Will this always feel like 25?

I was in Guatemala for the last 10 days. Last Friday, I went out in Antigua with everyone from the vendor I was working with. As we were driving home at 4 am, tearing down the narrow cobblestone streets, we were listening to a mix CD (possibly the best mix ever) with the windows down, the music up, and the wind whipping our faces. I know you all know what that feels like...one of those moments where the soundtrack in your life is exactly right.

Anyway, I'm listening to the mix again (I demanded to have a copy of it immediately) as I sit at my desk and I wonder now whether I will always feel 25 when I hear it, or if I will just feel happy. I think either sounds good.

hola de guatemala city

So here I am, sitting on the floor of a factory office in guatemala. I figured that it was about time I updated my blog, and since we are just sitting here I thought I would whip out the blackberry and blog away.

Not much has been going on. Life in columbus continues to march on. I have been talking to friends a lot about the concern that appears to be plauging people our age - we know what we don't want to be doing with our lives (which unfortunately appears to be exactly what we are doing at the moment), but we are no closer to understanding exactly what it is that we do want to do.

This itch never came along, for me at least, in college. After three years of getting away with the greatest hoax known to mankind, I did not think to myself that it was time to move on. I thought to myself that I should change my major to exploring ways to slow down time and continue the ride forever...what did I have then, did we have then, that evades us currently? The access to money that we didn't work to earn? Maybe. The ambiguous reassurance that there was still the barrier of time standing between us and real life?

Sometimes I think to myself that maybe happiness is all relative, that if I had a taste of shittier circumstances, maybe I would be happier with those I currently have. But is happiness valid when it is only felt relative to sadness, or does it have an absolute value? Occasionally I try to convince myself that it is the former, but I think I know in the depth of my bones that it is the latter. I know you can't appreciate the sweet without the sour, but does the inherent definition of those concepts rely wholly on the existence of their polar opposite? Is good really good without evil? I think it is.

So it may or may not have been a month since I've posted

Ok so I haven't been a good blogger, sorry, but this required posting.

I'm sitting at work, and a girl I work with just came around the corner and gave me a weird look, and I was like "What's that look for?" and she goes "I don't know why, but I just came around the corner and I thought you had cornrows."

hahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaa

Yeah, I watch the Bachelorette. What's it to you?

1. Has anyone else noticed that every edition of "The men tell all" or "The women tell all" is a "special edition"?
2. The boys from this season are awesome and Jillian does not deserve them
3. If she chooses Kipton over Ed, I am moving to Chicago and staking out Ed's apartment building or condo or house or where EVER he lives until he agrees to marry me. I don't care if he wears a mankini, I love him. The scenes tonight of him dancing drunkenly in the hotel were HILARIOUS.

all-american reject

I just went to Target at 8 pm on a Sunday night. As I walked in, the only other customer I saw was a man in his late 30s or early 40s wearing a comic book t-shirt, cargo shorts, and black leather sneakers. He was looking at a plastic walrus in the $1 section that I inexplicably wanted to steal from his hands and buy for myself.

I bought their last copy of the DVD set of Season 2 of Mad Men and a box of Cheerios, which I will now proceed to eat for dinner (the cereal, not the dvds).

When did I become such a gigantic loser? The outlook is bleak. Here's to a better tomorrow.

evil feesh.

an e-mail conversation:

me: i want chocolate.

my friend: i want fishes cuz they're so delicious

me: until you bite their heads off (referencing the commercial jingle)

my friend: even more delicious then (gross)

me: bec they're spurting goldfish blood. ewwwwwwwww.

my friend: delicious delicious blood. mmm fish vampirism.

my response:

t9Word fails at life, part deux, but this time funnier

I just texted someone and I meant to say "Is she cool?" but thanks to t9Word, what I really said was "Is the cool?" I noticed the error prior to it having been sent but I couldn't stop laughing long enough to cancel sending and fix it. It makes me laugh because I keep replaying it in my head with an accent...like, a person for whom English is their second language, meaning to ask if something is cool, and thinking the way to ask that is to ask if it is "the cool."

heh.

I am the cool.

Comma placement is paramount

Just received an e-mail from a business partner. He was sending some attachments that were late. I think what he meant to write was:

"Here they are, sorry for the inconvenience."

What he really wrote was:

"Here, they are sorry for the inconvenience."



I bet those attachments are sorry.
This cracked me up.

Wow

So I was heading to the basement of my building at work today in the elevator and I wasn't looking as I pressed the floor button, and incidently the "CALL FOR HELP" button is located just below the "B" button in this elevator.

Guess which one I pushed?

Yep.

Have I told you lately that I hate children?

