cube-sickle

Things I have done this winter to stay warm in the office:

1. Solely consume warm and/or hot things. This includes, but is not limited to: tea, soup, lean cuisines, leftovers, oatmeal, popcorn
2. drink hot water. Why not tea? Because I am sick of it, and it dehydrates you.
3. snuck my slippers under my desk to keep my footsies warm while I compute.
4. worn extra layers to work
5. …only to then wear my jacket anyways
6. Shoved my nose in my sweater and attempted to blow hot air on it to warm it up
7. Wear Ugg boots into the building, and then just happen to forget about taking them off.
8. Gone to the bathroom solely to stick my hands under hot water.
9. Sat Indian style, excuse me Native American style, to keep my feet warm
10. Attempted to function at my computer while wearing gloves. Fail.

TGIT- week 2

You may be wondering why this week’s TGIT is a picture of a delicious looking Caprese Salad.

Yes, I made it.
Yes, it was the most perfect lunch on a rainy, otherwise subpar Thursday.
Yes, I have leftovers for yet another delicious lunch tommorrow.
(All of which were my original reasons for making it my TGIT, and taking the picture.)

But why is it my TGIT now? Because not a minute after taking this delightful photo, I mindlessly poured my Crystal Light Lemonade individual packet over the salad, mistaking it for salt...

I mean, who doesn't love a Lemonade Caprese Salad anyways!

Way to go, Kristin!

I'm at a stoplight

Light Colors and corresponding action, according to the DMV:
STEADY RED: Stop. Do not go until the light is green.
STEADY YELLOW: Stop if safe.
STEADY GREEN: Go, but proceed with caution.(and who said I didn’t retain anything from my permit exam?)

Light Colors and corresponding action, according to me:
STEADY RED: Stop, but if you are turning right, a rolling stop is acceptable.
STEADY YELLOW: Use peripherals to check for cop. If clear, speed up, then glance back to see if there was a car behind you. The glance is a precautionary act incase you get pulled over by said cop that you didn’t see, and then need to explain why it was unsafe for you to stop. Ticket avoided.
STEADY GREEN: Go, but look both ways to catch any light runners.

Light Colors and corresponding action, according to Massachusetts drivers:
STEADY RED: Stop, but if you don’t feel like it, that is okay too.
STEADY YELLOW: Drive as fast as possible (even faster than you would if it was green) to beat the changing light, but like I said, even at the red light, stopping is optional if you are in a rush.
STEADY GREEN: Go, and get aggravated at the person in front of you who has braked for no apparent reason.I am no perfect driver, but I do feel that I am a considerate and safe driver.

Sometimes I wish I could get into my car and just drive…not aggressively, not defensively, not in my traffic/bumper combat gear, but in a smooth, calm, and enjoyable manner. I just want to drive with the windows down, and feel as smitten and carefree as the angel feels in that Philadelphia cream cheese commercial (you know, the one that makes you crave cheesecake every time you see it…)

Unfortunately, this is Massachusetts, and there is no such thing as a peaceful, not even a remotely enjoyable, ride anywhere. Why? Because in Massachusetts there are two kinds of drivers: those with an agenda, and those that have no agenda whatsoever.

Those with agendas have things to do, and generally the obstacle between themselves and place they need to be is you. Insert their cutting you off, riding your bumper, aggressively passing, or general angry disposition here.

Those without agendas are usually of the older persuasion, with their only real scheduled item being the silver hair special at IHOP. They do not care about the speed limit and how they are 15 below it, nor do they care that you are behind them, becoming more and more aggressive. Usually, these said drivers also glacially cruise toward an upcoming green light, only for them to make the light safely, but leave you stuck at the changing one.

I like to think of myself as the happy medium in this world of Massachusetts driving. I am the friendly, but slightly aggressive, defensive speed demon who is sometimes in a rush, but most of the time just looking to get where I need to be in a safe manner. I also hope that someday, all the Massachusetts agenda-ers, non-ers, and me-ers can all drive in harmony.

I am also looking forward to the day when I have no agenda, and can make it to IHOP in time for the early bird special. I love me a good pancake...(coincidently, today is free stack day at IHOP…if you live near one, that better be on the menu for dinner!)

RIP Diet Choke

My diet will no longer include Diet Coke.

(Insert mildly shocking gasp here.)

No, do not adjust the resolution on your computer screen, you have read me right. My days of my Diet Coke addiction are/will be over.

For years my friends, family and colleagues have continued to tell me about the negative effects that come with drinking Diet Coke, and for years I continued to put them off by convincing myself that there is no way Diet Coke can make you retain fluids, it is diet after all!

