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.