GET SOME.

So Brian goes into the conference room and gets some gooey cake and bites into it and says "This tastes like childhood...and love." And then he turns to me and says "Don't you love it when you like someone a lot...and then something happens and you LOVE them?"

See?

Gooey = love.

It's been that kind of day

Just in case you haven't heard of this website yet...

http://www.fmylife.com/

Whenever you're feeling like maybe you're having the worst day EVER, check that website out. It may not make you any happier about YOUR life, but it will damn well make you happy you don't have THEIR lives.

I had about a 10 on the scale of 1-shitty day at work today (I'm not even going to get into it because my job is not my life...please remind me of that next time I am tempted to put my fist through a wall). After work I went to dinner with a very good friend (please slap me if I ever say fml about my friends because they are the best) and then ran to the grocery store to get the ingredients to make a gooey cake (we'll get to gooey cake in a later post). I came home and started making the gooey cake, promptly spilling powdered sugar all over my stovetop, shirt, shorts, and shoes. fml.

I then sat down on the couch to watch television and spilled water down my shirt. Not like, down the front of my shirt, which would have blown just enough on its own, but down the neck of my shirt and into my bra.

f.
m.
l.

Oh - and in case you were wondering - yes, I AM feeling stabby and screamy today (see below).

Words I wish I used more often - Vol 2

I just thought of some really good additions.

1. I wish I used the words "stabby" and "screamy" more. Pls reference Jenn Lancaster's blog (www.jennsylvania.com) to see how the words should be used - but in general it would be appropriate to say "I'm feeling stabby" or "I'm feeling screamy" if you were angry/sassy. This amuses me as I am always looking for new ways to convey my irritation to others.
2. I also wish I said "You shut your mouth" more. I really don't think that I ever will because it would be a clear ripoff of one of my friends (Kelly) and it is really only quite so funny coming out of her mouth given her generally carefree/chill demeanor. I'm not quite sure I could pull off carefree and chill as well as Kelly does...and the brilliance/humor of this phrase lies in the contradiction between personality and message.

Other random life updates:

Earlier this week my manager asked me to get a sample of something for her and I asked in response, "Does size matter?" Then I laughed and said "Isn't that the eternal question?" and ran away snickering to retrieve the sample.

I went to a concert last night and experienced one of those transcendent moments where you hope with all your heart that the memory will be burned into your mind forever - like it will be one of the scenes that flashes before your eyes in your last moments. It was a beautiful night in Columbus (you won't hear me say that often) - somewhere around 70 degrees. The Killers were playing and they closed on "All these things that I have done" - and at one point in the song they shot off white confetti into the crowd. Everyone was jumping up and down and dancing and just generally being insane and it was one of those moments that you imagine would be in slow motion if your life were a movie. Looking up into the sky you saw the stars mixed with the confetti, you saw the crowd going crazy, you saw the Killers rocking out onstage... and it was awesome. I distinctly thought to myself "This is what 25 is about."

In case you're wondering, 24 was about dancing like a crazy person to Girltalk onstage at the company holiday party.

You're gonna shoot who? (who?) Not even on your best day.

I'm watching SNL, and Tracy Morgan just said "Thailand. I wanted a place that was heavy on dogs and light on laws." I'm never going to be able to run my production in Thailand again without thinking of that quote. Hee.

I went to a party tonight, and there was a baby present. Not like, a tiny tiny gift, but rather a baby who was in attendance. So, again, it was brought to light just how good babies have it. They are the center of attention at all times. They do whatever they want. They roll around on the carpet and people bring them toys. They are allowed to cry for no particular reason. They get to wear footy pajamas and suck on pacifiers. So, what I want to know is this - we're adults. We run the world. Why do we let the babies get away with all the fun? Who decided that?

Also present at the party was my friend Brittany's parent's dog, Guinness. She is only 2 years old and is still wearing a shock collar in case she misbehaves. At one point in the night, she put her front paws on the kitchen table and tried to steal a brownie....a few minutes later Brittany came back into the room and said "It's ok. I shocked her then I put her in my bed."

That's what he said.

Love me, hate me, say what you want about me

I spent the morning and afternoon of this lovely Saturday doing a little spring cleaning. When I say morning, though, let's be honest...I mean the 30 minutes before noon that I was actually out of bed. Oops. Then again, whatever. I'm 25. I do what I want.

And apparently, what I want today is three loads of laundry along with cleaning my kitchen and bathroom and vacuuming my whole apartment (I do kind of love vacuuming but that's a separate story). Speaking of, why are there two u's in the word vacuum? I mean...is that really necessary?

So recently I must have pulled some obscure muscle in my back that is somehow connected to my leg...because whenever I bend at the waist it feels really tight. It's been going on for a few weeks but I've been generally ignoring it and hoping it goes away...but today as I was sorting laundry I bent over to pick something up and my back hurt. I mumbled (out loud, to myself in my empty apartment) "I'm not entirely sure what's going on back there, but it hurts."

Then, as is my reflex, I said "Heh. That's what she said."

Aloud. Alone.

I'm not quite sure whether to like myself more or less for that.

Oh and by the way I saw Britney Spears on Thursday night and I officially want to quit my job and pursue my new dream of BEING HER (without the babies and the crazy). When she came out of the ceiling dressed like a ring master, I screamed like a 10 year old girl. That girl is an icon. Say what you want about her (as she says in If You Seek Amy, the song that has caused plenty of controversy but which she performed nonetheless on Thursday night, to my UTTER DELIGHT), but she knows what game she's playing and she's the best one playing it.

This is the video played on stage before she came out to close with Womanizer. If this doesn't make you want to join me in my quest to be her, I don't know what will:

Running through the rain in men's pants

Random musings today:

1. My office is made up of numerous buildings, laid out like a college campus. I was walking to the cafeteria today (about a 3 minute walk), and as I left my building it was cloudy. By the time I arrived at the cafeteria, it was raining. So as I left the cafeteria to walk back to my building, I walked through another building to stay out of the ran as much as possible. I ran from one building to another through the rain, and then stopped for roughly 3 minutes to talk to a friend as I passed his desk. By the time I left his building, it was so sunny that I considered reaching up and pushing my sunglasses down from my hair to the bridge of my nose. Ah, Columbus weather. Within a roughly 20 minute span, we went from partly cloudy to drizzling (that's kind of a sweet word) to legitimate rain (like, dashing from building to building kind of rain) back to blinding sun. Cool.
2. I'm wearing really low slung jeans today. Technically they're just a size too big, but I'm wearing them across my hips with about a 1" dropped crotch, and as I walked back from the cafeteria, the jeans were inching themselves lower and lower, and I was like "I wonder if this is what men feel like all the time."

An update on all things hot

So you should all be proud to know that I bought a new battery and replaced the fire alarm to its place of honor on my ceiling earlier tonight.

I was talking to my mom last night and I said "I need a boyfriend to do things like this for me." But the thing is, in the last month, I've declogged a sink, replaced a battery in a fire alarm, replaced my windshield wiper blades...all things I previously would have nudged a boyfriend in my life to do (and by nudged I mean stomped my foot like a 5 year old until it happened). Granted, I did get a wicked sunburn this weekend because I was incapable of applying sunscreen successfully to my own back, but some things are just out of my control.

It's nice to know that I might want a boyfriend to do these things, but I don't need one.

But lest you think I'm really smart, I'll leave you with this...I baked a cinnamon struesel bread tonight for a breakfast party tomorrow, and upon taking it out of the 375 degree oven, I ran a knife around the outside of the bread to loosen it from the pan. I then chose to put said knife in my mouth to lick off the struesel. The 375 degree knife.

Tongue? Burned.

Self? Functionally retarded.

Blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol

Last night was...interesting. Want me to tell you about it? Don't mind if I do.

So, for once in my life, there was more than one social event going on to which I was invited. I tried to compromise by going to one for a little bit and then the other (to which I had committed first) for the rest of the time. There was a lag between the two, though, and I spent said lag sitting at the bar in Marcella's by myself drinking a vodka soda. And I really enjoyed it (not just the drink, also the experience). I am laughing right now because I don't think it's really a good sign when you "really enjoy" sitting at a bar drinking by yourself...but it was a new experience, and one I wouldn't be afraid to try again. There was something about it, sitting at the bar last night, the first really hot night in Columbus. The windows of the restaurant were open, everyone was in a good mood...it was just...alive. Granted, I think the experience may have been a little different if the bar hadn't been Marcella's and I hadn't already had a beer to chill me out (at another party, I wasn't just pounding drinks by myself).

