ArgStyle

Hey Blog! Sorry, I know I complained about how lovely and freeing finals week was, only to be followed by almost a month and a half of vacation play time. But I find that vacation play time is sometimes commandeered for family time, sheet rocking the basement ceiling time, horizontal surface time, and wasting time. But. Now I am here to show you Brother with all of his argyle and all of his style. We played dress up for Christmas Eve and the theme was "Gap Christmas Ad".
Our 22nd Christmas and last Christmas at the house was lovely and celebrated as usual with Bloody Marys, cinnamon rolls, lots of socks, and merciless teasing. Style will clearly not be compromised as we get ready to move out.
So. Happy New Year, interwebs. Celebrate with Dick Clark and try to laugh at his jokes and not at his post-stroke self and sporadic camera cuts.

'08 Resolution re-cap:
Use fewer commas and less vomit. Check and check!
'09 Resolution:
Like spicy food.

A week without classes?! Underrated!

It is finals week. A week that every room that every college student walks into must have a giant sign over it that says, "Complaint Department". They are consistent emitters of whine about how nobody could possibly understand just how much they have been studying, or studying they have to do. Nobody has as many projects due, or papers to write, or hundreds of thousands of full notebooks to memorize. There is no possible way that you, fellow college student, could understand.

So, Kelsey Roommate and I look at the outside of our door, make sure there is no sign other than "Keep Off The Grass" and slam it in every whiny, over-stressed, under-slept, ugly-print-polyester-pajama-pants-wearing girl that knocks on our door. Then we open it again and offer them a cup of hot chocolate and a spot on the amoeba couch to watch the blizzard outside. No thinking about homework and tests is allowed during blizzard and hot chocolate time so we can all just take twenty freaking minutes and appreciate that we're in college.
And that that's awesome.

It's about grieving. Ham.

Insert sadface emoticon here.
Because Santa did not come soon enough with the fish doctor. Ham died yesterday, hopefully peacefully while I was learning Spanish. He was a good fish, and likely the best roommate I will have in my lifetime. Ham was a great listener, kept clean digs, and up until his last days, was an enthusiastic eater. And what more could a girl ask for in a roommate/best friend/desk resident?
Excuse me, it appears that Santa did not make it with those tissues just yet either.

It's about giving. To me.

Christmas List:

1. Four cases of Stonyfield Farm vanilla yogurt. (If you cut me open, the only things you would find inside me would be this yogurt and earl grey tea. And phlegm. Phlegm was maybe not the best way to start the first blog post in two weeks. Apologies.)
2. A fish doctor. Ham is struggling with the whole “eating his food” thing. He’s all, “Oh! The food! SCORE. (swimswimswim toward the food) I’m ready! Ima eat it! I’ve never been more hungry and totally can’t wait to get this foooooodNEVERMIND. (swimswimswim away from the food).”
3. Tissues. The kind with lotion which, contrary to some beliefs, do not “already feel used”. I will show you what an already used tissue feels like, pick one off my desk or bed or nightstand or floor.
4. A pocket-sized Kelsey Roommate. She’s too cute for anything ever, especially during times of new love. She leaves a wake of puppies and rainbows and sunshine wherever her little frame and cute glasses take her.
5. This. Because once you’ve read the non-graphic novel version, you should be able to reward yourself with pictures.
   

Small people are cuter

Via video chat: much less creepy when you embrace it with both arms and use it daily.

Sandwich Lady: Aw...she was the cutest little girl ever.
Me: I know. Norah. So cute.
Nora? What? Her name was Lily.
Um...no? It was Nora. I remember.
Yeah, so do I. I remember that it was Lily.
It was Nora!
Lily!
That's stupid. Her name was Nora.
You're stupid. It was Lily. I'm calling my sister. She'll know.
Fine.
(riing..) Hi. What was that little girl named? The really cute one? What? Are you serious?
HA. I was right! It was Nora!
Okay, bye sister.
Nora! I told you!
Her name is Joy.

Although that tiny person could compete in cuteness for the little one who came into work yesterday with his southern-accent mom. They were standing in the electric aisle, mother trying to pick out new outlet covers. Little one, on the other hand would run up the aisle toward me shouting "RUN TO THE LADY!" and then, too close for comfort, "RUN BACK TO MOMMY!" and back and forth and back and forth until he was ready to proclaim that he would carry the bag to the car.

Melatonin Increase

I saw this BoingBoing post a few days ago.
And then last night dreamt that I had a baby pygmy hippo as a pet.

That is all.

Pride, of sorts.

After three months of unemployment, (okay I got those three writers "compensation" checks that are still waiting to be picked up because eventually, if I wait long enough, all together they will pay for part of my cell phone bill) I am officially back on a payroll. The lovely S&S Hardware has hired me on as their newest jeans-wearing, tool-selling, receipt-printing, person who knows nothing about tools or plumbing or nails.
One of my first customers what a disgruntled, middle-aged woman who was in a huff from the moment she walked through the door. She walked up to the counter, put a plunger on the counter, and proclaimed that it did not work. Yes, she had tried. Yes, she had speculations as to why it did not work. Yes she wanted a refund for the used, broken plunger that was now sitting on our checkout counter. Employment! I forgot how fun you were!

Also, Oldest Brother is officially moved out and moved in to his new house. He threw a party Friday night for friends, family and keg-beer fans over at the new digs. I came with my parents and left with my roommates because my parents were not done having fun at 3 am.
My brother, the homeowner. Yes, why yes, I am proud.

On Patriotism. Sort of.

This is Sema and Ali. They own Black Sea on Snelling kind of by Hamline. Hamline freaks me out, but for undiscovered reasons. But you should venture to Black Sea because it is the first Turkish restaurant in Minnesota and most of their meals are under $5. I read in a review somewhere that Ali said they wanted the restaurant to just be "an extension of their living room" and what kind of hospitality is more delicious than that? The kind that comes with falafel.

Also, I helped elect the next president this week. And that's cool.
I've clearly been very productive and now deserve an episode of Gossip Girl.

Five Things, Five Songs. This post sponsored by Colin Meloy and his constituents.

Things that might be nice:

1. If someone would explain "No Shave November" to me.
   
2. If we could bottle today's weather up in a city-sized jar for me to spend time in after Friday when it snows.
   
3. If Thanksgiving dinner could happen during Spanish Lab on Mondays.
   
4. Making the school week one day long. I would also settle for two if the remaining days could alter between Christmas, Thanksgiving and weather days like today.
   
5. If in six months, day light savings time would please make sense.

Nooo!