Well, my friends, the day has come- I have seen the light. This my attempt at quitting. Hi, my name is Kristin and I am addicted to Diet Coke?

While I am completely dedicated to detoxifying my bod of the harsh chemicals that have been poisoning my bag of bones for years, giving up Diet Coke is bitter sweet for me. Diet Coke is an old favorite in my book; her bubbles tickle my nose and touch my smile. I allowed her to mingle with the other staples in my diet, and she always seemed to be a delicious compliment my meal, sandwich, or ice cream. I have always been a faithful advocate for her, and have defended my consumption of her rigorously. I now, however, must accept the facts and let go of the deliciousness that is Diet Coke.

The facts? Diet Coke is bad. Very bad. (Sigh)

So for now, this is my (in)formal promise to myself that I will drink as little Diet Coke as possible... lets see how long this lasts.

Mary Wood, please insert your “I told you so” dance here.

Synonym for drunk eating?

Every year New Oxford American Dictionary comes out with its “word of the year.” This year’s word was unfriend, which beat out many other wonderful words, my favorite being sexting.

I have decided that it is only fitting that I also announce my two favorite words of the year, in hopes that next year my word will then become their word and I will then become independently wealthy and famous, and retire at the chipper age of 23. A girl can dream.

At any rate, here are my projected 2010 words of the year:

Nom nom: nom/nom [nom-nom]
-- Noun: a person who takes nourishment at an extremely aggressive pace; manges face
“Kevin McAllister was a nom nom when he ate an entire cheese pizza himself.”

-- Verb: to feed, inhale, gorge, scoff, wolf, or eat at an extremely destructive speed
“Katrina nom nommed when she ate an entire carton of ice cream and picked out all the brownie chunks.”

-- Adjective: characterized by or tending toward vigorously eating
“You will be so nom nom if you skip using a spoon, and stick the chips directly into the salsa.”

Origin: Created by KAD, 1995ish, Native Canadian (because I am native and it has a similar ring to pow-pow…obviously)

Why is nom nom such an important word? It is the only multi-part of speech that describes eating at an aggressive, overindulging rate in one phrase. Now, instead of describing a dining moment in a self-denouncing way, such as “I ate like a heifer last night,’ you can now simply describe your experience as “I was a nom nom.” Clear cut, simple, and to the point. Nom nom will also prevent you from comparing yourself to a beastly carnivore, and who doesn’t like that?

Unlike the term “fetch,” I am completely sure that Regina George would make “nom nom” happen. It is most definitely going to happen.



Obligerated: ob/lig/er/ate/ed [uh-blidg-uh-reyt-ed]
–adjective

1. combination of obliterated and belligerent; an extreme level of drunken stupor
2. being a menace to society due to excessive consumption of alcohol

“Martha was obligerated last night when she decided to go sledding naked on Boston Common with her best friend’s ex-boyfriend.”

Origin: Created by KAD, aprox 2006

To be honest, I am not sure why obligerated isn’t already part of the English language as we know it. I, for one, have been using the term as it was a real word since I entered college. I did not find out that it was a Kristin original until wedding season 2009, when I had a truly blonde moment in front of a dear friend, and more than half of the groomsmen (see Swine Flu:1, Kristin: 0 for a more detailed account of the night, and the happenings to follow.)

The term “obligerated” captures the essence that is the college late night experience, and weekend. Why am I the first to think of this? I am not sure, but just like rufus was for Billy Prince in Never Been Kissed, obligerated is my new cool word. Spread it around like wild fire.

Alright kids, hit the streets with your new lingo. Expect to impress with your insight and forethought. Bonus points for using both words in one sentence.

TGIT

Thank God Its Thursday. A new weekly tradition on Just Slightly Neurotic because Thursdays were my favorite day in college, and they deserve recognition too.

Fail: Meeting David Ortiz in middle of mall and asking for an autograph, then realizing you have no pen.

Victory: Meeting David Ortiz again and getting his autograph in the middle of the mall.

Biggest Victory: realizing that the slip of paper he signed was the receipt for my birth control.

40 days/40 nights

Okay lent, it is just you, me and 40 days of complete and total dedication. I appreciate you, as I appreciate the sacrifice that Jesus Christ made to save us all, but we all know that my commitment is nothing in comparison to that of the big JC. That being said, there are some things that I should give up in the name of lent that I am simply unable to, or I might die.