Random Sunday musings:

1. Was at the library earlier and witnessed a little boy carrying his baby brother across the room by his neck. The baby's face carried a shocked expression as it turned an angry shade of red.
2. Another two young ladies were carrying on a conversation that was not in their "indoor voices" across the bank of computers provided by the library. I briefly considered asking them to kindly shut the hell up, but then one of the librarians took care of it for me.
3. All that said, off to watch a children's movie in the theater. I really wish they would have adults-only showings of children's movies. Hopefully, the midnight showing of Harry Potter I will be attending on Tuesday will not be attended by the wee ones...

STEVE HOLT!

if you don't know what this means, you should find out. you'll laugh.

Good for a laugh

ok so if you haven't already, pls check out www.textsfromlastnight.com. You will laugh. Guaranteed.

Also, I wanted to share this story. I can't recall now whether it was 5th or 6th grade, but it was one of the two, and it was the first-ish time we were allowed to have a co-ed birthday party. So we were all hanging out in my friend Chase's basement, playing spin the bottle, and his mom comes down the stairs and sees all of us sitting in a circle with a glass bottle in the middle and asks what's going on, and Chase goes "Uhhhh...I was just showing them my bottle collection."

You know, his collection.

Made up of one bottle.

Which we had to form a circle around and stare at from a distance of 3 feet.

Normal.

Hahahahahaha

So I didn't write a longer post this weekend...oops. But I figured this would make up for it, sent to me by one of my favorites:

I know I've been delinquent

Will try to write a longer post this wknd.

Anyway, just a couple of thoughts, linked by my immaturity and their general subject:

1. Another word I wish I used more often -- "balls." Not like, ya know, balls balls, but balls as an exclamation...like, "Oh, balls, I forgot to put the milk in the fridge." I understand that it refers to that type of balls when you use it that way, but it doesn't seem quite as unsavory.
2. I was trying to find a new font to type my e-mail in this morning and I came upon "Harvey Balls" and I giggled. Honestly, who names a font Harvey Balls and thinks it's a good idea?
3. UPDATE (from later in the same day): One of my pet peeves -- when people say words that have been adopted into the English language but have their origin in another language, and say them with the accent of their original language - ie mozzarella. Stop it. Annoying. Besides, didn't most words in the English language come from another language in the first place?

I feel the Santa Ana winds blowing

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails.

Explore. Dream. Discover.”

- mark twain

I wanted to start an entry about my recent travels with an inspirational quote. Did it work for you? It worked for me.

I realized while blogging about books that I've been traveling a lot lately - mostly because I could only recall the books that I've read recently by thinking about flights I've been on. I went home for Mother's Day...and it was so nice to be home. Virginia is so green and rolling and beautiful...and then I came back to Ohio.

In Virginia, I am reminded of being a child. When I go back there, I not only go back home, but I also go back in time to a period when I was responsible for nothing. I'm sure at a certain point in my life I will look back on this period and think I was still responsible for nothing - but life feels heavier now. How's this for an uplifting blog entry? Maybe this is why I want to throw off the bowlines.

After Virginia came a couple of weeks in Columbus...On one of those weekends I had my first ever ride in a Porsche (Cayman S)...and then Memorial Day weekend in Vegas with friends (eeeeeeeeeeee!!). You wouldn't think it, but I love Vegas. Love it. I think Vegas is an adult playground in which any type of person can find their own tiny, perfect experience. I went with two of my best (guy) friends and we were basically irresponsible for almost 5 days straight. It was glorious. Sun, alcohol, gambling, and an excuse to wear cocktail dresses and ridiculous heels 3 nights straight? Yes, please. I randomly won $81 on our flight out to Vegas (thank you, Southwest) in a game played with the other passengers, and then won an additional $70 on a slot machine. I was quite excited. I met Elvis (or maybe one of his cousins) at a club called XS...where there were guys LEGITIMATELY MAKING IT RAIN. Like, totally gangster (gangsterrrrr) dudes just making. it. rain. It was so BA. Then one of my recent dreams came true and they played "Swing Ya Rag" by TI while I was in a club. I never really thought I would be that cool. Granted, I squealed like a little girl when it came on, but I still think it's valid. I'm cool. I go to clubs in Vegas. Whatever. Of course other ridiculous things happened in Vegas, but what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, etc.

So I came back from Vegas two weeks ago and then this weekend I went to Nashville with three friends...for no reason in particular, really, other than that the friends were going to a concert and it is one of their birthdays this week. So get this. We get to Nashville on Friday night and immediately begin drinking at the free happy hour provided by our hotel (Don't mind if I do, Embassy Suites). I was two drinks in when my best friend called me and tried to discuss something with me that involved decision making skills, and I responded with "I'm two drinks in at this point, you can't ask me these questions right now." We go out that night on Broadway - eat a bbq dinner (at Rippy's) where they serve corn pancakes alongside our meals. Corn pancakes. It was brilliant. We later figured out that we ate ONE MEAL in Nashville that was not accompanied by pancakes of some sort. Remind me again why I do not live there? To work off the bbq-coma, we went to Tootsie's and sang and stomped along with the live band(s).