I've been hacked! Just kidding.
I got up to go to the bathroom and made the mistake of leaving the blog open and logged in. Actually, I always leave it open and logged in because I'm lazy like that, this was just the inevitable and first time that my security was breached.
The beauty of the Interwebz is that you can take back anything you want to say (Except for emails and text messages, as discussed this weekend. Someone invent an undo key for these things, please.) and I instinctively was going to delete Kate's exposure of my guiltiest pleasure, Gossip Girl. Until she asked if she could be a "sometimes blogger or whatever that's called".
Look forward to YKTSTSM's first guest blogger ever!
See how grown up?!

this is not megan.


i like blogging.

so here we are...waiting for gossip girl to download...on my itunes.

yep.

this means I bought it. for 1.99.

and it will be soooooo worth it.

Still relatively undignified

This weekend was spent in the beauty that is Northern Minnesota in October. Brisk, orange, leafy and delicious. An encompassing picture to come later this week after my mother has finished exploiting my camera with boring house pictures. Lameface!
Although she asked for it in a moment of weakness; exhausted from only a handful of hours of sleep each night since last Wednesday. I woke up this morning in the same position I fell into bed last night after writing a haphazard rough draft on dead zones. There was a person-shaped hole in my bed because I slept so hard.
The not-sleeping hours of the weekend were fueled by bad coffee (see: brown water). The kind where you pull a lever from a big box where there is no evidence of any actual "beans". Concerning, but not enough to not drink a few dozen cups each day. I am, however, now back at school drinking a for-real cup of coffee (the bottom of the cup is no where in sight!) and am having a hard time getting my keys on the right fingers without sporadically pushing surrounding keys. backspacebackspacebackspace.

A lesson in linguistics

Zonino: (zoh-nee-no)
"Used in the same context, and with the same emotion as "Woohoo!" when you are celebrating/very satisfied with something. Originating from predictive text on mobile phones when "woohoo" is typed in." (Courtesy: Urban Dictionary)

If you use T9 word for text messaging, open your phone right now and try to type in "woohoo".
I'll wait.

Zonino came up, didn't it! I knew it!

Thank Sri for discovering this gem in a celebratory text message early this year.
Use it at your leisure- it is not restricted to text message use. I find it gets a particularly entertaining reaction when used ironically the subject line of an [other wise boring] office email.
Zonino!

Do you like my asymmetrical hair style?

I went to the Tegan and Sara show last night at the State for several reasons.

1. They are so FREAKING cute. It's disgusting. It's remarkable how such adorable people can write such amazingly tragic songs.
   
2. The same reason I would see Regina Spektor, The Decemberists or Britney Spears in a concert: What does that noise come from? Is that a human sound? And to answer for the rest of you, yes. Their voices really sound like that. They're identical twins so I'm pretty sure they also share an identical extra few vocal cords or a third lung that is actually a helium tank.
   
3. Free ticket! What?! My seat was on the end and there was a couple sitting next to me. I stopped at my row, and they stood up to let me by. "Oh, actually, this is me. Here. On the end. I will now proceed to be that weirdo at a concert alone. But guess what? I paid zero dollars for this ticket. Do you like my cozy new sweatshirt that I bought instead?"
   
4. The crowd. Aside from the only two men at this show sitting in front of me and blocking my view for much of the time, seeing audiences at concerts is an equal part of the show as the music. They are always so incredibly typical. Plus it was Tegan and Sara. You do the math. Cultural stereotypes! Zonino!
   

Giving you one reason to not delete my blog from your list: Old Ladies.

I would have a picture to post for you if Camera and I hadn't gotten in such a huge fight last night at Roommates' music happening at your local original Dunn Brothers. They totally rocked all of the hipster study peoples' faces off. And even ended with some a capella that got them their first encore ever. An encore in which they encouraged even the three tiny old ladies in the front row to sing back up for the Tracy Chapman classic. My heart actually fell out of my chest cavity when they would pull their tiny, veiny hands from the abyss of their winter bundles to clap along to "Give Me One Reason", completely unaware that they are surely the last three people ever to hear it for the first time.

Needless to say, it rocked. And I was with the band. And carried the guitar case for awhile and people thought I was musical and awesome. They, apparently, didn't hear the conversation that encouraged Kelsey to not let me touch her cool African drum.

Do they make USB funnels? If so, please send one with a bottle of champagne.

Happy 3rd year, Blog.
I love you.

Neither of these stories are made up.

Let history write itself in such a way that it commemorates this weekend as the weekend I decided to drop out of college, go to trade school, and become a carpenter. And also as the weekend I still could not find the beat. After events last week (building a bookshelf, setting up speakers in my room, both by myself. Also important to note, the numerous times Sri and I have doublehandedly remedied a broken toilet) the trade school seed had been planted. Then, after arriving home from dinner on Friday night in a brief pursuit of ice, we found the tiny freezer inside the tiny fridge frozen into one complete solid block of ice. Kate and I decided that there was only one way to deal with such a problem: tools. And now, a photo montage:

We started with a screwdriver.

Then added a hammer:

A towel is sought for carnage:

And now a pasta scoop:

HUZZAH!

Until you too have hammer-chiseled and then pasta-scooped a massive chunk of ice from the backworkings of the freezer mechanism, you cannot know the satisfaction.

AND. Last night was spent at Roommate Kelsey's family's house eating not just real food that was not microwaved for 2.5 minutes or heated on a George Foreman grill, but the most delicious spicy pasta, meatthing, homemade bread and salad I have tasted since, well, a very long time. Plus we ate the salad last. Which, when you haven't left the country in over a year, is pretty much like being in Italy.
Walking into this house was not only a sensory explosion because it smelled so fantastic, but everywhere you looked and every corner you turned there was a musical instrument and a piece of art from one of their friends. Dinner was followed by an 11 piece rendition of Heart & Soul. Complete with 3 different kinds of drums, a rain stick, piano, guitar, didgeridoo, wooden frog and tambourine. Pictures and videos were taken by the 12th member and now I must go hunt down whoever that was.

Somsings.

Your head will explode at the end of this. I promise.

1. Sufjan. His titles are long, his content is hauntingly beautiful without me really knowing what he's talking about. But! Holland! This song! All lines are seven syllables! And relating to his college experience! I thought my capacity to appreciate things about this man had been capped at his degree in oboe and English horn.
2. A three-hour biology lab is not fun. It is less fun yet when your professor is so excited about natural selection and statistical data analysis that she forgets to put on deodorant.
   