I should give up technology. Yes, all of it. I should refrain from facebooking/emailing/blogging/tweeting, or any other kind of –ing that I do daily on a computer. Am I any different than the typical 20-something? No, but I do find it peculiar that I reward completed tasks at work with Facebook or gchat time. Its like I am a member of grown up summer camp, sans nap time: I have snack time, lunch time, work time, and facebook/gchat time. Why am I not giving up technology? I like to think of my gchat time as my classroom doodling. Studies show that if students doodle during class, their brain remains active and focuses better…same goes for my work and Facebook. No one ever said that brief mindless distraction was unhealthy, plus I have many a valuable conversation while on my “brief” breaks.

I should give up television. My weekday ritual is always the following: work, commute, gym, shower, television. My weekend ritual is always the following: recover, television, gym, television, out (preferably dancing.) I watch way too much television and I am not ashamed to admit that I enjoy the mind numbing, thoughtless entertainment that it provides me. Why am I not giving up television? Because television helps me unwind; it is often merely background noise for other things I am doing, particularly anything to do with technology (see above paragraph.) My mother finds me to be unusually high strung, so I don’t plan on removing an item that can unwind me, per say.

I should give up my cell phone. My name is Kristin, and I am completely addicted to my crackberry. I can text, call, email, take pictures, and play Brickbreaker all with the scroll of my track ball. My addiction has reached a new level in recent years, as I now experience the “phantom vibration.” The phantom vibe, for those of you who don’t consider your phone to be as valuable as opposable thumbs are, is when you feel a vibration similar to that of a cell phone vibration, only to then check your phone to find that there was no vibration coming from your phone. It is a tell tale sign of addiction, and if you also experience the phantom vibe, I am sorry to have broken the news to you in this manner, but you are also addicted to your phone. Why am I not giving up my cell phone? Well, in case there is an emergency, of course!

I should give up candy and alcohol. Many of my food and beverage demons fall into either category, particularly candy. Whether it be Swedish Fish, Sour Patch, or any kind of chocolate, I am always in the mood for a sweet treat. 10AM dip into the office Swedish Fish stash? Sure! I mean, I am already in the kitchen fixing my oatmeal, why not throw a few fish in my palm for the long walk back to my cube. Why not give candy up? Because I feel like my candy cravings are out beat by my other food demons, namely the salt family.

I should give up talking badly about myself. I can tend to become the anti-Kristin cheerleader when I really get myself going. Some say they are each their own toughest critic, and I am one to fall completely into that category. Then again, if you aren’t completely honest with yourself, who can you expect to be? Regardless, some think that I can be too hard on myself, so Lent would be an excellent opportunity for me to praise more, and judge less, but realistically, that will not happen. Why am I not giving up self-disparaging remarks? Because if I accidently slip up, which is bound to happen, I will then continue to harp on the fact that I failed. Here enter perpetuating cycle of self doubt; counter productive, don’t you think?

So, what am I giving up for lent you might ask? Well, for a while, it was a toss up between Goldfish and swearing. Within the last few months, Goldfish has become an entire food group by its lonesome. Unhealthy, and counter productive to my calorie counting diet, to say the least. I love the fishes cuz they’re so delicious (and also have a uniquely satisfying cheddar saltiness and quick crunch that make my stomach smile.) Therefore, giving up Goldfish will be difficult, and a daily challenge to say the least, but not enough to make me completely and totally miserable.
Should I give up swearing? I am not sure, as I am not a huge potty mouth, but I do use a few profanities here and there. My father firmly believes that women who swear are completely unattractive, and he thinks all men also feel the same. Obviously my swearing habits are the reason I am single. Sigh. At any rate, I think that I can consciously work on decreasing my use of profanity without the Lent excuse. To be honest, giving up Goldfish will be more of a challenge.

The verdict? See you on April 5, 2010, Goldfish. I will miss you dearly.

Patrick Sway-me

I have decided to entirely skip the subject of Valentines Day. I have (almost) successfully avoided the self-refectory process that occurs for all, or most, singles during the 24 hours dedicated to highlighting our inadequacies…well, besides my small meltdown on Saturday night (but technically that was prior to Valentines Day, so we will excuse that as a moment of brief insanity.)

At any rate, I do enjoy all of that lovey, dovey, romantic Valentines Day crap, so it would be completely hypocritical of me to not in some way shape or form address the holiday dedicated to love, adoration, lust and chocolate.

Therefore as the single lady I am, I would like to discuss a man who evokes each of the aforementioned emotions from me…Patrick Swayze.

Besides his uncanny good looks, quick wit, and charm, Patrick Swayze, who I will now refer to as Pat, also sought out some of the most influential and compelling roles to stroll through the streets of Hollywood.