So I had dinner with a bunch of friends which was great. The capellini al pomodoro wasn't the best thing I've had at Marcella's though, so if you go there, maybe try the carbonara because that was delish.

AFTER dinner we all decided to walk to a local bar and continue to hang out, after which we all piled back into my car (I was sober by this point, thankyouverymuch) and did a driving tour of Columbus's fast food establishments...first we tried Taco Bell, but as it was after 1 am, they were a disappointment...so we went to White Castle and waited ROUGHLY 30 FREAKING MINUTES for our food...but those chicken rings were sooooo good (sorry again, John, for eating all your chicken rings...oops). We hung out at a friend's house in the GV for a while until I started doing the going-home rounds and drove back to the Short North to drop another friend off.

Upon arriving home around 3 am (thank you, 20 min drive back to the suburbs), I discovered that my fire alarm was beeping and probably had been beeping for hours (sorry neighbors). So I set about disabling the fire alarm because I really did not feel like trying to sleep through beeps on the minute every minute for the rest of the night. I am 5'6". I climbed onto a kitchen chair and still had to stand ON MY TIPTOES and REACH for the stupid thing (you can laugh at the image, it's ok). After about 5 minutes of trying to slide the battery cleanly out of the alarm, I gave up and yanked the mother off the ceiling. I then stood on the chair, triumphant and giggling at the disembodied alarm that remained in my hand.

Until it beeped again.

I had ripped this thing off the wall. The battery was no longer in it. All the wires were left hanging from my ceiling. I had a moment where I briefly considered that it was possessed and wished I had a baseball bat or a crucifix, but since I have neither, I dismissed the idea immediately (note to self, are single woman living solo, maybe should get baseball bat. another note to self, are also Catholic, why no crucifix in entire apartment?). I then came up with the brilliant idea of taking the alarm to the living room at the point furthest from my bedroom and burying it under pillows. The little bitch was persistent, though, and continued to beep audibly from its hiding spot (it's like a baby, always selfishly wanting attention and care).

Eventually I figured out that if I pressed the "TEST" button long enough, it would lose all of the residual energy it had stored up, you know, in the event that there was a FIRE and during said fire someone climbed on their kitchen chair, ripped the sucker off the wall, and then removed its battery.

So this morning when I woke up, I laughed at two things.
1) The cords that remain from my fire alarm, hanging from the ceiling, connected to nothing
2) The fact that, in an unrelated incident, but maybe because it wanted some attention too, one of my pillows did some midnight gymnastics and managed to flip itself perfectly vertical in order to fit in the 3 inch space between my bed and my nightstand without knocking anything off the nightstand.

To both the pillow and the fire alarm (and really, to myself for my new alcoholic habits): I'm not even mad, I'm just impressed.

Happy Sunday.

Leaving on a scooter...

So I'm moving back to my old department at work. Today was my last day in my current department, and I composed this as my goodbye message to my colleagues. And I'm so proud of it I thought I would share it with you here. Click on the link and then set the replay setting to the fastest speed.


http://artpad.art.com/?kimdgi22858

Because nothing beats animal humor

I said spy, not slutty ninja

This conversation just happened out loud...there was a simultaneous IM conversation happening but that cannot be published...and this conversation is almost better completely out of context.

So Brittany e-mails me this DISGUSTING picture of a fat chick in a slutty ninja outfit (contextually, it made sense) and I burst out laughing and say,

me: "I said dressed like a SPY, not dressed like a slutty ninja"
brittany: "Hahahaha...whatever"
me: "I'll show you what I have in my head..." (type type type) "...why can't I Google Image 'roundhouse kick' and get anything good?" (i choose a picture and send it to brittany) "like that"
brittany: "no. you have a tail"
me: "and cat ears. just like in my dreams."

later, brittany comes back from the fridge with a can of Diet Coke at which I stare longingly. She cracks it open and says "Ahhhhh" right in my face. I start to type the words "I am going to get a roll of quarters and put it in my fist and punch you in the mouth" into an IM to her (don't ask why we IM as well as speaking out loud, it's a long story) but then she offers me some of her Diet Coke.

That, people, is true friendship.

I frantically deleted the IM.

Gonna get a little unruly

Notes from today:

1. I giggled today when I was on the good girl/bad girl weight machines in the gym and Christina Aguilera's "Dirrty" came on my iPod (just fyi the good girl/bad girl weight machines are the ones where you either push your knees together or push them apart). Oh, iPod. You are so topical.
2. You know you got a good workout when you take your hair elastic off your ponytail and your hair STAYS in the ponytail because you're just THAT sweaty.
3. I giggled again when I was pulling curry powder out of the spice rack tonight and I saw the dill weed.
4. The women on the Biggest Loser need better sports bras. What, they can give away $10,000 in challenges but they can't buy the ladies better sports bras? Not ok. We don't need to be seeing all that.

I mean, maybe.

I met this guy at a party this weekend (no) and we had a conversation about how he has two cars...an SUV and a coupe. Now, he was a pretty big guy. He's gotta be like...I dunno, somewhere over 6 feet tall, and king size (as opposed to fun size or party size).

So he drives the SUV when the weather is bad. This morning, I was sitting at a stoplight outside of work behind a car that fit his SUV's description (and it has been raining lately). I considered the idea that it might be him in front of me until I looked down and saw the bumper sticker that read:

"Give it a chance! Bellydance!"

Hee.

I am taking this personally

do not wear cat ear headband?

i WILL wear cat ear headband!!!!

To the one who says "Meow" isn't English.

I was talking to a friend recently and she gave me some advice that has been on my mind. She said (I'm paraphrasing here) "Ok, you want a great job, a great boyfriend, and great friends. You have two out of those three. You can have it all, but you can't decide the order in which you get them." Isn't that subtly brilliant?

So last night I was talking to another friend as I drove home from a party. He was happy drunk (as opposed to angry drunk or sad drunk...obviously happy drunk is the best kind). We talked for 40 minutes as I drove home and got ready for bed.

Being the gentleman that he is, he said that he would stay on the phone with me until I was inside my apartment to make sure that I did not encounter any murderers or rapists. I asked what he intended to do if he heard me encounter a murderer or rapist. He said he would drive out to save me, but I pointed out that he was wasted (in addition to being 20 minutes away). He said he would explain to the police that he HAD to drive to beat up the murderers and rapists. Brilliant logic, I tell you.

Anyway, we were on the phone for a while, and I remember saying to myself, "if I have to give up the great boyfriend to have great friends like this, I am okay with that. I will take this deal."

Sometimes all you have to do to feel better about the things you don't have is take a look at the things you do have.

One of my favorite pictures of myself and this particular gentleman:

I'm young HO, rap's Grateful Dead

I feel like it is rarely aknowledged that Jay-Z is one of the best lyricists of all time. I would like to aknowledge that right now.

(aknowledged)

On to the real reason for this post...I feel the need to share a quote that I think defines me:

"You don't have poker face. You have like, miniature golf face."

-Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

I tend to feel things intensely, and my general feelings/opinions are normally written all over my face. There's nothing I can do about it. I react quickly and have a hard time filtering the expressions that flash themselves across my features. My apologies to anyone who has been offended by my facial expressions in the past, but really, isn't it refreshing to know for sure what someone thinks about you and your ideas? I am happy to perform that service for you.

Speaking of feeling things intensely, please take a moment to enjoy the newly updated trailer for HP6, released yesterday. Potential side effects include permanent goosebumps and an intense desire to weep. Also, if you're me or my friend Meghan, the inability to stop yourself from writing HARRY POTTER 6 MOVIE in your calendar for July 15th (because yes, the release was moved up to the Wednesday of that week, and yes, I am a huge nerd):

Words I wish I used more often - vol. 1

I often come across certain words or phrases and think to myself "must use that word/phrase in conversation more often, will certainly make other people think I am cool."

Some of those words/phrases are:

1. Well played.
2. Wack (only because I wouldn't be able to help but giggle immediately after saying this because - let's be honest - anyone who says it seriously is kind of a douchebag)
3. Easy, Drama. (also because my brother has a guinea pig named Johnny Drama and there is very little in life I want more than for my older brother to think I'm cool)
4. You're killin' me, Smalls.