3. If you are also confused about this AIG nonesense, pick up today's issue of The New York Times. There is a handy chart on the front to help you. Complete with arrows.
4. Which is worse: going to a meeting with disgruntled students who are trying to unite over thier mutual anger at the school's administration OR going to a school that has so many students angry at the administration?! Kaboom!
   

From a lemon to the non-gilded world

When I'm feeling down about the population at my school, I like to wear my "When life gives you lemons, you paint that shit gold" shirt and watch people's reactions throughout the day. Usually it's a combination of confusion and fear sprinkled with embarrassment.

Today, I was standing at a table advertising studying abroad when a sixtysomething year old man interrupted:
Man: Excuse me, are you a student here?
Me: Um, yes.
Man: At St. Kate's?
Me: ....Yes.
Man: Why are you wearing that shirt. (there was no question mark in this sentence)
Me: (insert eye roll) It's a band. Or, erhm. A group. A group from around here just put out a new album and this is the title.
Man: Ohhhh!
Me: Why?
Man: Because I graduated from St. Thomas years and years ago and we used to call you girls over here "Lemons". I wondered if they were connected.

Yessssss.
Profane t shirts: 1
Confused/afraid/embarrassed population: 0

Honesty is always the best policy

"Yeah, I read your blog. But sometimes it's boring, so then I don't." -Anna.

Lists, of sorts.

PHEW.
Please allow me to take three breaths before this post.

Hokay. So I get that the first week of classes is supposed to be insane, but it would be helpful if, upon registering, they would tell you two things other than the section and location of said class:

1. Books for this class will cost $________
2. This class will suck. Don't register for it and two others like it.
   

Anyway, after registrar juggling, arguing and stubbornness, I am now splitting my time with three different schools which will do me well to get away from GirlLand for a little while each week as the relationship has been extra tumultuous lately.
You will know where I've been based on my shoes:

• CSC: Chucks on their last leg.
• UST: High heels.
• MAC: No shoes at all.

The smaller-level GirlLand, or rather, the apartment is going quite well.

1. Rachel: 6'1", guitar, sings, works at Dunn Bros -> free bread, coffee beans. Yessss.
2. Kelsey: 5'0", bongos, guitar, works at hardware store -> free screws, nails, nuts. (Ha. The inappropriate has gone nowhere but up.)
   
3. Treza: 5'2", Shower-singer, works at writing center/paper editor -> free unsolicited writing advice, publishing of opinions.
   
4. Me: 5'6", Loud stereo, works in the President's Office -> free confidential information!
   

Kiss my ass, community showers.

Here is a brief photo montage of things that are defining my new apartment life.
1. Eli, Colin and The Decemberists. I have four Decemberists hanging things and not enough walls to make hanging them all appropriate. But, then again, when have I aimed for appropriate?
2. Tree. Because I have no headboard and removable wall stickers are the best thing to happen since they added gray to the full Sharpie set.
3. Behind my bed. This is where the glass framed picture of That Girl* and I that was hanging six feet over and four feet above this place. It fell in the middle of the night last night and was followed by yelling, confusion of both time and place, and for some reason, intense, sleep-stealing fear.
4. This is the color of our living room walls. We did not pick this entirely rancid color. But we did pick a name for it. "Salmon In Heat". We like the layers of that name.

*That Girl has a new home! Check it!

Almost older than Labor Day.

John McCain was born in 1936.
Sarah Palin was born in 1964.
Alaska was admitted into the Union in January of 1959.

I won't make you do the math...the lady on channel 5 news said it quite nicely.
"For the record, John McCain is not just older than his running mate, he is older than Alaska."

Critics Agree: We've never been more lucky.

This just in! The blog world has been truly blessed with the most recent addition to your daily blog checklist. Please, everyone, meet the Future President of Africa. Yes, the entire continent. She is venturing out on The College Experience and has chosen to gift the world with a written encapsulation of her new collegiate life.

Her posting may be erratic.
Her friends may be unclean.
Her stories may haunt your dreams.
Who can say?

Check often to find out.


"Truly breathtaking. And I go to school by the ocean. So I know."
-whitney! of Dear Ocean

"Manute Njorge not only has solid, continent-leading fundamentals, but is an exquisite writer. We are so lucky to be graced with her words."
-Sandwich Lady of Think About It

"I've been praying for this day since, well, I learned how to pray."
-That Girl of Don't Stop Believin'

3 Things, 2 Links.

1. Support Wit-Knee's college experience. Read it, love it.
2. Irish cousins! They're young and fabulous and hospitable! I met them at the dedication of a language lab for this woman and exchanged email addresses. Yesssss!
3. Gossip Girl. Never have I so enjoyed feeling terrible about my physical, social and financial positions in life. Well, at least not since that whole OC phase.

Roots. Wings. Waterslides.

Family eccentricities come in all sorts of colors. I know that some families have bright, sunny colors. Not just yellow or red, but maybe canary or candy-apple. They express themselves in bright, shiny ways. Mine just happens to come in an array of olive and pea greens that you can’t decide if it’s vomit-colored or something you’d paint your living room in.
They do things like whisky taste by our heritage, fall asleep during the Mass that honors our grandparents, buy embarrassing matching shirts, and forget each other’s names in less of a misspeaking way and more of a “I really don’t know your name and now have to ask someone what it is” way. My sister and I take to referring to the family as “them” instead of “us” as to clearly draw the line between sane and crazy.
They have an irritating way of mispronouncing words (“antee-pastee” is a salad of cucumbers, olives, feta, and cut meats) that is almost too easy to criticize, and encourage everyone, including my 80 year old grandfather, to participate in whichever form of wrestling they’ve chosen to display in the hotel hallway at 2 am, shortly before making embarrassing phone calls to the lobby about the beer and wine supply running low. But when you have three whole days with these people, even skeptics start to succumb. By Saturday night I was discussing the physics of leg-wrestling with an uncle while my sister dialed the lobby’s extension.
Our family is moving, and we recently re-painted every room in the main floor of the house some of brown. You might call one room shit, another butt hole and one more dust. But we call them bark, linen and latte.

Didn't pass Swimming I at age 5, bringing books.

Life post-car accident is pretty much the same as life pre-car accident except that I could pick out a Rav4 or Malibu anywhere in 5 miles of traffic.
So I'm packing* my swimsuit, a book, a camera, and a series on DVD to spend the weekend at Wisconsin Dells with my mother's side of the family. We have a block of rooms, water slides, lazy rivers and copious amounts of children under four feet tall.
Hopefully none will be lost or left behind like in Home Alone II (the obviously superior film). Although this group of kids would definitely pick to be left in a water park over Manhattan. I will not be making head counts because I am the youngest of my set and that is Sister's job.
And I have nerdy TV to watch.