Patrick Swayze had me at: “nobody puts baby in a corner.” Pat’s performance as Johnny Castle was incomparable to that of any other actor in any other movie. There are no words to describe how I feel about Dirty Dancing or its significance in my life. What I can tell you is that our bonds extend far past the horizons of Castle and his crazy hips, but its impact wouldn’t have been nearly as meaningful had Patrick Swayze not wooed Baby Houseman, and me, with his one liners and killer charm.

Similarly, Pat’s role in Ghost, while not as impactful and influential as in Dirty Dancing, also brought out his new, but equally attractive qualities. New additions to my Life Partner check list: must be excellent at creating pottery, and have the potential to rack up $4 million very quickly. Similarly, Pat brought out his BA side by being able to defeat the bad guys while already dead. I feel safe knowing that even though he is no longer here in person, he is still looking over me keeping my attempted murderers in check. I hope for your sake that you don’t see: “SAMSAMSAMSAMSAMSAM” come across your computer screen in the next few moments.

Lastly, his hot bod was no doubt the center of attention for all Patrick Swayze and ab enthusiasts everywhere in SNL’s Chippendales Dance with fellow hottie Chris Farley. His participation in said skit also highlights yet another attractive feature: His good humor and his ability to look attractive with a mullet. My future life partner should most definitely have the face shape to rock a mullet, incase we end up at an 80’s party, or in Iowa.

Patrick Swayze encompasses all things that a good man should: he is charming, attractive, and has incredible dance moves. Yes, wit and looks are overly important, but we all know that anyone who wants to dance the dance of life with me had better have some serious moves (and agree to dance to “Bette Davis Eyes” on repeat.)

So this Valentines Day, while many are expressing their love toward significant others and loved ones, I am openly stating here that I am crazy for Swayze.

...and Canada Dry Gingerale

In honor of the 2010 Winter Olympics beginning in Vancouver this week, I want to divulge the things that I love about the wonderful country of Canada. Of course, Canada is home to many wonderful things such as the Zipper, table hockey, and Trivial Pursuit, but I plan to highlight the things that truly make Canada a special place for me.

1. The Canadian Nation Anthem. Blessed is he who wrote the masterpiece that is “O Canada.” While my alliances obviously lie with the good ole US of A, the Canadian National Anthem has indeed had an impact on my life. Whether its because of my known Canadian heritage, its repetitiveness at hockey games, or its general catchy tune, I think the Canuck national anthem is just plain great. “O Canada” has made my short list of the Kristin-approved national anthems, and is in good company with our own “Star Spangled Banner” and England’s “God Save the Queen.” Mazel tov “Oh Canada,” I’ll stand on guard for thee any time.
2. Its drinking age, or lack there of. Depending on your choice of province, The Canadian drinking age is either 18 or 19 years old. If you are in Canada, you are able to consume alcohol at least two years earlier than you can in the United States. Two more years of extra dirty martinis. Any country who plays by those rules is a friend of mine, and should be a friend of yours to. I attribute the lower drinking age to the combination of its climate (you know, being absolutely freezing cold all the time) and its lack of things to do. Regardless of its reasoning, Canada has certainly scored extra points in all pre-21 year old Americans lives…and everyone remembers their first trip to Montreal.
3. Duty Free. I am frugal, and unless you like to aimlessly spend excess money on unnecessary things, you are frugal too. As the perfect partner to #2, Duty Free goods are yet another wonderful reason to embrace Canada with our encompassing, warm embraces. All people like cheap exports, especially alcoholic exports. All people, both over and under 21, can enjoy Canadian products at an inexpensive price. Economical and alcoholic? Yes, please.
4. Hockey. I am by no means the biggest hockey fan or enthusiast, and I won’t claim to be, but I have grown up watching, appreciating and loving the sport. Being the offspring of my proud UVM hockey fan dad, the man who believes that he fostered the career of Tim Thomas with a single nod, I have grown up with a broad understanding and enthusiasm for watching hockey. From age five to 17, I believed that I was destined to be a third generation Catamount at the University of Vermont, and when I chose to go elsewhere for my collegiate experience, I think I near broke my father’s heart. At any rate, my love for hockey only grew once I attended college, and learned of the most important part to hockey: the hockey player. Thank you Canada, for creating a sport that combines oafs, ice, beer, and physical contact. America thanks you for one of its favorite pastimes.
5. The accents. Hopefully I am not the only one who absolutely melts for a thick, hot Canadian accent (of course, it is often paired with think, hot Canadian.) I genuinely appreciate its crisp sound, one that I often can’t differentiate between the Minnesota accent, also a very attractive dialect, eh?
6. The Micmac. For those of you who do not already know, I am proud to be native Canadian, and I am proud to be a Micmac. How. (Insert stereotypical Indian hand motion here.) Being native entitles me to many perks within my homeland and allows me to do and say many things without being offensive to others. This list includes, but is not limited to war-hooping, pow wow-ing, lobstering/fishing without a license, and building casinos. I am blonde. I am blue eyed. I am sensitive to my native-ness, and I am easily offended re: my abnormal native appearance. Please be cognizant of this if you choose to bring up my heritage.
7. Poutine. I mean, I have yet to try Poutine sober, but I cannot imagine it is anything less than orgasmic. I like French fries; I like melted cheese; I like gravy- therefore, I must like Poutine by default, right? My limited experience with Poutine testifies to the fact that I do enjoy Poutine when I am in direct contact with it. Much thanks Canada, for providing us with yet another way to immediately clog arteries in a single bite.
8. Tim Hortons. As Americans, we enjoy culinary delicacies like Dunkin Donuts, Starbucks, and Denny’s, but no breakfast bagel compares to that of Tim Horton’s. Maybe its extraordinary texture, taste, and overall deliciousness are directly correlated to how hungover I have been during said breakfast encounters, but nothing soothes a hangover quite like a toasted bagel from Tim Horton’s. Keep the bagels cooking Tim, and don’t be afraid to ship them off to the Navy Yard for testing. I’d be happy to be your bagel test dummy.
9. Alanis Morissette, Shania Twain, and Celine Dion. These women are like the Spice Girls of Canada. All represent girl power, and all have rocked great shows in awful outfits. I cringe to think of what my adolescence would have consisted of had I not had “Jagged Little Pill,” “Man, I feel like a Woman,” and “My Heart Will Go On.” Gracias Canada for providing Americans with some of their most influential pop divas…even though they became famous, made their fortunes, and ultimately existed in America.
10. The Walkie-Talkie. Yes, the Walkie-Talkie is Canadian, and was invented by Canadian Donald Hings in 1942. Don’t believe me? JFGI. At any rate, my life would be seriously sub-par without Hings’ invention. For one, family vacation communication would have become a lot more complicated; my mother and I would have actually had to get off our beach chairs to find my brother meandering around in the cruise arcade. Similarly, there would be little to no use for some of my favorite phrases such as: “10-4 good buddy” and “What’s your 20.” Two cans connected by string no longer rule the communication stage, welcome the Walkie Talkie.