Notes to self that I had forgotten since my college experience:

1) You love country music.

2) You love country men.

Later that night we were walking from one bar to another and we saw a bunch of horse-drawn carriages lined up on the street waiting for people to drive around. One of those horses had a dog standing on its back. Of course, my first reaction was "PUPPY!," but as I watched the dog, I noticed that it was tense and its legs were trembling slightly. I'm sure it did the trick all the time, and it worked, its driver got passengers before all the other drivers, but it looked nervous, and (please indulge me for a moment) I identified with the dog. It was performing for a moment, trying to make its owner happy, just waiting and remaining silent until it could jump back to the driver's seat and curl up comfortably. I felt like the dog because all I wanted to do was go home - but I was trying to appear to be having a good time because I didn't want to be Debbie Downer. My friends continued on to another bar but I went back to the hotel and got in bed with a book. Say what you want. I know I'm 25 and I turned down a night of continued drunkenness and partying in Nashville to hang out in a hotel room by myself, but I realized that I don't want to be like that dog. I'm the only one who can make myself happy. So I did.

The next day we went to the Pancake Pantry in the morning (let's be honest, afternoon) for brunch...delicioso. I can strongly recommend the chocolate chip pancakes. And the eggs. And the sausage. And the Diet Coke. Reminiscent of the Tavern in Charlottesville for all the other Wahoos reading this blog. We then strolled around area surrounding Vanderbilt, and I forced my friends to walk across Vanderbilt's campus until we arrived in the Greek area and I was able to take a picture in front of the XO house (I'll post it later, am lazy right now). We went back to the hotel and had a bit of a break after the sugar rush from Gigi's Cupcakes (across from our hotel on Broadway, if you're going to go I recommend the Wedding Cake cupcake and do not recommend the Root Beer or Red Velvet cupcakes) and then the boys and I went back out to Broadway while Kelly stayed in for a nap.

We were browsing in Hatch Show Print when the following life-defining moment happened:

(door jingles, a few men walk in, my back is turned to the door)

"Well...this isn't the guitar shop" (says a man in a British accent)

"Well then where do you think the guitar shop is?" (asks another man in a British accent)

(I turn around to inform the fellow tourists of the location of said guitar shop which I happened to pass one block away the night before and my heart LEAPS INTO MY THROAT because I have come FACE TO FACE with Chris mother-effing Martin. Chris Martin. Lead singer of Coldplay. Husband of Gwyneth Paltrow. Father to Apple and Moses. And the rest of the band but let's be honest I don't know their names. I begin hyperventilating and spin back around.)

"That. Is. Coldplay. I think that is Coldplay." (I say to my friend in between rapid breaths as I stand a little too close to him in an attempt to not let Coldplay HEAR that I was informing the very small shop of their presence) After leaving that friend in a state of shock similar to my own, I sidle up to the other friend who had come with me (again, getting inappropriately close) and tell him of their presence. I was speechless. I could not form words. I continued to breathe heavily, blush, and occasionally giggle nervously. Chris Martin is one of the most gorgeous men I have ever seen in person. And surprisingly tall. Eventually, they left the store. Naturally, we followed them to the guitar shop where they were JAMMING. Wow. Wow. It took me roughly an hour to find my words.

During the same trip I also bought the "Bb" t-shirt from American Apparel (which I had been hunting for for a few months), so all in all, a success. Oh, and I trudged through the ghetto of Nashville (in cowboy boots) to find Jack White's recording studio - note to other tourists - closed on the wknds.

My friends went to the Coldplay concert that night, and while Coldplay IS the best band I've ever seen live, I decided to opt out of the concert and went to dinner with a sorority sister instead. We went to a restaurant called Demos' not far off the main drag of Broadway. Post-dinner, I went to a restaurant on Broadway called Merchant's to have dessert and a drink. I ended up sitting at the bar eating my cheesecake (crust better than the cake itself, if I went back I would order the chocolate chip bread pudding), drinking Pinot Grigio, and falling in love with the bartender Nate. We talked through three glasses of wine and I learned that Nate was an aspiring musician (drummer, inspired by Radiohead), originally from Vermont, 2nd oldest of 6 children, who has been living in Nashville for 3.5 years and likes bartending because the schedule is flexible. He's never been further west than Nashville but wants to visit Vegas and LA. And I love him. In an uncharacteristic move, I did NOT leave him my phone number...but I imagine that if I write a novel someday, he will be a character. Hell, maybe my life will turn out to be a Nicholas Sparks book and I will end up with him. Eeee.