*Note that I am not packing my iPod because the buddy is sick. Sick with a dead hard drive...exactly one month over the year warranty. Mac geniuses make me feel stupid when they push a button to fix my technical issues, and make me cry when they can't.

Probably not what you had in mind either.

So The Future President of Africa joined in on the Muffin Family Fun this weekend. And as part of the fun, the two of us went to go see Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2 on Saturday. On our way to the movie, we took out a car full of nuns. I wish we were making a funny (wouldn't it be a good one, though? too soon?) but we have the bruises to prove it.
And, well, this lovely little snapshot up here (Don't worry, Blum, I edited it! (Sort of.)).

On family, funerals.

A nugget from the middle of our status meeting this morning.  I will protect the non-innocent here, but she has voluminous, curly hair an innate sense of fashion.  I'm just saying. 

Me: Is Maria gone today?

Not Me: Yeah, I just noticed that.  I heard her uncle died.

Me: Oh wow.  Sad.

Not Me: Yeah.  And by "heard" I mean, "read over her shoulder in an email".

Headed to the cabin with the family this weekend...first family event since...my birth? 

If we all survive, there may be pictures.  Otherwise I will post after the funeral(s). 

Bravery Abounds, Indeed!

See?! I did it! I didn't lie to you, Internet!
And now that you know, I never have to do it ever again. Ever.

Walking With A Ghost

Home!
Door to door on the way out West, it took us about 19 hours.
And on the way back East? About 35. Apparently when we're driving back toward jobs, school, and reality, we take our sweet, mountain time. Plus the Southern route is much more lovely. I'd take Wyoming and the Black Hills over Fargo and Bismarck any day. Even if we do have to spend a night at the classy Bramble Inn in Sheridan, WY where they have no non-smoking rooms available.

So now I am longing for mountain candy air, community meals consisting at least in some part of mac and cheese and people pressuring me to be brave.
Sometimes safety is boring. THERE. I said it.
Now I will indulge my Tegan and Sara kick and pick at some scabs.

A Blister on My Foot.

Adventure I:
I climbed a mountain!
Then I climbed down it and through it and over it and into the snow and then threw my dead carcass into a mountain lake where the 35 degree water revived me.

Adventure II:
I jumped off a rock!
I stood on it for 10 minutes and listen to Will's moral support while a stranger offered me $1,000,000 to jump and eventually threw myself into the river out of social pressure.
Because that's how I do.

Adventure III:
Strep throat!
Urgent care in an unknown place is just as annoying as urgent care in a known place! Except more "The abbreviation is MN." and "I know, I'm visiting friends." So probably more annoying, but with the same tummy-ache inducing antibiotics.

Adventure IV:
Bowling!
146! Who knew?

Adventure V:
Steveo is 21 today.
Send your good thoughts and prayers to something here.

A La Keruac

I am on the road.
Or, er, I was on the road. Will, Kate and I ventured through Fargo (I'd never been!), across North Dakota and across Eastern Montana which is much less boring than people make it out to be. We paused in Western Montana- Glacier National Park and Kalispell to be exact, to rest, eat homemade mac and cheese and lose Kate before crossing over to Idaho. And here I sit. Nestled in rolling prairies and mountains.
And mountain air smells like candy.

Potato Count: 0
Times slept through Fargo: 1
Times started On The Road: 4

STET?

Apologies for the last week, Corporate America has been digesting my entire body. And it hasn't been pretty. I started my new job at a hot ad agency downtown on Monday. Don't worry, it's a family business...I didn't seek out CA (not to be confused with California which I would seek out just as fast as the former). I have been busy working 10 hour days and using words like "proofs" and "vendors" and sometimes phrases like "Yeah, I'll be sure to talk to the art director about that edit on the pdf to make sure it gets back into production today.".

I know. I know. I wore sexy boots and put my lunch in the department fridge. I made eyes with a boy at the copy machine and complain when other people don't make new coffee. And some of these people actually buy it!

Maybe I should consider a career in theater.

1: "Dog. Doooog. Doggggg. Dogdogdog. DOG!"

A midweek vacation to the lake leads to the best kind of confusion wherein you think Friday is Sunday. This is followed by extreme exhaustion from going on the schedule of five kidlets, ages 9, 7, 6, 4, and 1.

Pictured here are 6 (cousin, eyelashes) and 7 (goddaughter, niece, resident sassfest).
Other notables were 4 (aka: Romanian orphan), who I interacted with for 20 minutes regarding her Barbie makeup kit before she uttered one word. When we all sat down for breakfast on Thursday morning. 4 went for two breakfast sausage links:

Sister: "Lauren, why don't you try one and make sure you like it before you take a second."

4: (bites into sausage, tucks chin into shoulder ala Sandwich Lady and whispers under her breath with 10 toothed grin) "Yesssssss." (grabs second sausage)

Totcke.

Why are we conditioned to shout to recorded voices? When you call any customer sales representative you will, at some point, be directed to a voice recording. My parents' generation is particularly bad about shouting in general, (see also: foreign countries, languages) but voice recordings might be the worst especially on a cell* phone. Probably because they go on the principal that if they cannot properly hear to person on the other line, they should shout louder because this is clearly a reflection of volume and not reception.

My mother on the phone with eBay:

"CAN. NOT. LOG. IN."
[pause]
"YES."
[pause]
"OKAY."
[pause, representative in Thailand picks up]
It should be noted that after conversing with a machine, speaking to a breathing human is sometimes worse.
"C? No. Not C. Not cat. It's Z. Forget cat! It's zebra!! ZEBRA."
[pause]
"Okay, Vanessa. I don't know what to tell you. I need help, and you're the helper. We need to figure something out. Together."

*My mother sometimes calls this her 'car' phone. Yessss.

Too soon, and would violate my goal to never take a chemistry course ever

"I don't know what I'm going to do with my life."
"You should be a writer."
"Meh. I still need a major. If I were going to be a writer I could never major in English. I'd need to major in something really funny."
"Nursing?"
"No man, too close to home."

"David is anxious for you to look at our blog and see how funny he is."

You may remember this funny fellow and Alexandra as the costar of this encounter. You may want to take a moment now to add their blog to your list of CheckMeDailys. They have the funny. (Did you hear that DavidLemon? You have the funny!)