So, if the 2010 Winter Olympics aren’t enough to get your Canadian spirit kicking, hopefully these ten things will make you appreciate Canada, even if just a bit more than you did before, eh?

Team Harvey

Alright. Below was my lovey dovey reflection of snow days, one that I wrote while snuggled up after a long day of work.

This is my realistic, non-reflective reaction to what happened yesterday, or rather what did not happen. No lovey. No dovey.

First, I think weather is one of the most fascinating topics on our globe for two reasons. One being the fact that weather as a subject is a divine conversation starter. If we did not have weather, what would we talk about at the beginning of staff meetings, or during a preliminary awkward encounter?

Secondly, weather has been studied for generations, yet somehow, there is always new, complex, multi-receiver Doplar radar that can predict and measure weather more accurately than its predecessor. The meteorologists who have the capacity to translate what this said radar says, go to the masses and share the ever updating atmospheric conditions. Us commonfolk have no such technology to predict the weather patterns, nor do we maintain the knowledge to understand it, therefore, our well-being is in their hands. They are the disciples of the word of the Doplar. Thanks be to God?

Ultimately, each machine eventually fails, and as Americans, it is our civic duty to blame someone else when something goes wrong, God forbid something go wrong without us pointing the finger. Here enter the poor meteorologists.

I have always said that meteorology is the most recession proof career path. No matter what, we will always need someone to tell us what the weather will be like. Further, weathermen can consistently be wrong and still remain employed. Essentially, they earn their salary as educated guessers, and hope their predictions reflect the outcome. I wish my job description was to stand in front of a blue screen while holding clicker, and guess at the end result of large fronts moving our way, but then again, I wasn’t smart enough to make that career choice. Maybe I am under-complicating this science, but at a far glance, this is what I think.

This is not to say that I don’t value and respect meteorologists. I find meteorologists to be highly esteemed and dedicated members of our society. Not only do they deliver both good and bad news, but they also battle the elements at their own expense to bring us the most up to date weather as possible. As if that contribution isn’t enough, do you know how coordinated one needs to be in order to stand in front of the blue screen, stare at a monitor on the side wall and somehow manage to point and circle things that you cannot even see while maintaining a semi-conversational monologue? Pure talent.