Another person I met at that bar who will be a character? The guy who sat next to me and told me that he lives close to the Embassy Suites and frequently stops in to take advantage of their free breakfasts...and now will take advantage of their free happy hours since I gave him my extra room key. Pretty sure my friends are going to bring that one up for roughly 10 years. Yep, Bridget did something irrational and vaguely dangerous because she hates her life lately...shocking.

Yesterday we went to the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum - in my opinion, not worth the $20 entry fee - and a "New York Diner" called Noshville - not worth the "best deli in Nashville" award it's received a few years running. Eh, I don't know, the avocado/tomato/monterey jack omelette certainly wasn't bad...and the potato pancakes were also good...but I do think I could have made it myself. Not overly impressive. Maybe I just didn't order the right thing. Points for the clever name, though.

I am currently blogging from home base in Cbus, but pack up again tomorrow and board a plane early Wednesday morning to spend the remainder of the week in Hilton Head. Send me warm weather and sunshine thoughts - for myself, my best friend, and two good friends who are marrying this weekend. Oh, and at some point, please remind me again how I became old enough to have friends getting married.

Cheers to you, friends, and the places the winds will take you.

Dear Chickpeas, I love you. Marry me?

They go by a couple of names: Chickpeas. Garbanzo Beans. They go in hummus. They go in falafel. They are glorious. 

I love to eat them plain in salads, but my new favorite thing to do is to get a can of garbanzo beans, rinse them in a little water, drain them, and put them in a frying pan with a tiny bit of olive oil and a few dashes of curry powder, cumin, garlic powder, and sea salt...I toss them up a few times over high heat...I like it when they get a little bit burnt. Anyway, once I take them off the heat I put them in a bowl and eat them like cereal (without the milk). I try to restrain myself from eating the entire can in one sitting, but frequently fail. 

Just thought I'd pass along the glory just in case anyone else wants to try them... :-) OH and if anyone else has any recipes they like to make with chickpeas, PLEASE let me know. 

Sometimes, I wanna get away someplace

Quotes from the books I've read recently:

"I absolutely plan on marrying a fraternity guy because their ability to pledge allegiance to something bigger than themselves in the name of commitment - even though it's sometimes guaranteed to suck - is the exact quality I want in a husband."

"Yet I'm not quite ready to make a change. I don't want to stay, but I can't leave because then I'd be admitting defeat. I spin my ring so much that Fletch finally places his hand over mine to stop me. 'That's your problem right there. You won't concede the game, yet you can't justify why you're playing it in the first place' " 

(above quotes from Pretty in Plaid by Jennifer Lancaster)

"Go ahead into life, full-blooded, courageous, and leap for the adventure. But you must do it soon - before the summer of your youth has cooled off into caution. You are magnificently charming - and you come like a torrent. But you will be spent on the futility of little things. You're not a watercolor. You are carved out of life - and there can be no petty hesitancies about you" 

"Growing up, I was utterly oblivious to the fact that Mom was teaching me all that. But I was instantly aware of her final lesson, which was hidden in her notes and letters. As I read them I began to understand that in the end you are the only one who can make yourself happy. More important, Mom showed me that it is never too late to find out how to do it." 

(above quotes from Not Becoming my Mother by Ruth Reichl) 

And in other news, listen to the Veronicas. I promise you will not be disappointed. 

Life ain't a track meet, it's a marathon

Work has kept me very busy since I moved back to my old department...resulting in a lack of posts. Work has also been crushing the creative part of my soul, but that's a story for another day. Anyway, a friend commented that I hadn't been posting, so I thought I'd shoot something out...because, as the title of this post says, life ain't a track meet, it's a marathon...so I've gotta find a way to keep doing the things that I enjoy (blogging) while busy with the things I don't always enjoy (maintaining gainful employment).

There are currently 4 crushed soda cans sitting on my desk. 3 Diet Cokes, 1 Coke Zero. They have been accumulating there over the course of 4 work days. You'd think that I'd walk them over to the recycling thing on one of my numerous daily trips to the water dispenser, but no. I think their presence calms me. They're like a little support group that congregates daily to cheer me on.

I FREQUENTLY attempt to use body language to communicate with people who cannot see me...for example: shrugging at my computer while writing an e-mail, nodding or shaking my head while on the phone...and I bet you do it too. Think about it for a day. You'll catch yourself doing it...trying to communicate something to people who cannot see, and therefore benefit from, your attempt - which leads me to this question:

When you're at Disney World posing for photos with the...

(pause for 5 minute discussion among people in my department about the word I'm about to use and whether or not it's the most appropriate)

...characters (mascots? what the hell are they called?) who are like, in a full on suit (head and all) - do you think they smile for the pictures inside their character heads?

I think they do.

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).