Their RSS SnapShot feed of my blog brings up the following topics as a summary of YKTSTSM?:

• Throat Cancer
• iPod Nano
  
• Spanish Food
• Scissors
• Tapas
• Muffin

And all I can see is an online dating profile; "Enjoys tea, The Decemberists, and conversation regarding muffins, throat cancer, iPod Nanos...".
And I'm watching the hit counter, sipping Earl Grey. Yessss.

Eventually I will store term papers in atoms.

I spent the last two hours of my life going through cabinets of old information from twelve years of my mother running her own business. The end result was disposal of 23 pounds of floppy disks, ZIP drives, and the ever-popular SyQuest. They all had at least some information on them, if not full.

After thinking about it, I can say pretty confidently that all of the information could be compiled and stored onto an iPod Nano, weighing in at .55 ounce.
And that is awesome.


I also found "Installation disk one for INTERNET". And the all-caps is no exaggeration; it's in bold-face, 18 pt. font on the 3.5" Floppy A.
No, you can't have it. It's mine.

Mum's the word

This nugget came from the mouth of the mother I was terrified to meet, over several hours of bridge and a bag of Cheetos:

"What are you guys talking about?"
"Oh, Mom was just telling me about a particularly unfortunate looking girl I went to high school with who is pregnant."
"Well, you know what they say, you don't look at the mantle piece when you're stoking the fire."

Underwater Blog

Yes, I recognize I have spiraled downward into an oblivion of not blogging. Apologies. But here's to hoping that you are all fish and will respond quite well to this shiny nugget of a link.
Yes, maybe it could be "offensive". Or maybe you could not muffle your laughter and just let it out. Enjoy it. Embrace it. Give it a bear hug and kiss it on the cheek.

The last to know.

"Yep so Grandma and Grandpa came over last night and helped with the house and then they took us out to dinner. Oh! And your dad doesn't have throat cancer!"
"What?"
"Dad. He has a strained vocal cord. Not throat cancer."
"I didn't know we were worried..."
"Well. We were very concerned."

Working on my annunciation

"So how was the show?"
"Ridiculous. As expected."
"Ha. Was it downtown?"
"Yeah, we were all dressed up and ate downtown and stuff. It was quite an evening."
"Cool. Where'd you eat?"
"Solera. It's this really great Spanish tapas bar right by the Orpheum."
"Really?"
"Yep."
"You said you went with your brother, right?"
"Yeah."
"Wow...wasn't that awkward?"
"...."
"Dude, she said tapas, not topless. It's like little Spanish appetizers."

Taking the class up a notch. Sort of.

Steven called yesterday afternoon to see if my plans for the evening could be seeing Jesus Christ Superstar at the Orpheum with him. There was no hesitation.

We planned to have dinner downtown beforehand, so we parked and meandered around awhile looking for somewhere that made reservations for us on a Friday night at 6:30. I decided to push for Solera, because who doesn't love lots of tiny portions of Spanish food?

"Hey what about Solera? It's right next to the theater."
"What is it?"
"A tapas bar."
"Really?"
"Yeah, it's amazing."
"No shit."
"Yeah, I've been there a few times. Probably we can sit in the bar without a reservation."
"Wow, I mean, it looks nice from out here...I wouldn't expect a place like that to be a topless bar."
"Tapas. T-A-P-A-S."

Update.

"Okay, the fight can be over now."
"Yes!"

Totally not for lack of better things to blog about.

"We're not fighting anymore, David."
"I wanna be on the blog."
"David, you have to say something blogworthy first."
"Pretty much every other sentence that comes out of my mouth is blogworthy."

Note the date.

Overheard in the hall while I was pretending to text message so I didn't have to talk to the girl who will start a conversation with you about genetics if you have parents.

"It's not so bad out today!"
"Yeah, it's actually kinda nice out!!"
"I know, it's like 37 degrees or something."


Moving to somewhere with mountains and sun.

Two Bits

A nugget from the bottom of my bag from the recent Virginia/D.C. trip:

"At the Washington Monument. Been here for 15 minutes. Denim on denim count: 9."

---------

The weather has continued with the shit. So a few friends and I spent the weekend at the cabin to appreciate the shit near a lake and with more blankets and soft, horizontal surfaces.
We played Apples to Apples, Pictionary, chess and Yahtzee for an uncounted number of hours and my personal favorite win was Emotional : Chickens. You decide which game we were playing

"Megan (the second grader, not me...hopefully) will probably have a job with her name on her shirt."

Second hand clothes are delicious because someone has already paid the original price and broken them in for you.
Second hand experiences are also delicious because someone has already broken into laughter in a public place for you.

A nugget from Jacob's 3rd day as a French immersion 2nd grade student teacher:

Teacher: Who can tell me what a comma does?
[silence]
T: It's a button on your VCR...
Megan raises her hand so high that it might actually shoot out of it's socket if she is not called on.
T: Megan?
Megan: OFF!!
T: Nooo, it starts with a P.
Eric's hand shoots up, he braces it with his other hand to keep it in-socket. Fingers wiggle.
T: Eric?
Eric: POWER!!!!
T: Nope...

These kids know French, and I do not.
Probably more to come.

There was a recent wind storm that blew most of Foamhenge over, forcing us to trespass for documentation.

In the madness of meeting my musical hero the other night, I neglected to tell you maybe the most important part of the trip. Foamhenge. Foamhenge is a completely full-scale replica of Stonehenge except instead of stone, it's stone-painted foam. I would tell you about the crazy man from Lexington, Virginia who built it or the wizard he claims to guard the "monument", or any further background information, but instead I think I will force you to just embrace it as I did here.




The New Pornographers last night were fantastic, particularly from our VIP seats that Mr. M scored for us at lunch yesterday. Zonino!

Representing.

The last 48 hours have been filled with so much joy it's difficult to put into words, let alone in any witty way.

I am getting ready to crash on the bed of this goofy hotel where the decor might best be described as the decorative love child of Salvador Dali and an Autumn Pottery Barn catalogue. Alex and I are having a crash from so many endorphins entering our brains in a 10 minutes span because we met Colin Meloy. No, neither of us had showered. Yes, I asked him to sign a CD that wasn't his. Yes, I made a complete ass of myself. No, I don't remember any of this interaction. Yes, there is a 10 minute video documenting this. And yes, it made up for this incident almost one year ago to the date.

We also saw him Saturday night in Charlottesville, VA where we were too tired to yell at the sickeningly rude audience. The tiredness was the result of staying up to an ungodly hour Friday night proving to Alex's fancyshmancy W&L friends that you can still be awesome if you don't want to be an "i-banker" or know the entire Greek alphabet.

Tomorrow night, the New Pornographers.
Love.