I will add to this list as more phrases come to mind but I just thought I'd get it started while I was feeling inspired.

Also, while I doubt I will ever say this myself (aside from repeating this exact quote), I feel the need to share the brilliance of a friend of a friend - I think his name was Alex - as I designated-drove him home one night -- "That girl was all up in my grill like charcoal."

Well played, Alex. Well played.

Love, thy name is Diet Coke

I think you all know how I feel about Diet Coke. DC. Coke Light. Whatever you want to call it (and yes, I know Coke Light and Diet Coke are two separate entities, but I like them both). I love it. I drink it daily. Sometimes more than once daily. I go out of my way to get it from the fountain if possible. The rankings in my head are as such:

1) Fountain Diet Coke
a) with a shot of root beer and many lemons (preferably from TIA on the Corner or from L7)
b) with a shot of dr pepper
c) with a shot of cherry coke
d) plain with many lemons

2) Canned Diet Coke

3) Bottled Diet Coke (individual or 2L bottle)


Now, this list becomes much more extensive when you add in all the other options - such as Coke Zero and Cherry Coke Zero and all the different bottle/can/fountain permutations included therein. But for now, just the basic list. I encourage all my fellow DC aficionados out there to include their lists in the comments (I'm talking to you, Molly V, Molly H, Austin, Noodle). Another option out there is the Coke Slurpee (Lizzybee).


My friend Paul knows of my love for the DC and tells me that Coke consumed in Disney World is unlike any other Coke in the world. Now, I have been to the World of Coke in ATL (with Lizzybee and Noodle...here we are with the bear), and I have tasted the straight-from-the-source Diet Coke and Coke Zero they have there...so I hope this Disney World DC rises to the challenge...because yes I am campaigning for a trip there with friends solely for the purpose of tasting this DC.


So anyway, while I don't necessarily NEED a reason to wax philosophical on my love for the greatness which is DC, I do have a reason today.


My friend Brittany came into work around lunchtime today and as she rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, my eyes went to her hands where she held two extra large fountain Diet Cokes. As she walked towards me, she extended her hand and said the most beautiful words in the world "This is for you. There's some Dr Pepper in there for ya."


I don't think anyone has ever done anything more romantic for me in my life. I told her that if things didn't work out between her and her husband, she should keep me in mind. Future Husband, take note. If you have bad news for me or want to ask for something - come prepared with Diet Coke in hand.

well it goes like this the fourth, the fifth

A few random things today:

1. I've had a cold for about a week. I tried really really hard to lose my voice this weekend to no avail. Now I just sound like I've been smoking since 10 years before I was conceived. Every time I laughed today I wheezed and then started coughing. It was really hot. Anyway, I talked to my mom and the conversation went like this: Mom "Do you have any cough medicine?" Me "Yes." Mom "...are you TAKING the cough medicine?" Me "Ummm...(cough)" She knows me too well.
2. I am HUGELY proud of myself because this weekend, I went to the store, bought replacement windshield wiper blades for my car, and installed them myself! I just did a little wiggle dance because I am still really proud. Please note that it rained today in Columbus and I am partially convinced that Jesus made it rain to show me what a good job I did with the wiper blades.
3. Every time I hear the song Hallelujah it never fails to move me. No matter who's singing it - although my favorites are (in order) Jeff Buckley, Kate Voegele, and Rufus Wainwright. A sampling of the lyrics:

"baby i've been here before, i've seen this room and i've walked this floor, i used to live alone before i knew you. i've seen your flag on the marble arch, but love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah

well, maybe there's a god above, but all i've ever learned from love, was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you. it's not a cry that you hear at night, it's not somebody who's seen the light, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah "

I pop collars because champagne gives me headaches

Someday, when my career takes off as the first multi-platinum white female super preppy rapper, that will be my golden lyric. I pop collars because champagne gives me headaches. I thought of that today and I will henceforth attempt to insert it into conversation whenever possible.

Today marked the first ever Easter I was without my family. I went to mass with John in German Village and we met friends for brunch at Lindey's. It was a beautiful day. After brunch John and I walked through Schiller Park in our finery (we were prepped out, it felt like home...I am still wearing my pearls) and blew bubbles (you know, like, soap bubbles) at doggies. They did not give chase, which was a little disappointing. John received bubbles in his gift from the Easter bunny (aka me because I was sad we were both without our families and felt we could each do with a little boost...and bubbles tend to work in those situations).

I met a 3 month old dachshund with a punk spike collar on. It made my day. That and the baby at Lindey's dressed as a pink bunny. Because really, what beats babies dressed as animals? Very little.

Here's to having good friends with whom to make new traditions, and to having old traditions good enough to miss them.

UPS trucks and wombats. Separated at birth?

I like that boom boom pow

This morning as I was driving to work, these things happened:

1. I have some road rage issues. Trying to curb those.
2. I was driving down a suburban road and there was a squirrel on the side of the road, waiting for a pause in traffic so he could cross to the other side. There was a spot between the car approaching me and myself and he went for it. He cleared the road with time to spare. I cheered for him (out loud, in my car, alone).
3. A few seconds later, I noticed two geese on the left side of the road, watching the traffic. I passed them and then stopped at a red light and observed them in my rear-view mirror. One of the geese stepped tentatively out into the road and began to cross. He made it halfway across the street before a car came along and he though it best to reconsider. At this point, I was sitting in my car, watching the goose waver on the median, and I was yelling "YOU CAN FLY. FLY! USE YOUR WINGS. USE. YOUR. WINNNNNGS!" The goose apparently did not think flight was in order. The considerate minivan stopped in the middle of the road. The goose stretched his neck out towards the minivan and considered it as he walked safely by. At no point did he flap his wings. Not even a little "Oh, maybe I should consider taking flight" ruffle of his feathers.
4. You should really go to www.failblog.org if you need a good laugh. The videos are out of control. I strongly recommend the jumping jack video.
5. I have a tiny, tiny football next to my computer. Every so often, I pick up the tiny, tiny football and pretend that I'm a giant.

Hee!

I want one!

Then we got artistic

Ok, so now the system has "gone live" (which is why I was here until after midnight last night/technically today) and we are spending all our time answering phone calls/troubleshooting for users. It's actually quite fun to be troubleshooting with people. The only lame part is that I'm wearing a headset right now, a la drive thru operator at McDonalds. I tried to avoid it all day, but the wedging the phone between my head and my shoulder + trying to write down the user's problem + my hair being ultrafine and therefore very slippery = awkwardness.

So, headset for me.

Anyway, wanted to give you an update on the butter situation. I received this drawing from Gary today:

just in case you can't read it, gary is saying "oh, what did i do to deserve this? i am such a nice person and whatnot" and i am saying "I completely understand that Karma dictated the covering of my head with non-dairy butter. I am mean. And I use. Too many. Periods." (i hate you gary)

I responded with this gem:

I am covered in blood on the left. My tablemates (wearing their headsets) say "Where have you been?" I say "Murdering Gary." They say "Who?" and I say "Exactly."

Gary responded with another picture that is not fit for public viewing.

Infantile.

I just got buttered.

Like a roll.

I have been at work - on a Sunday - for 12 hours and 17 minutes at this point.

Things have gotten a little crazy. All day, Gary was throwing small objects at me. Wet wipes. Pieces of gum. Small pieces of paper. A tiny, tiny football (that was my favorite). The last thing was butter.

I turned and said "Did you just throw BUTTER at me? Who throws packets of butter?"

I later turned and threw the same packet of butter back at him. It may have hit him in the eye (I have poor aim).

He was outraged.

I was apologetic.

He buttered me as he left. He held the packet of butter in his hand until it was time for him to leave. He then. Smeared. The butter.

On my forehead.

In my hair.

And down my back.


I chased him out of the building. I was unsuccessful. I am plotting.

a quote from The Amateurs by David Halberstam

I've read The Amateurs a few times and I recommend it to any rower or anyone even remotely interested in rowing or in the Olympics...but after yesterday's post about rowing I felt the need to share this quote that I think "gets it":

''Those who competed did so with a demonic passion. Yet there was no overt financial reward at the end, nor indeed was there even any covert financial reward, a brokerage house wanting and giving special privilege to the famed amateur. Yet the athletes were almost always the children of the upper middle class, privileged, affluent. One could understand the son of a ghetto family playing in the schoolyard for six hours a day hoping that basketball was a ticket out of the slum. It was harder to understand the son of Beacon Hill spending so much time and subjecting himself to so much pain to attain an honor that no one even understood. Perhaps in our society the true madness in the search for excellence is left for the amateur."