Today was the first time where I feel that it is my job to defend good, ole faithful, weatherman favorites. So, because of my undying loyalty to meteorologists, I will here defend their cause (briefly.)

Yesterday, we followed Harvey Leonard’s every word and were captivated by every last detail, today we have shunned the very man who we have instilled such faith in less than a day ago. He who stands in the rain and gets pelted in the face with snain just to prove a point has now become victim to our anger toward unsuspecting change. Is it Harvey’s fault that the storm made an unsuspecting shift? Most certainly not! So why do we blame him? Because we can.

Lets reverse the situation. Would you rather Harvey not forecast the weather until he is positive of the results? I doubt it. Would you rather send your children to school, and then have them stranded there when 1+ feet of snow move in? Certainly not! At the end of the day, it is better to be overly cautious than caught off guard, especially when New Englanders get even more angry if snow totals exceed original expectations.

So what do I say? Leave Harvey alone. Weather is a guessing game where you are damned if you do, and damned if you don’t. This messenger has most certainly been shot…and today, he has been critically wounded.

Alright, enough of my semi-uneducated rant, bring on spring! Harvey, I’ve got your back!

Sudbury Public: Open

A Snow day eve is like the rambunctious younger sister of Christmas Eve. Unlike Christmas, where her arrival is anticipated months in advance, the Snow Day sporadically and abruptly pops up, making its intensity much greater with its relatively little warning. Christmas is the Beezus; Snow Day is the Ramona.

Many a snowy winter night was spent staring at the family room television, watching the blue scrolling school closures along the bottom of the screen and praying that “Sudbury Public: closed” would scroll across after all the St.’s, Stow, and Sturbridge announcements. I remember praying with all my might with fingers crossed, eyes scrunched shut, hands clenched, my saying: “Please God, if you give us a snow day, I will never make fun of Matt again. I promise.” I busted out every trick I could, including doing all of my homework, in hopes that my efforts would somehow persuade the snow gods and/or our school superintendant to cancel school. Usually, my praying to the Gods did not work, as I soon learned that our superintendant did not believe in snow days.

Meanwhile, insert my “Nanook of the North” father in said family room. Bob lives for Nor’easters and usually egged on our anticipation solely because his excitement was so contagious. As a self-proclaimed “Snow Emergency Specialist,” Bob usually has his snow blower greased up for winter at the end of September and he has served as our in-house meteorologist since my birth. In his efforts to keep the most up-to-date timeline and snowfall estimate, he would poll different news outlets to find the general storm consensus. He always sided with the guy predicting the most snow, only adding fuel to our snowfever fires.

Fifteen(ish) years later, the stage is still set very much the same. Yes, I have moved out, but on Nor’easter eves, you will most likely find me in the very spot I was in as a 6 year old, doing the same things (partially do to the five minute commute, that had I gone home would be at least 90 minutes longer.) I am 24 years old and I still catch myself obsessively and repetitively scanning the school closure section, and watching my dad get all rambunctious re: snow fall updates.

…and the 7 year old in me still gets mad when Sudbury and Wayland Publics are the only two school districts in the state open for normal business during any kind of winter emergency. We can just forget about the two of them closing for anything short of Hell freezing over, but if they do…that is quite a storm.

It has been preached to all of us: a university’s marketing strategy to show potential future students how (insert every school you visited) is a unique learning environment, in the perfect location, enriched with deep tradition and supported by a wonderful community. Right.

On said tour, the potential pupil and family, is escorted around campus by a bubbly, upstanding and well-versed student of the school’s population. Often times, the tour revolves around the top things to do (at said university) before you graduate.

At my alma mater, this list includes a hike the Adirondack Mountains, a coffee in the book store, a Moving Up Day ceremony, and a student art gallery in the new heart building. The well thought out list encompasses the pristine, PG rated, you should want to go here, we are your university, you are home here type of activity catalog that all schools want to vibe to potential students, and to their “my child doesn’t drink, and definitely won’t while they are in college” parents. This aforementioned list doesn’t typify my collegiate experience, nor does it yours.

Since the admissions team has so thoughtfully and articulately compiled a list of things TO do while in college (which a majority of us never did), I have taken it upon myself to compile a similar list, only mine is the list of things NOT to do while in college (a list of which the majority of us have dabbled into…and potentially regretted.)