See how many times I pushed enter? See how much longer this post looks?

So I've been kind of anti-blog lately.
Who? Me?
I know.
But the weather has been a roller coaster and you don't even want to see this.
So I'm leaving.
Not blogworld, but the zip code. I'm jetting off Friday morning to see Alexandra in her preppy weird school in Virginia where this conversation once occurred:

[looking at picture]
Stranger: "Who is that?"
Alexandra: "Oh, my friend Megan that I've told you about...The one I go to all those amazing concerts and stuff with"
Stranger: "What's in her hair?"
Alexandra: "Fake dreadlocks."
Stranger: "Ew."

Bring it on, Washington & Lee.

Meanwhile, we're seeing back to back weekend shows of Colin Meloy and The New Pornographers. If you don't know who these people are, we can't be friends anymore, so don't even ask me. I will unfriend you on Facebook, because someone told me I can do that now.

Not staying in bed because that's JUST what Mother Nature wants.

I woke up this morning to overcast, blinked twice, and there was an inch of snow on the ground and huge, 10 pound sloppy snowflakes were falling from the stupid gray sky. Now they're in a whirlwind and are lobbing themselves against my window like little kamikaze flakes of mockery.

"Haha!" Slop.
"It's April tomorrow!" Slop.
"How bad do you want to stay in bed right now?!" Slop.
"F you!" Slop.

It's a dendrite. What? A dendrite...It's um...

Bored? Try this. They are applets based off of neurological interactions that you get to play with. Fiddling with mesh is entertaining but not as pretty. The dendrite applet is a little less interactive, but you can order your creations in jewelry.
And who loves learning accessories more than me?

I found it on Nectar & Light who has some more lovely things to show you.

Metaphors

Me: You are taking me on an emotional roller coaster right now. And I am very afraid of heights.
She: Yeah, well I'm sitting right next to you, ass face. And I'm pretty sure we're in the front seat. And there's probably water involved. And maybe even a picture taking machine.
Me: ...
She: ...Sometimes called a camera.

All dogs, fish, rabbits and hamsters go to Heaven, I go to Hell.

You may remember Ham. After re-reading this post, I had forgotten about those five days that he went without food*. And I'm telling you that Ham has set a new record- seven days. After driving by a pet store on Thursday and Mother was all, "We should stop and get some bowl cleaner for your fish." and then my eyes bugged so far out of my head they landed on my lap. And after I pushed them back in, the tears welled up and all of the pets I've killed over the years were coming back to me (JumpJump, I just didn't know you were under the cage! Pepper, I'm sorry I forgot to unplug the Christmas tree! Etc..**).

Mother nobly drove me to St. Paul and went to my room to see if it was a save or flush situation. And she walked out of that building, coffee jar in hand with the tiniest beta fish you ever saw swimming around like nothing happened.
It was like a scene from Ladder 49, except less John Travolta.

*It was natural for me to say "food and water" here, but the guy had water. He lives in water. That's like me saying I couldn't go a week without food or air. He had water. I'm a bad pet owner, but not that bad.
**Does it worry you that there is an etcetera at the end of that sentence? Don't leave your children with me.

Actively not caring about waterspots

Our family has become a squeegee family.
You know, the kind of family that has brushed chrome spot lighting in the bathroom, smooth finish ceilings, water that comes from a separate place than the tap faucet, and a squeegee in the shower.
If you have ever met my family, you would know that we're SO not a squeegee family. We are the antithesis of a squeegee family. We visit squeegee families' lake homes and congregate in the kitchen after everyone has gone to bed and make fun of their squeegeeosity over box wine.

So while my family is busy wicking the shower door and forgetting that it's St. Patrick's day, I will go to the pub and do the jig with a (verygoodlooking) stranger who plays the bodhran.

Living in a Dr. Suess book

This morning I had to leap over a giant house plant to get into the laundry room because someone put my computer in there.

The coffee pot is in the living room brewing away and I had to ask where my family keeps plates now.

I ran into the house last night because in the stress of ordering at a Sushi restaurant, I forgot that I'd had to pee since before Brother and I even got there.
"Is this bathroom usable?!" (you have to ask these days)
"Electrician...hit a pipe...there was spewing...no water in the house...."
"BYE."

We're moving soon.

Spanish Class, Life Lessons

"I don't know who any of these people are!"
"Which ones?"
"Like...Tony Blair. How am I supposed to know what country he's from?"
"Erhm. He's English."
"This is so hard."

"Hey, do you know where Vancouver is?"
"Seriously? Oh. Sorry. Canada."
"She says it's in Canada."

I just want back in your head...

Oops!
Hello, blog! I promise I didn't forget you existed, but I've been quite busy lately with Sandwich Lady being home, standing up at The Future President of Africa's wedding on 66th, trying to decide what kind of writing is appropriate to include in the ambiguity of a creative writing portfolio, caving in and buying the Tegan and Sara album, and arguing the existence of God for school. And getting an A+ on a math quiz. That's right. They give A+s at this place. I love college.

Things are calming a bit now. Sometimes calm means boring. Hopefully there will be a gem in the next couple of days here....

Where he lacks in vowels he makes up for in wicked good looks and dimples

Dan: What's your blog name?
Me: Umm...what?
Dan: Your blog?
Me: Yes...what about it?
Dan: Where is it?
Me: Oh. Okay do you have a pen?
Dan: No. But I have a computer.
Me: Okay. It's banana loaf dot blog spot dot com.
Dan: It doesn't exist.
Me: Yes it does. b-a-n-a-n-a l-o-a-f. All one word.
Dan: OH! There it is.
Me: What'd you spell wrong?
Dan: Loaf.
Me: ?
Dan: L-o-f.

Liar, Liar and other bad Jim Carrey movies

Truths:
I hate birthdays.
I hate surprises.
I hate anything remotely associated with fun.

Other truths:
Steph, Molly, Anna and Lisa with The Future President of Africa as their ring leader and designated driver (only because of age, not alcohol consumption) throw one mean surprise birthday party. Complete with chocolate cake, Play Doh party pack, pink and purple streamers and Michael Jackson. And a pound and half of lemon lime jelly beans which have given me a persistent stomach ache because in the darkness of my room, nobody else knows when I eat handfuls at a time and when they're all the best flavor in the world, there is no incentive to cautiously eat one at a time.

One last truth:
How badly you don't want to do homework should be measured by the number of houses in your Play Doh city. (Four. Plus one community center.)