An evolution of sorts.

I have always been something of an egomaniac when it comes to writing, so in high school, when my first three attempts at college essays were flat out rejected by my AP English teacher (I believe her words were something along the lines of "I'm not even going to comment on these. Try again."), I grew to be a little angry. My first attempt wasn't memorable - I couldn't tell you now what it was about.

My second, rather ironically, was about second chances. My mother had cancer the summer before my senior year in high school, but we were unbelievably, almost embarrassingly

 fortunate, and she's fine now. My best friend's mother died on September 18th, 2001 from cancer. The essay was about coming to grips, for the first time, with what appeared to be the supreme and unforgiving randomness of Life (yes, with a capital L). The idea that it didn't matter why things happened - only that they had, and you had no choice but to fall on your knees and thank God before moving on in your altered Life. It wasn't good enough. 

The third was about a consignment shop I had been working in since I was...I don't know, 12 maybe? I volunteered there sometimes on weekends but mostly during the week in the summer. There is one experience that I remember more clearly than any other I had there, and that is what my essay was about. One day this lady came into the shop wearing a sweatsuit that was stained and clearly in need of replacement - holes, tattered hems, etc. She came straight to

 the jewelry counter and tried on a bracelet made of silver and pearls. The money that she used to buy the bracelet could have bought any number of outfits in that store to replace the one she was wearing - but it wasn't what she wanted. The essay was about the idea that desire, while sometimes seemingly irrational to those standing on the outside, always makes perfect sense to those of us in its grip. 

And finally - the fourth. I was so angry by this point in time that I decided to give up on trying to write something moving and meaningful, and I just laid it out there. I can't even tell you how angry the tone of the essay was -but in the end I think that's what made it work.

It was about rowing. By this point in time, I had been rowing for 3 years and was approaching

 my 4th season of high school rowing. I wrote about why I rowed - which may seem pedestrian - but is one of the most passionate things I think I've ever written. I wrote about how I hated getting up at 5 o'clock in the morning. I hated wiping out on the ice-covered docks at the beginning of spring. I hated having a tiny, type-A, obsessive compulsive little bitch (that isn't confined to one person, but rather to coxswains in general) scream in my face as I exhausted my body while they sat - SAT -  in front of me covered in fleece jackets. 

And then, I wrote about how it was all worth it. It was worth it to watch the sun rise over the monuments every morning from the Potomac. It was worth it for the first 10 seconds of every race. 

I will never be able to adequately explain this to someone who has never rowed, but that feeling is like nothing else. Your body is tensed up like a coil, gripping your oar, waiting to release everything you've got. The starter's impassive voice over the loudspeaker says "All ready. 3. 2. 1. Row." What no one else can hear is the coxswains in each of the boats whispering fervently into their mics "set this boat. set the goddamn boat. if you do not set this boat before we start you are going to lose this race. SET. IT. UP." (setting the boat is the idea of making the boat even so that you're not leaning to either port or starboard...it's surprisingly, excruciatingly hard). So the starter says row - and your entire world explodes. 

Typically there are 6 boats in a sprint race, lined up one next to the other. If you are one of the better boats in the race, you're in the middle...meaning that you fully experience the start, because in front of you and behind you in your OWN boat, people are moving as fast as they can, driving all the power from their legs into the water, kicking the boat along. Next to you on either side are boats in which 9 more people are doing the exact same thing you are. The water is splashing, the oars are clicking simultaneously in their oarlocks (oh, God, that sound, when all the oars clicked together, it was...exalted), and I promise you, there is nothing else in the world aside from that moment. Nothing else exists. You are - for those few moments, those first ten seconds

 - capable of anything. 

If I didn't do an adequate job of explaining it above, I'll just tell you this - racing is what makes all the early morning practices, all the effing roadtrips, all the weekends apart from your friends, all the PAIN - worth it. Wholly and fully. So it must be pretty good, right? 

I haven't raced in 6 years and I remember those feelings the same as if I raced yesterday. 

I've been thinking about rowing a lot lately because I'm trying to get those feelings back - trying to commit myself to something in the same way - and having a bit of trouble. I'm trying to run. The problem with running, though, is that you don't have 8 other people running around you at the same time, along with whom you have to match your pace and power exactly. You don't have that self-obsessed little hellion screaming in your face that if you do not keep running she will kill you. I have my internal coxswain now - who doesn't, really, in all aspects of their life - but it's not quite the same. I'm trying, though. For what it's worth. 

Putting this on the blog feels a little bit like cutting out a piece of my heart, cupping it in my

 palms, and offering it to you silently. I look at pictures from those days and I grieve. I think it's the same way with runners and swimmers as it is with rowers - it doesn't matter that I haven't raced in 6 years. I will always be a rower. 

For your viewing pleasure...this picture was taken during a head race in Charlottesville the fall of my first year at UVA (a head race is much longer than a sprint race...endurance rather than speed). I was bow at that point (the very last person in the boat, or the first person to cross the

 finish line):

This winter some things came up in conversation with my friends Paul and John that - for lack of a better term - blew their minds. They weren't things about me that I hid from them in any particular fashion, I guess they had just never come up before...until this summer. One was that I love horror movies (we were talking about the Saw series in particular). Another was that I love rap music. I would say most of the time when I'm listening to music, it's rap, or hip hop, or some other form of nauseating pop music. Don't get me wrong, the transcendent musical moments of my life (you know what I'm talking about) are all to quality music - DMB, KoL, Incubus, blah blah the list goes on, but generally, I listen to rap. And I think I just figured out why. 

Rap is like rowing in a musical form. It has the driving beat, the power, and the anger. It allows you, for a few moments, to become something you might not always be. Which is why I listen to rap music at this point in my life when I'm trying to become something I have never really been - a runner. 

I almost choked on my water.

go to http://www.mom4life.com/ and just look at some of the insane products they offer there.

The end.

Whenever I breathe on a track, I asthma attack it

Really, who doesn't love it when I title my posts with rap lyrics? Just some randomness today.

1. This morning as I walked from my car to my building, I narrated the walk as if I were involved in a stockcar race. Like, some guy was walking behind me and passed me on my right and in my head I was like "Ahhh, guy in blue sweatshirt makes a move on the outside!" Yeah. That happened.


2. There are no words for this. Really, no words that I come up with could possibly make it any better. The only thing that could possibly make the picture better would be if the baby were wearing an animal costume inside the...pouch? What the hell do you even call that thing? I mean, honestly, that baby has got to be like "Wait, I just got OUT of something like this...do I have to squeeze through that hole again?" (sorry everyone who was just offended, but I couldn't NOT say it) It looks kind of happy about it though.
3. Sorry I really can't follow that up with anything, so I'm out.

Sponsored by Starbucks

So my Mom signed me up to be a Starbucks Gold member for Christmas, which was great and obviously generous, etc, but really, it just makes me feel like I'm playing right into Starbucks' giant, monopolistic hand. I feel guilty that my mom paid $25 to get me this card that gives me 10% off all my Starbucks purchases, so I go to Starbucks more often now to make sure she gets her money's worth...you see how this is working out?

Anyway, for my birthday, Starbucks sent me a postcard that was worth 1 free drink during my birth-month. Today is March 31st, so I had to get my butt over to Starbucks today to make sure I got my birth-drink (I'm going to just keep putting birth at the beginning of words). So a few things happened.

1) I went for a Venti rather than a Grande (hell, it was free) and will now probably be shaking/hopped up all day.


2) As I exited Starbucks, a nice man held the door open for me and it was just so benevolent. It felt so nice. I dunno, kind of one of those "The world isn't an entirely corrupt and evil place" moments.


3) There were groundskeepers working on the landscaping in front of the library as I drove away, and I was delighted for a second as I was convinced that they were dressed up as bears. But no, they were just wearing brown sweatsuits with their hoods over their heads. But seriously, if they had just added a couple of flaps for ears and a little tail on the back, they would have been dead ringers for bears. Which is funny/delightful. Although, I guess they would have resembled ewoks more closely considering that they were wearing little vests over their sweatsuits.

4) I found this quote on the side of my Starbucks cup and liked it:

The irony of commitment is that it's deeply liberating - in work, in play, in
love. The act frees you from the tyranny of your internal critic, from the
fear that likes to dress itself up and parade around as rational hesitation.
To commit is to remove your head as the barrier to your life.