My DO NOT do before you graduate list (or do, and then later regret)
*disclaimer: I am not the culprit to all of these acts, but have witnessed them all and seen the regret come soon after

• DO NOT walk (shame or no shame) home between the hours of 9AM and 12PM
• DO NOT walk home from anywhere having participated in a theme party the night before
• DO NOT be afraid to wear oversized football sweatshirts/pants from aforementioned walk home
• DO NOT be a make-out bandit in the back bar of the Tick Tock. Someone will remember it, even if it isn’t you that does.
• DO NOT fall asleep on the delta kitchen counter.
• DO NOT sit on the Tick Tock floor. I am not sure why anyone would ever do that, but I have seen it done. Ew.
• DO NOT heavily pregame before any formal. That means no shots. The same goes for mixers.
• DO NOT steal Christmas trees on walks home from the bar, only to display them in your common room. You will get fined.
• DO NOT dance on the pool table in a dress. You do not want to be that girl…(and we all know who I am talking about)
• DO NOT steal cushions from SUNY Potsdam Frat porches. God only knows what has lived/slept/puked/had sex on that surface.
• DO NOT accept friendship requests from current professors. You may do so, but expect your pristine reputation to be tainted quickly.
• DO NOT put off your school work, just because you’re pledging…and do not lose your pledge pin.
• DO NOT walk home barefoot from anywhere (unless you enjoy the bottom of your feet resembling the color of charcoal)…wearing flip flops out can also achieve the same look.
• DO NOT go to frat formals outside of the country.
• DO NOT let anyone turn a camera on while you are on the toilet.
• DO NOT live with swingers while abroad. If your host mother meets you drunk on the late bus and proceeds to take her finger, smudge the chocolate off your face (thank you to the crepe street vendors) and into your mouth, you know you have a problem…or a party.
• DO NOT be discouraged from sharing pizza with semi-strangers, lets be honest, you will probably be making out later anyways.
• DO NOT eat Denise’s cheesy bread
• DO NOT fall for the “I am in Beta” pick-up line.
• DO NOT fall down the stairs at 20 Pine Street.
• DO NOT forget to call a sober driver before 1:50AM, or you will have to walk home…but who doesn’t love a -30 degree walk home sans mittens?
• DO NOT to go to Dana Dining Hall and expect to avoid seeing the one person you don’t want to see
• DO NOT take psych with a lab, edu with a lab, and Spanish with a lab in the same semester. Seeing the light of day will become a challenge.
• DO NOT talk to (insert name of all college hook ups here)
• DO NOT wear your good pair of heels/uggs/flats/jeans to the bar. They will get trashed (kind of like you will.)
• DO NOT crash a sorority mixer as a freshman…even if you are invited by the fraternity hosting it.
• DO NOT go shot for shot with your football manfriend to prove that you are tough. You aren’t, and he can most definitely drink you under the table.
• DO NOT get sick on said manfriend after said shots.
• DO NOT buy your family’s Christmas presents at the bookstore. They do not want wine glasses with your future alma mater’s logo engraved in them.
• DO NOT loft your bed or date someone who does. Its hard to get into, especially after a drink or two, and you feel like a five year old every time you wake up. It is, however, a true treat if the aforementioned football manfriend slams his head into the ceiling.
• DO NOT pull an all-nighter. Unless you have the next 3 days off to recover, all nighters are the worst decision ever.
• DO NOT go against your gut…

I am sure this list will continue to grow, and please feel free to add any along the bottom if there is an experience you regret, that I have most likely willingly forgot.

the 80's suck...NOT!

I was born in the right decade, but went to college in the wrong one. If I had been a 20-something in the 1980’s, I would have been in my absolute prime. I love everything that came out of the 80’s: the music; gimp; hell, I still wear spandex as though they are in style.

I know my exposure to the “authentic” 1980’s was rather limited, being a hopping 5 year old by end of decade; however, in hind sight, I like to think that I would have served as the epitome of 80’s pop culture, had I had the opportunity.

This weekend re-lit my 1980’s fire. My night was full of everything my normal, day to day, current 20-something career has been missing: crimpers, Aquanet, Prince. Really, the dance floor (which was complete with 80’s coverband, thank you very much) was a sea of neon, lace, and inappropriate hotpants. I soon realized I was way too comfortable in the midst of this company than I should have been. Between our wonderful outfits, displayed below, and killer dance moves (yes, the leg guitar and robot both made guest appearances), we made friends in no time. The night was ours.

This is me and a life-long gal pal in 1990(ish).

This is my attempt at trying to relive my glory days circa 1990(ish) on Friday night (with yet another life-long gal pal.)

This brings me to my list of things that I love about my relatively limited, but awfully authentic 80’s (and probably a bit of ‘90’s) experience beginning toward the end of the decade, through to, well right now.