Collectors of Chuck Taylors and ash trays

Nothing miffs me like young people smoking. People smoking in general is not acceptable, but at least for the eldest generations they started when everyone was telling them that cigarettes were delicious. There is no reason for young people today to start smoking. Particularly in a generation that is trying to make Uncool the new Cool by flattering the world with all of our intelligence and wit. I think we've come to a new low of hypocrisy when smoking is so bad for you that it's cool to do things that are stupid again. Because it's "Scene". And nothing matches my orange asymmetrical haircut like a blazing death stick.

"I'm like, so into smoking right now"
"Yeah, me too! It's so weird."
"Yeah, I just like, want to be smoking cigarettes all the time lately"
"I know...I'm just like, really into it."
"Haha I know it's like I'm getting addicted or something."
"HA! I know! Funny. Us. Addicted to cigarettes. "

"Do you smoke cigarettes? [waves a dollar at me]"
"Um. No. I value my lungs."
"Me too."
"Really, you do?"
"Oh yeah! I mean, I smoked for a long time. And I've been clean for a while now."
"And now you want a cigarette?"
"Yeah, just one though. I mean, it's been 40 days."
"So why now?"
"Well I had one earlier tonight. BUT IT'S JUST TONIGHT!"
"Mkay."
"No, seriously. I'm only having two tonight."
"Right. Just two."
"No! I am!"
"Sure. What's your name?"
"Blake."
"Okay Blake. Have a pleasant evening. Good luck with the lung function."
"No! Wait...!"

Reading between the lines

"You can lean on long time friends in the coming week".
That was my fortune after a buffet feast last Saturday afternoon. If they were trying to be honest about this "fortune", then I would prefer it just say "In the coming week, your days will be shitty, but on the bright side, you have some friends who you've known awhile and probably they'll be around during the shit days.". Because isn't that really what that fortune is saying?

When everyone inside the gates of the collegeplace is sick, you're bound to come down with something eventually. So I bought a nice hot cup of Earl Grey to soothe my itchy esophagus Monday afternoon and sat down to waste time at my little MacBook. After a nice long chat with Rob at the Apple helpline, apparently my warranty does not insure clumsiness when I knock the tea onto the left hand home-row. (I drew a Sharpie reenactment, but you should not buy an HP all-in-one printer/scanner because it will not work ever.) MacBook recovered after 24 hours in tent-formation, but I'm still trying to work out the bugs and am doing some preemptive hard drive back up, including hard copies of all my recent music purchases. This would totally be a more daunting task if I didn't get some sort of sick joy out of alphabetizing my music collection.

After many tears, a Target run that ended in more tears, another desperate call to the Apple helpline and a scolding from the campus computer man who has bad advice, I got some bad news from The Future President of Africa, followed by more sickness. Finally when I was going to go see the recent renovations on the house in preparation for selling it (cue: more tears), we got a flat tire on the least accessible campus ever and rode in a giant truck with a strange man who I had some feeling Mother was trying to set me up with. And here I sit at the tire repair place that is a wi-fi hot spot waiting for the car to be better.

I will take those leaning-friends now, please.

Hocus Pokey

The past two days have been filled with your 4 basic food groups:

1. Grilled Cheese
2. Chinese Food
3. Apple Jacks
4. Tepid Tap Water

Two notables:

What's in that cabinet?
Plates.
That one?
Tiny wine glasses.
That one?
Ferrets.
Ferrets are creepy.
Yeah, well, my family is creepy.

Scene: Waiting room at the pediatrician's office to make sure The Future President of Africa is a healthy leader for her people.
Poke on ankle
I think there is a child under my chair.
What?
I look under my seat
There is for sure a child under my chair.
Poke.
What? No there's not. You're making that up. Funny.
Poke. PokePoke.
It's poking me.
She looks.
Oh my god. There is a child under your seat. Wow.
She is summoned by the lady with the cotton swab; embarrassed family comes to recruit child. PokePokePokePoke.
I'm Anders Killian.
Nice to meet you Anders Killian. Have a nice day, I hope you're not sick.
Okay.

I am hearing voices and they are telling me to dance.

I always felt a little uneasy about iPod video.
iPod photo and I had such a good relationship. Sure we had our share of problems. Those two weeks abroad where it wouldn't "turn on" or "charge". But it was iPod photo! The concept itself was so ridiculous that you could write off random malfunctions as quirks. Ah yes, those three years were great. When I bought my MacBook this past summer, I couldn't just turn down a new, shiny iPod video, even though I would have to be crazy to actually watch something on a screen smaller than my palm.

The last three weeks have been quite tumultuous for iPod video and I. There were those four days when it wouldn't turn off and the battery would run out before I had time to dance my way across campus to wake up after "math". Or yesterday when the alarm wouldn't go off. Or today when the Tullycraft was playing but the screen was entirely black.
But I danced anyways.

Shake it like a 10 megapixel jpeg file

It is a sad day in the world of all of us who grew up on shaking our pictures into development and later called it a dance move.

Some reactions:

K: What? No! The song! The memories!
T: What?! Dang. Well, man. I mean, probably it'll be like vinyls. They'll be gone for 10 years and then people will come to their senses and realize their greatness. Well we're on the topic of sad stuff, did you hear they're raising the price of stamps again?
Future President of Africa: What the #$&@?! Who the #*@$ announced that and who the *#$@ do they think they are?! Are you lying to me right now? I don't understand. Why would they want to wreck my life like this?

Ow.

Profesora: How old do you have to be to drive in the US?
Clase: Dieciseis.
Profesora: How many members were in the Beatles?
Girl: Cinco!
Me: Um...no. Cuatro.
Profesora: Si. Cuatro.
Girl: Oh. Hehehe! Really?
Me: Si.
Profesora: Si. Paul, George, Ringo and John.
Girl: Hahaha! Wow! I, like, totally don't know the Beatles. N'Sync anyone?!

Are you calling me fat?

When it's Fat Tuesday, Super Tuesday and your birthday, does that make it a Super Fat Birthday? If so, I would have appreciated the same delicious red velvet cupcake with cream cheese frosting and sparkler candle, except with the caucus ballot in the middle to save me from the 2+ miles of traffic from any direction of the middle school.

Also, I would appreciate calmed fears about the simplicity of the caucus presidential voting procedures. That mom from my neighborhood could totally be slipping in faulty votes into the green envelope for our precinct. Why else would her hair be so big if it's not FILLED WITH LIES?

Debt for a good cause

"So what's your major?"
"Well, it was sign language. But it turns out that I hate sign language so now I'm not really sure."
"Whatever, that's fine. When I started I was a Justice and Peace Studies major. But it turns out that I hate justice and I hate peace."