-Anne Morriss

Everyone knows that Starbucks is way more about the experience than it is about the coffee (or, in my case, soy chai latte) and this morning, they delivered.

T9word fails at life

Ok so I was typing a text to one of my friends about homework yesterday (it's a long story, no, i'm not in school anymore) and I typed in the letters to make up "homework" and the phone suggested two things:
1) homework
2) gomezorl

Yes, phone, gomezorl. That's what I was looking for. How did you know.

Fail.

F you, Grey's Anatomy.

Ok, Grey's, seriously?

The epsiode tonight should have come with a WARNING LABEL. Sitting alone in my apartment on my couch SOBBING is NOT OK. Warning label: Get a freaking GLASS OF WINE before you WATCH THIS.

The quotes that did me in:

"If there's a crisis, you don't freeze. You move forward. You get the rest of us to move forward. Because you've seen worse, you've survived worse, and you know we'll survive too. You say you're all dark and twisty. It's not a flaw. It's a strength. It makes you who you are."
(derek to meredith in the elevator)

"It doesn't matter how tough we are. Trauma always leaves a scar. It follows us home. It changes our lives. Trauma messes everybody up. But, maybe that's the point. All the pain and the fear and the crap - maybe going through all of that is what keeps us moving forward. It's what pushes us. Maybe we have to get a little messed up before we can step up."
(carrev at the end of the episode)

Is it bad to make fun of people in your dreams?

So I haven't really been remembering my dreams lately, but somehow I remembered a snippet from one last night quite distinctly.

I dreamt that I was back at home in McLean and my Dad had just bought a new car. It was the biggest Lexus sedan I had ever seen - this thing was a tank. Anyway, I looked in the front seat and there was a seat in the middle just like there was back in the day in Oldsmobiles and Caddys - you know what I'm talking about? The little tiny jumpseat in the middle of the front row where you always got stuck between your grandparents? Anyway, I remember in my dream, I made fun of my dad for buying an "Old person car." He said we were going to go for a ride and I insisted that I needed to sit in the jumpseat. I don't think I've ever recalled so clearly a time when I've mocked someone in one of my dreams....at least not in such a harmless manner. It was kind of strange. And I clearly remember thinking in my dream about how funny I was. Even dream Bridget has a high opinion of herself.

Another thing I noticed recently - isn't it strange how each person has such a clear personal dictionary? Like, I'm sure there are words that I use frequently that other people rarely use. They're not necessarily rare words, but they might just not pop into someone else's head the same way they pop into mind. It was recently brought to my attention that I use the word "aggressive" often - completely true. I don't deny it at all. But I was in a class the other day and the person I was teaching with used the word "smattering" 3 times within an hour. I counted. I don't think I had heard the word "smattering" 3 times within the past YEAR before that class. And then I heard it 3 times in one hour. Just because it was part of that person's dictionary.

Just makes you think. Or it just makes me think. I dunno. I guess I have too much time on my hands.

But seriously, smattering?

Banana eye contact. Banned.

My friend is eating a banana right now at our table and I happened to look up as she took a bite. She made eye contact with me as she bit it, and I was struck with the realization that there are very few other foods you can eat that will look as aggressive/violent as a banana.

So I IMed her and said:

Bridget ... never again
Bridget ... make eye contact with me
Bridget ... while eating a banana

and then, since she was earlier pretending that her banana was a phone and saying "Beep beep boop" (see below post, although she wasn't the crazy person I was talking about, she was the one I was talking about it with):

Bridget ... boop boop beep
Bridget ... what if you got a phone call right now while you were eating your banana?!
Brittany ... that would be sweet

Beep beep boop boop

So I'm back at work in that same giant conference room. I'm here every Monday and then Tues-Thurs I'm out in the wild teaching training classes. I'm not quite sure why but for some reason lately I've been using the phrase "out in the wild" quite a bit. Like, on breaks I tell my classes to go run wild, or I tell them that we're going to release them into the wild so they can try to use their new skills. Really not quite sure what that's about.

Anyway, the conference room. I'm at a table right now with 3 other people. One of those people has a cell phone that is making noise when she dials. Like, normal beeping noises. The thing is, this person is kind of crazy in general. So I was talking to one of the other girls at the table and I was like "So, what if she was sitting over there with a plastic playskool phone just making those noises herself? Like, saying 'beep beep boop' as she dials because she's insane and is really talking to no one?" So I keep imagining her with a plastic phone that has a cord dragging behind it...connected to nothing.

Just thought I'd share.

The Best is Yet to Come

One of my best friends signed my birthday card this year with the words "The best is yet to come." I was moved by the thought - the belief on her part, the hope implicit in that statement. The best is yet to come. Her confidence gave me the courage to believe the same myself, and I can happily say that I am filled with a calm assurance that she is right.

What does it take to get to this belief? Naivete? Intensity of desire? I would say that many people reach that conclusion when, behind them, they've left a past that could only lead to a better future - but how could that possibly apply to me? I've led a wholly blessed life - I have no complaints. So who am I to believe that it will get even better?

A smile just broke across my face - I really do think the best is yet to come. And that feeling is so wonderful.

So I've got to think...

"The best is yet to come, and babe won't it be fine,

You think you've seen the sun, but you ain't seen it shine"

A new dawn, a new beginning. Good morning, life.

What would your soundtrack be?

So I am constantly imagining my life as a movie, and thinking about what music would be most appropriate to be playing at each point in time.

Am I the only one who does that?

Like, last night I got up at 3 am to turn the fan on in my room, and when I was walking back to back, I cracked open my blinds to look into the parking lot and in my head I imagined the "DUN DUN DUNNNNN!" of horror movies to play in the background as I realized there was someone standing on my balcony MERE FEET FROM WHERE I WAS SLEEPING!!!

Ok so obviously that part didn't happen (the whole robber on my balcony thing) but I did imagine the scary music. Because I'm crazy. I also think about sharks in the shower when I have my eyes closed, because apparently I am masochistic.

Ok byeeeee.

And those of you who are wonderful and have been e-mailing me lately (I'm talking to you, Molly H and Molly V) - I promise I will write back soon! Not ignoring you :-) xoxo

I know the storm is coming, my pockets keep tellin' me it's gonna shower

A few things:

1. I would say there are daily occurrences of me spilling water or some other beverage down my front. I may have graduated from a top university (jigga what? http://www.virginia.edu/uvatoday/newsRelease.php?id=7870) but I apparently did not learn the simple mechanics of cup + mouth = drinking.
2. I sit in a room with a corrugated metal roof. I just typed that and then spellchecked and silently congratulated myself when I spelled corrugated correctly. When it rains, it sounds like gunfire. It is not raining now, but there is still noise, so I imagine squirrels on the roof, having parties in anticipation of my upcoming birthday.
3. Some of my favorite foods, constantly in contention to be included in the Top 5: mac & cheese, cupcakes (any flavor), the rye chips from Chex Mix, chow mein noodles (the kind you get at salad bars, i frequently consider taking a box full of chow mein noodles), frozen burritos (specifically amy's or whole foods brands), diet coke (this isn't technically a food, but i am compelled to include diet coke on any list of favorites. favorite people: diet coke. favorite baby: diet coke. favorite city: diet coke. you get the idea), anything from Sticks, TIA, or Arch's in Charlottesville...yeah I'll stop now, but I hope your quality of life has improved based on reading that list.
4. UPDATE: I was walking towards the wall in our cafeteria today that houses all the drinks, and I saw a girl take the last can of Diet Coke. As I walked towards the drink wall to get a drink for myself, I seriously considered launching my body at her legs to steal the Diet Coke from her. Lucky for me, there was another pushed way to the back of the shelf. Disaster avoided.
5. I just learned something new that was extremely humbling. I was IMing with a friend and she said "For all intents and purposes" and I was like "What?" and then I realized - the phrase is INTENTS AND PURPOSES. Not INTENSIVE PURPOSES, which I have been saying for like, I don't know, almost 25 years?! I mean, I always thought it was kind of strange - but I figured it made some sense, the idea that it was really only for all the INTENSIVE purposes. The really important ones. But no. I'm just an idiot. The advent of e-mail and Instant Messaging have outed two groups of people: bad spellers and idiots like me who say things that SOUND right but completely are not. Completely.

Quotes from The Man of My Dreams by Curtis Sittenfeld

I'm on a Sittenfeld kick lately. I'll get into that more on the book blog...but here are some quotes that encourage my current addiction to her work:

"Do people really live so peacefully and treat each other so kindly? It's impressive, and yet their lives must lack direction and purpose. At home, she knows her purpose. Whenever her father is in the house -- in the morning before he goes to the office, after work, on the weekends -- his mood dictates what they can talk about, or if they can talk at all, or which rooms they can enter. To live with a person who might at any moment spin out of control makes everything so clear: Your goal is to not instigate, and if you are successful, avoidance is its own reward. The things other people want, what they chase after and think they're entitled to -- possessions, or entertainment or say, fairness - who cares? These are extraneous. All you are trying to do is prolong the periods between outbursts or, if this proves impossible, to conceal these outbursts from the rest of the world," p24

"Far in the future, Hannah will have a boyfriend named Mike with whom she'll talk about her father. She'll say she isn't sorry about her upbringing before the divorce, that she thinks in a lot of ways it was useful. Being raised in an unstable household makes you understand that the world doesn't exist to accommodate you, which, in Hannah's observation, is something a lot of people struggle to understand well into adulthood. It makes you realize how quickly a situation can shift, how danger really is everywhere. But crises, when they occur, do not catch you off guard; you have never believed you live under the shelter of some essential benevolence. And an unstable childhood makes you appreciate calmness and not crave excitement. To spend a Saturday afternoon mopping your kitchen floor while listening to opera on the radio, and to go that night to an Indian restaurant with a friend and be home by nine o'clock - these are enough. They are gifts," p35

"He is talking more slowly when he says, 'I know I only met you once before today, but you seem like you have your act together. You don't seem like you need rescuing,'
Is the depressing part that he's only half right - it's not that she doesn't need rescuing but that nobody else will be able to do it? She has always somehow known that she is the one who will have to rescue herself. Or maybe what's depressing is that this knowledge seems like it should make life easier, and instead it makes it harder," p84

"In their lives together, he'd recognize her as a member of his tribe: He wouldn't mistake her quietness for niceness, her sense of responsibility for humorlessness; he wouldn't even mistake her prudishness for real prudishness. He'd be boisterous and obnoxious, and he wouldn't think (Mike had thought this) that talking about other people was slightly immoral. She wouldn't feel the loneliness of being the only one who had opinions," p193

"But maybe this is what Hannah has always wanted: a man who will deny her. A man of her own who isn't hers. Isn't it the real reason she broke up with Mike - not because he moved to North Carolina for law school...but because he adored her? If she asked him to get out of bed and bring her a glass of water, he did. If she was in a bad mood, he tried to soothe her. It didn't bother him if she cried, or if she didn't wash her hair or shave her legs or have anything interesting to say. He forgave it all, he always thought she was beautiful, he always wanted to be around her. It became so boring! She'd been raised, after all, not to be accommodated but to accommodate, and if she was his world, then his world was small, he was easily satisfied...She wanted to feel like she was striding cleanly forward, walking into a bracing wind and learning from her mistakes...with Oliver, there is always contrast to shape their days, tension to keep them on their toes: You are far from me, you are close to me. We are fighting, we are getting along," p212

Pavlovian dogs, pun intended

There are two dogs who live and work on campus here at my company. They are employed as security dogs. They are also obscenely cute.

Sometimes the dogs come into the buildings on campus and walk around and play with people at their desks. If this happens, it's pretty much the highlight of my week.

The floor that I used to sit on housed merchants and designers. Every. Single. Day - I would hear the jingling of chains and look up eagerly, hoping desperately that one of the two dogs was visiting my floor.

Nope. Just a designer. Wearing a wallet chain. Who lived to defy me.

Sigh.

Into the ether

I suppose that my main purpose in writing this blog is the hope that someone will stumble across something I've written that will speak to them - whether it's something that makes them laugh, or something that lets them know that they're not the only one who has felt a certain way before.

This post is more along the lines of the latter. It's a message with a specific recipient, but that specific recipient is someone who I'm pretty sure will never read this message. At this point, though, I really just want to send these words out into the ether and get them out of my head.

I still think of you every single time I drop my keys (which, unfortunately, as you know, is daily). I start to smile, thinking of that joke we had, and then I'm punched by the sadness of knowing that you're not around to share it with.

I'm waiting for the time that I will not think of you every single day. It doesn't hurt when I think of you, but I am tired of being reminded that you have become a part of the default settings of my mind.

Today I thought of the time that I asked you when you knew for sure that you loved me, and then we got distracted and started talking about something else. A while later - 20 minutes, half an hour, I don't know, out of nowhere, you said "When you went to Chicago a few months after we started dating, and I missed you so much. That's when I knew for sure that I loved you."

I think that moment is when I knew for sure that I loved you.

Ironing has a funny side too

A friend's comment on the last post (about ironing) reminded me of this story which I had to share to show that while ironing suddenly has this profound, serious side, it also has a funny side.

My 4th year of college I lived in the sorority house on the 3rd floor in a room that was called the Attic Double until we moved in, at which time it immediately became the Princess Room. I'm not completely sure as to whether or not the girls in the house today still call it the Princess Room, but if they do not, I will be sorely disappointed. Anyway, there were two single beds in the room, and both were on risers, so it became quite a challenge to see what was going on on the opposite side of the bed across from you. My desk faced a wall and...I really can't describe this well enough, so I provide you with Exhibit A......which I now realize you cannot read because it is too small. Maybe if you click on it. I don't know. Anyway, the brown circle is me (aerial view, I have brown hair), the two smaller rectangles are our desks, and the two larger rectangles are our beds. The arrow pointing to the second bed represents Austin, who was under the bed at the time this story took place.

So, I had recently murdered Austin and hidden her body underneath the bed...

jk.

But did I have you going? Probably not.

So I'm sitting at my desk, studying very very hard (aka stalking people on facebook while wearing absurdly large clown sunglasses and/or cat ears), when I hear a noise coming from behind me. I'm pretty sure that I had thought I was alone in the room up until this point. So I hear this noise, and I turn and look over my shoulder, convinced that Elizabeth was finally right, and the Phantom has in fact come into the sorority house to murder me, and I see no one behind me in the room. The noise happens again, and finally I say:

"...Austin?"

and this muffled reply issues from across the room,

"...yes?"

"...ummm...where ARE you?"

"...under my bed," she replied...as if this were completely normal.

"Annnnnd, what are you doing under your bed?"

this answer, and the way it was delivered, will always stay with me:

"Ironing."

Classic.

Smoothing out the wrinkles

I've been thinking a lot about ironing recently. I had this great urge to iron the other night, so I pulled out my iron, attempted to put the water in the right place (I have not ironed since college), and plugged it in. Eventually the steam began to billow out of the bottom of the iron, and I pulled together a few oxfords (I went to UVA, yes, I have multiple oxfords) and began pressing them.

I finished 3 shirts before I realized why I wanted to iron in the first place. Dirty laundry? Nope. Sudden obsession with neatness? Unlikely.

I started with a product that was wrinkled and messy. I knew the steps that I had to take to smooth it out. All it took was a little pressure and a little heat, and magically the little wrinkles gave way.

Don't you ever wish you could take an iron to your life?

Cirque du Snuggie

I was at this new piano bar that is the new Columbus cult obsession on Saturday night...and every time I am there they play Country Roads, and I belt out loud the lyrics that we had in XO ("Country Roads...take me home...to the place...where I belong...Chi Omega...Lambda Gamma...take me home...country roads"). I've gotten some rather strange looks from nearby strangers, but that's not really an aberration so I keep doing it.

Anyway, I texted my friend Annie (also known as Noodle or Banoo) to tell her that they were playing that song (Although I'm pretty sure the text went like this: "Country Roads...Chi Omega...YAY!"). I meant to text the rest of my sisters as well, but I got too excited after I typed in Annie's name, and all those vodka sodas weren't having such a great effect on my follow-through. Anyway, she calls me and I answer the phone in this ear-drum-blastingly-loud bar and go "Noodle! AhhhhhAHAHAHHH! Nooooooodleeee! They were playing the SONG!!!....Can you hear me?? I can't hear you....AHHHHHHHHAHAHAHHAHA.....ok bye!" and then I hung up on her. She later texted to say she had seen Cirque du Soleil that night in Atlanta and I texted back and said "Cirque du Snuggie."