Watching out for the faucet when I climb into bed

I write type this post because typing (usually) does not involve any muscles directly connected to my thighs and for the most part, I don't have to extend my arms too much, pulling on my arm pit muscles.
In recovery from this weekend, instead of icing my sorethings (by simply stepping outside) from the 2.5 mile cross country ski (hell yes) trek, I am sleeping in the bathtub. The reasoning for this is two fold:

1. With enough pillows and blankets, sleeping in the tub is very much like I remember the womb.
2. On the trip this weekend, The Future President of Africa and I were not jumping* on the bed and broke the frame. And not in the "give me a kitchen knife, chewed gum and six paper clips and this baby'll be back and running in eleven minutes" kind of broken. In the "Dude, the wood split. This shit is bro-kin" kind of way. You can't not jump in a bathtub and you certainly cannot break the frame.
   

Meanwhile, I'm also staying away from all ovens, particularly the broil feature because we also set nachos on fire at 5 am, set the fire alarm off and woke up half of the house. Sri was all, "It's fine, I have to get up now anyways." and Matt was a bundle of confusion;
"WHAT'S GOING ON?"
"Nothing, we burnt breakfast. It's all good now though."
"It's breakfast time?"
"Um. No."
"Oh."
"Go back to bed."
"Okay."
And this one? Well she slept right through it.

*Have you seen Harriet the Spy? You know, where she's jumping and then gets in trouble and then starts to not jump? It's crazy, bed-breaking fun. If your bed frame is made of porcelain or someone else pays for the repairs, you should go give it a try.

Add it to the list

My mother and I like to go places together. Especially if it involves my hair because she has great moral support and honest opinions regardless if I follow them.
Sometimes she hangs out in the waiting area reading outdated People magazines, but most of the time she wanders over to the chair to make sure I haven't started crying yet. When I'm having something spunky done at the Hair Police, she likes to start conversations with the people who left their (or any) natural hair color around the time they got their third non-ear piercing.

A snipit from last night between Mother and Lady McBlueHair:
McB: "Yeah, so I know this super hot girl who's like gorgeous and a model and has her own clothes line and whatever. And get this: she's a mechanic."
Mother: "Really?"
McB: "Yeah, she'll like call me and we'll talk about clothes and stuff and then I'll complain about a car problem and she'll be like, 'Yeah, it's your carbarator, bring it by my house and I'll fix it for you.' I think it's so hot."
Mother: "Yeah...that is hot."

She doesn't have a no-touch clause.

I received the best voice mail ever last night. It came from Whitney! who has been a vegetarian for a number of years I could guess but will likely embellish.

You have one unheard message. First unheard message sent yesterday at 11:58 pm.
"Hey. So you're either asleep or out partying [asleep] but if you get this message before, I don't know 2:00 am, I was wondering if you could call me and and tell me what a giblet is. Because I've been sitting here with my hand inside this thawed turkey for about a half an hour trying to figure out what I can pull out of it. Anyways, if you could give me a call, that'd be super. Bye!"

If you cannot see them for your self, here are the 3 best things about this voice mail:

1. Whitney!, alone in her house with her hand up a turkey's rump for a half an hour, with expectations to continue for the next two hours.
2. The complete nonchalance of giblet hunting at midnight.
3. I must know what a giblet is.

Plurals are just a suggestion

Ways to keep my piers in check:
1. Automatic foaming hand soap dispensers. You can hear these babies from a mile away.

Times I might prefer a literal slap in the face:
1. Dove Chocolate message: "Feel the promise of a warm day"

Ideas to present to the boss:
1. Pride coupons. You get two each winter and they excuse you from a day of work. Redeemable when your car stalls at Starbucks before dawn.

Recipe Thursdays

So by day I fill staplers and open other people's mail. And by night I go through boxes of things from my childhood. Except my night job pays in childhood memories, grammar errors and entertaining pictures. And award winning recipes from my kindergarten class where everyone submitted their favorite recipe for the class cookbook. Apparently I didn't eat much red meat then either:


Pot Roast

Ingredients:
chicken

1. Go shopping for all the ingredients
2. Cook the chicken on the stove for a half an hour.
3. Take it off the stove and cut it up into pieces.
4. Eat it.

I digress

"What do I need for Europe?"
"Umm...Not a shammy."
"Really? Vicki said we should all bring them."
"Do not bring one."
"Why?"
"I don't want to talk about it."

Also, this is definitely worth your time, $5 and lack of sleep. Leslie Ball has been putting on a weekly cabaret for 17 years and has titled it after her last name (This allows for much giggling which I would otherwise probably [not] be able to keep in if the show didn't start at midnight). You should go to it. And then act/sing/read dramatically/dance/juggle/juggle songbooks as you read them dramatically for the Balls (...) audience. See you there.

Concerns of personal hygiene

Nobody ever talks about Romania. So I think I should go and figure out what the story is. And you're invited.
Things Google has taught me in pre-trip internet education:

• Dracula
• Green. There is definitely green.
• EU: Coming soon to your local Romania.
• The dollar still sucks.
  
• Real estate gold mine
• Are you saying you don't want to see this in the flesh?
  
• We can stay here. They have beautiful laminate, an American-style kitchen and soap.
  

As he corrects himself on Britney lyrics

"What are you doing?"
"Blogging you."
"Me?!"
"Yes."
"I don't have a blog."

You're Indian anyways

“Let’s go camping!”
“You guys should come visit me and camp there.”
“Virginia? No way! They’ll kill me!”
“Dan, I live Lexington…it’s a population of about three.”
“Lexington?! I’m pretty sure that was one of the big…black…places for hating.”

I've got the spatula, but the prognosis is good.

If you:

• Are a visual learner
• Enjoy learning life lessons and laughing simultaneously
• Hate math and sometimes (always) internally (externally) over celebrate when a mathematical question comes easy to you.
  

You will enjoy this woman and her notecards.
They have the funny.

Change of address

I am writing to you from the tail end of the holiday-fun wrecker. The Stomach Flu.
He sought me out, swallowed me whole and held me hostage until he was sure that I watched Dick Clark stumble over his words and Carson trump his own assholeness while I noticed the ball dropping somewhere between two sips of ginger ale.
I just hope that saying about how you spend new years is a reflection of the rest of the year. Because I will be spending a lot of time on the bathroom floor with a down comforter in '08. You can fax me there.
But hey! I'm getting better! I switched from black yoga pants to gray yoga pants today!
Total sign of recuperation, right?

Resolution attempt: Use fewer commas. In writing, in life.