And I think that was the most profound thing I have said in a long time.

In other news, this is part of an IM conversation going on with my work friend and I:

Bridget... what if i went to my desk right now and walked back in wearing a snuggie?

(at this point i started laughing uncontrollably at my desk)
Brittany... which color?
Bridget... mint green
Bridget... it's the most tasteful snuggie
Brittany... what about blood red?
Bridget... no, that's too flashy
Bridget... no one wants a flashy snuggie

and now for some original artwork from me:

And now, from www.urbandictionary.com:

"a snuggie is someone who exhibits snugness and lives in Snuggieopolis on Snuggieoopiter in the Snuggie Way
'your so snuggie!' 'snuggie snug snug' "

I am shaking right now because I am trying REALLY HARD not to laugh. It's just making it worse.

snuggie snug snug!

The Heart of the Matter

I went to Mass again this week, and - once again - I was left feeling deeply satisfied and inspired when I left. Why can't visits to bars always turn out the same way? Eh, yeah, might have something to do with the addition of binge drinking and the subtraction of the son of Christ, but I'll leave the pondering of that thought for another place and time.

Before settling into the deeper matters I want to discuss tonight, I need to share a few quotes from last night that make me laugh:

"I'm pretty sure I'm wearing a shirt as a dress right now" (that was me...I have developed a new, rather disturbing affinity for wearing shirts over leggings and seeing if I can get away with it. I try really hard not to go crotch-out, but sometimes you can't help it)

"That girl has cameltoe, and she's wearing overalls. Short. Overalls." (Addie- I even took multiple pictures of said unfortunate girl but now feel as if it would be extremely un-Christian of me to post them online)

"I am afraid there may be a fanny-pack involved" (me referring to an equally unfortunate girl involved in a bachelorette party last night)

Anyway, moving on to the heart of the matter (which happens to be the name of a wonderful india.arie cover featured on the SATC soundtrack).The Gospel at Mass today was from Mark - a story about Jesus healing a paralyzed man. At the end of the Gospel, Jesus says to the once-paralyzed man "rise, pick up your mat, and go home." And as I sat in that church today, I found myself wondering if there was such a huge difference between myself and the paralyzed man. We both felt - literally or figuratively - that we were at an impasse and could no longer move forward. And we both turned to God, albeit in severely different circumstances, to hopefully discover the next step. Clearly, when Jesus spoke, he assumed that the miracle had already taken place - he had healed a paralyzed man. But what if the real miracle is finding a place to call home?

The Gospel today left me with a profound feeling of hope. Jesus had healed the man's physical paralysis, and hopefully in time He will help with what I consider to be my current emotional/general life paralysis. Right now, I'm not so sure I can say that I know where home is. Again, I face a question concerning the difference between a literal and figurative definition. Which is more important, when you are looking for home?

I know where my literal home is, but I secretly feel guilty whenever I refer to Columbus as home in front of my mother. Columbus is not fully my home...I cannot behave like a petulant child here with the assurance that everyone will still love me when my hissy fit has passed. I am ashamed to say that I frequently lose my cool in McLean and behave more 4 years old than 24. But what is better than being assured of unconditional love? So...is that the definition of home? The place where you're assured of unconditional love? In that case, I do have a home. So why do I feel a little bit like a lost child, stumbling through the fog towards...God knows what?

This question is one that has plagued humans since the time of Jesus and continues to worry us today, as evidenced by a song (by my boyfriend TI) that has enjoyed recent popularity - the lyrics of which say "Oh, I've been traveling on this road too long (too long), just trying to find my way back home (back home), the old me's dead and gone, dead and gone."

When I hear this song, and when I heard the Gospel today, I can't help but feel nostalgia for a place I'm not quite sure I've come to yet (if you've read the quotes on this site you'll recognize that concept). At this point, I haven't yet decided if this feeling is painful longing or pleasant hope. Maybe both. I embrace this longing now, because it implies that at some point, I will find relief. I will find the true North towards which I have been unknowingly oriented my entire life.

I felt at home today in that church. I felt the unconditional love. Maybe Jesus was so assured that the formerly paralyzed man would find his way home because, in healing him, he had shown him the unconditional love that home was made of.

And isn't that a wonderful thought? The idea that at some point, I will - we all will - arrive at the place in our lives when we will recognize that we can finally exhale and say "There you are. Here I am."

And thank God for that.

I'm Christopher Columbus, y'all just the pilgrims.

top of the morning to ya!



a few thoughts this morning:

1) I'm pretty sure the #1 question I have been asking - and continue to ask - in my life is this:

Exactly how long am I going to be able to get away with this?



2) "I'm Christopher Columbus, y'all just the pilgrims" -- this is why T.I. is my boyfriend. We had a little trouble with the whole possession charge, but that's behind this. You know why? Because I can have whatever I like.



3) I currently sit in a mid-sized conference room with roughly 20 other people, jabbing away at our computers 12 hours a day. Weekends too, it's really great. Oh, don't worry, I make boatloads of money so I don't feel bad about selling my soul (this is untrue. i don't make boatloads, and i do feel bad about selling my soul). Anyway, we all sit in this tiny room, secretly plotting ways to simultaneously end the lives of the other 19 people so that we can go to Mexico on vacation full time (wait, is that just me? Oh). The room has 5 tables arranged as such:


I sit at the middle table, as is the natural order of things (I am the center. People naturally gravitate towards me, and sometimes form circles and then revolve around me). So this morning, there was one box of Timbits on the table in front of me and one on the table behind me. And we decided that it was like the war of the Timbits. East side vs. West side. Bloods vs. Crips. As people came into the room and took Timbits from either box, we noted their loyalties. It's about to escalate to an all out brawl.

A girl just walked into the room wearing - I kid you not - what must be a 10 foot long scarf.

Annnnd on that note, I'm out.

A blessing and a curse

I just raced back to this site so that I could click "New Post" and start this on February 19th - instead of February 20th - so that I could say that I really have 1 month left in my first quarter century. And as I sit here, waiting for my iPod to upload all of the music I have just downloaded (iTunes is like my crack. It's dangerous. I can never stop at just a little bit of music. It's sick when you realize that you have over 1,000 songs on your iPod and you wonder where all your money went), I wonder...what exactly have I learned in the last 25 years, and what do I expect to learn in the next.

I have learned a lot, I can say that with a pretty good degree of assurance, but why then do I feel more and more like a toddler as time goes on? More and more...please excuse my use of this phrase...but more and more functionally retarded? I'm not trying to be funny, I'm using the words for their literal definitions. Arrested development. Functional retardation. I'm sorry, I might almost be 25, but I still can't help but laugh at the use of that phrase. See? Functional retardation. Evidence.

Anyway, I could probably type about this for hours, but I'll just give you the idea of the thought weighing on my mind and leave it at that for now.

This is what I'm struggling with - I am blessed. There's no getting around that. Yes, I'm cynical, I'm sarcastic, I'm a public pessimist but a private optimist. I just can't help but feel that I was meant to do more with the gifts that I was given. Is this the point in all of our lives when we stop for a moment to do an inventory check and catch ourselves wondering out loud, "Is this it?"

I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I only worry, sometimes, that the hand I was dealt was a blessing and a curse. I am lucky enough to know how lucky I am. Where does that leave me? What does our generation do now, after having been taught all our lives to push harder, reach higher, go further? Do we suddenly pull on the reins and say - No, that's enough, I think I'll settle down here and be comfortable? Who taught us that comfort, that satisfaction, was such a shameful concept? With great power comes great responsibility - what if you're sure you have the power, but not yet sure you can handle the responsibility?

The fact that I'm even thinking about this confirms something for me: I am thinking too hard. And I just reread that last paragraph and thought to myself, you're a whiny baby. I bet if I reread that in 25 years I will still think I was a whiny baby. So, to borrow some brilliance from Winston Churchill - maybe this isn't the beginning of the end. Maybe it's only the end of the beginning. At what point does it become unacceptable to consider yourself a child? I'm pretty sure I'm still getting away with it for now (right?), but at a certain point even I realize that ignorance is no longer bliss, and that it was never a defense against the law. How long can I get away with adolescence?

What if talent, intelligence, etc, are like gift cards, and if at a certain point you still haven't cashed them in, the powers that be assume you aren't going to, and their inherent value expires?

Yep, I need to put myself to bed.

I'll leave it on this note for tonight:

"I believe in the Kingdom Come

That all the colors will

Bleed into one, bleed into one

Well, yes I'm still running

You broke the bonds and you loosed the chains

Carried the cross of my shame, of my shame

You know I believe it,

But I still haven't found what I'm looking for

But I still haven't found what I'm looking for"

(u2)

Is that enough Peace?

So last night - Valentine's Day 2009 - I became a caricature of a 24 year old woman.

I was eating a lovely dinner with my lovely single friends when one of them turned to me and asked if I was ok - he had seen on Facebook (aka the devil's workshop) that the most serious of my recent exes was back "In a Relationship" with his ex - the one who sent him e-mails and texts throughout our relationship, telling him she still loved him and asking what I had that she didn't (my sanity?) - oh, and let's not forget about the time that she called me a psycho when we met at a wedding. Brilliant.

Anyway, I've gotta be real here - it affected me more than I thought it would. To be honest, it's really not the fact that he's with someone else, or that he's shouting it from the proverbial mountaintop that is Facebook, it's that he's with her. The girl who made me feel so awful that I went back to our hotel room at that wedding and cried because I had upset her at her friend's wedding. I cried because I felt bad for her. You know, after she tried to steal my boyfriend and then publicly questioned my sanity. I had been the girl - the ex - who wanted her love back. I knew how it felt to look at the "next girl" and wonder - what is it about her?

In hindsight, maybe she was right all along. Maybe I was a psycho to shed tears for such an unbelievable reason. I guess I was just always taught that what goes around comes around - and maybe, eventually, it will. But right now, an outside observer would learn this: Behave like a maniac, try to steal your ex boyfriend back from another woman, and eventually you will succeed. Granted, I broke up with this ex over a year ago because I felt that if we were honest with ourselves, we both knew there was no future in the cards for us - but she still, eventually, got what she wanted. And that bothers me.

Regardless, I e-mailed him earlier and said that I hope she makes him very happy. Anyone who knows me well enough will notice the distinct diction I used in that sentence - I hope she makes him very happy. I also hope she gets what's coming to her.

So anyway, this morning I got up and went to Mass. It was a nice experience for multiple reasons - 1) I dressed like a big girl which I normally do about 5 times a year since I work for a casual clothing company and 2) I got to hang out with Jesus for a while. I had never been to this particular parish before, and the ultra-conservative views espoused during the Homily (regarding sex before marriage, sex with birth control within marriage, and IVF) made me uncomfortable. I am not quite sure that I will go back - especially if those messages persist. Is it awful that I find those opinions to be backwards and ignorant? Ok, I'll give them the sex before marriage part, but the other two just seem so...antiquated. And with the Catholic Church's tendency to redefine itself every few decades, it leaves me wondering why they have turned a blind eye to the benefits bestowed upon the world with the invention of both birth control and IVF. Jesus, are you mad at me for saying these things? I hope not, because it was nice to see You today.

I have always dreaded a certain part of Catholic Mass. The part where I say I am not worthy, you wonder? Or the part where I admit to being a horrible sinner? No. The peace giving part. Peace be with you and all that jazz. It has always scared me. As a person who was raised (I use that term loosely) within the most antisocial of churches, I have always wondered why Catholics feel the need to insert the Happy Hour introductions into the middle of their services. Can't we all just worship separately and go in peace? Can't we just make eye contact and flash a peace sign (this is very popular among members of my immediate family)? Why the handshakes? Why strike fear into the hearts of socially awkward and anxious members of your congregation (aka me)?

So, anyway, today, the peace be with you-ness eventually came along, as it always does, at the same time as it always does, and I managed to participate in a manner that I convinced myself was both successful and socially acceptable. I shook the hands of and bestowed peace upon 5 or 6 people in my immediate vicinity and then turned back to face front like a good Catholic....but I was left wondering - was that enough peace? Should I have been more aggressive with my peace, reaching out to members who stood further away? Should I have made eye contact with people across the pew and mouthed the words at them with a vague gesture of my hand? What is it about this, one of the parts of Mass that is meant to draw the congregation together and fulfill the requirements of weekly Community Worship, that makes me feel the most singled out of all? Anyway, I tried to do my best. Hopefully it's the thought that counts.

I did a few things after Mass including eating alone at Panera (I am a veritable social superstar) as well as going to the library and reading alone (seriously, I can't even tell you how popular I am). Once I returned to my apartment, I started up my computer, and I wrote my ex that e-mail that I mentioned previously. The words were different, but the message was the same - Peace be with you.

So, is that enough peace?

I certainly hope so.

And some more from books I've read recently

"Everything in my life seemed to be exploding like fireworks in a night sky, spectacular but also a bit frightening because one of those brilliant sparks could fall onto your upturned face and scorch you" tuscan holiday by holly chamberlin

"Okay, smarty, perhaps you already know better than to drink pink wine from a box. But you picked up this book for a reason, so I'll bet that my post-college preoccupations aren't totally dissimilar to your own as you navigate this strange, semi-autonomous period, when you're technically on your own but in no way feel like you qualify as an adult; when you discover that what you thought would make you happy doesn't, and what you thought you wanted isn't what you want at all. When you're afraid that every wrong decision you make now is setting you up for decades of regret. When you not only don't know who you are anymore but wonder if you ever did." it's a wonderful lie by emily franklin

"I just wish I had a syllabus to follow for my life." it's a wonderful lie by emily franklin

"On one level, I didn't expect to fall in love. I saw this other future version of myself, a merciless, lonesome writer, banged up, brooding, bullying her way through life. But honestly, I also felt like this was the person I'd been waiting for. There was a feeling of relief - a feeling of Oh, here you are, finally. And this is what you look like. And this is what your voice sounds like. And this is the set of your childhood memories. I thought I'd been looking, but really, I was just waiting for him without knowing that I was waiting, without knowing that I missed him. I thought the ache was a restless lonesomeness, but it was more like homesickness for a place you haven't yet come to. That's how the story begins. I was twenty-two and my mother said "Don't fall in love with a poet," and I did and we've been together ever since." it's a wonderful lie by emily franklin

Some quotes from another good book

I had dinner with a friend tonight and told her about some quotes that I thought would speak to her...so I thought I would share them here as well.

"Back inside, I opened the door to Josh's bedroom. He'd already turned out the light. I inched forward in the dark. My knee found the bed, and I got in. I lay very still. Then Josh put his arms around me, and it was safe to love him again." p96

"I remind myself that this is what I always say and what I always do. As soon as I'm in a relationship, I promote fear from clerk to president, even though all it can do is sweep up, turn off the lights, and lock the door" p322

"'Very nice' Seth says, and his voice tells me that he doesn't want to hear any more about Vincent and Amanda, he doesn't care about them, and that he's wishing he didn't care so much about me. It scares me. But then I get this big feeling, simple but exalted: He's just like me, only with different details." p 323

Quotes from The Wonder Spot by Melissa Banks

"He seemed kind and charming. His voice promised that he would take care of her, and that a little later he would open up whole new worlds for her, unroll an endless succession of magnificent possibilities," p 16

Quote from Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Is it so wrong that that quote describes exactly what I want?

Closet hair.

Last night I opened the door to my linen closet and noticed that there was a hair stuck to the door next to the handle.

Upon closer inspection, I noticed that the hair was PAINTED ONTO THE DOOR. As in, it had been trapped in the paint and would remain there permanently.

It was disgusting.

Quotes from "A Million Little Pieces"

"More than anything, all I have ever wanted is to be close to someone. More than anything, all I have ever wanted is to feel as if I wasn't alone. I have tried many times, tried to kill my loneliness with a girl or a woman, and it was never right. We would be together and be close to each other, but no matter how close we were, I still felt alone. They felt that lonliness and it made them want to get closer. When they tried, I either ran or did someting to destroy what we felt for each other. I can run fast when I want to run fast, and I've always been good at destroying things. Not one of them would be willing to speak to me today.

The last one was the only one who made me feel the way I always wanted to feel. She made me feel better than I have ever felt, better than I imagined I could feel, and it scared me, scared me to the point of paralysis. When she offered herself to me, I failed. That failure drove me to destruction. I destroyed her, destroyed me, destroyed the two of us together. I destroyed the hope of a future. She will not speak my name now, nor will she aknowledge my existence. I don't blame her."
p80, James Frey, A Million Little Pieces.