• I loved the Babysitter’s Club series in all its mediums, and I always wanted to be Dawn because of her long blonde hair, and neat jorts.
• I owned and loved a skip-it; I was heartbroken when a) the counter reset after 999 skips and b) when I learned that you could make the number on the side go up by banging it on the sidewalk. Magic lost.
• I wanted to be DJ Tanner and Kelly Kaposki, and wanted to date both Steve and Zach Morris.
• I read, then re-read “Ramona Quimby: Age 8.” I thought Beatrice sucked, even as a seven year old.The following are completely appropriate comebacks: “I know you, are but what am I?” and “I am rubber, you are glue. Whatever you say, bounces off of me and sticks to you.”
• I played with gimp…and I still played with gimp even when I was a camp counselor. I would still play with gimp if it was handed to me. Yes, I can do the tornado stitch.
• When I played “Oregon Trail,” I used the names of all of my friends in my covered wagon contingency. I wanted to use the names of my crushes, but never did…you know, in case they walked by.
• All diseases, including cooties, were preventable using: “Circle. Circle. Dot. Dot. Now I have my cootie shot…”
• I made my neighbor play Duck Hunt.
• My television schedule revolved around the Sesame Street and the Disney Channel Classics (Under the Umbrella Tree, Carebears, Dumbo’s Circus, and DuckTales, obviously)
• …Circle. Circle. Square. Square. Now I have it everywhere.
• I was really upset when they banned us from wearing slap bracelets in school because people would hit each other with them.
• The bracelets were made to complement an outfit, not to hurt one another…UGH!
• The Jetsons > The Flinestones
• My favorite outfit was a cantaloupe skort, and jellies. I misplaced them somewhere on a weekend trip to the cape, the same weekend my visited the Cape Cod Potato Chips plant. I remember that weekend vividly, but tortured myself over where my misplaced garments could have gone. The loss of the aforementioned skort and jellies was a traumatic event; they were classic pieces, and an integral part of my wardrobe.
• We had the best slip’n’slide hill in the neighborhood. We also had a sprinkler system. Take that, Longfellow Health Club!

This list by no means encompasses all of my childhood favorites, but these are just the few I thought of while I depleted the ozone layer while using an excessive amount of Aquanet (no open flames, please) and danced around to NKOTB.

stop suffocating me, shwan

Dear Plastic Wrap around DVD and CD cases,

In this day and age, it is refreshing to find something that is as dedicated to its purpose as you are. As an American consumer, I am grateful that with the help of your guardian wings, electronics are delivered unscathed from the dangers within its transporting route.
Surely, you pride yourself on the exemplary job you do for consumers each and every day, and your due diligence to the items you transport speaks for itself. Sadly, I wonder if I have ever taken the time to thank you for your efforts, but this is not the time for that.

I sometimes wonder if your job is sometimes done too well. Allow me to be frank here, shrink wrap, when I say that sometimes I feel you overstep your boundaries as the protector of MY newly purchased electronics. While I appreciate the importance of protecting these new electronics, I find it difficult to understand why it becomes so difficult to remove you after my legal purchase.

To me, you have successfully completed your job at the transaction of my purchase. You have brought my merchandise from the manufacturer to the distributor to the retailer to my hands, and intact and unscratched at that- job well done! You then step overstep you boundaries, becoming counter productive to your original purpose- the once friendly, protective pillow for my beloved CD has now morphed into a devilish, laughing, suffocating piece of vinyl.

Is it necessary for me to go to my new Dirty Dancing Limited Edition DVD set with an exacto knife, pliers, or even bolt cutters to get your clingy layer of plastic off of my suffocating DVD? Your befuddling glued corners are no match for my fingernails, a battle you know you have won numerous times, and ultimately you force me to resort to unconventional opening methods, like attempting to slice through your layer with a pair or scissors, or even at times a dull machete. How often it is, that in our battles, I have broken a CD case before even removing the new CD from its protector. How heartbreaking it is to be one to break my new TLC’s “Waterfalls” CD when all I was attempting to do was enjoy the very piece of plastic that you were created to protect. Don’t you find this end result to be proof of your being counter productive to your original purpose?

The intent of this letter is not to make you feel as though you are not appreciated, but rather to initiate conversation regarding your separation anxiety from the piece you have spent your entire existence protecting. I worry to think of the conflict that exists every time someone goes to open a new CD case.

Luckily for you, shrink wrap, I only broke the CD case, and I didn’t crack my “Best of the 80’s” CD. The surprise element for our 80’s pre-game will still be a hit…unless any of the partakers read this blog beforehand. To which I then say: “stop reading my blog, and start applying more Aquanet.”

awkward encounters

I consider myself to be a very social person. I like laughing, talking, drinking, eating and any other verb that comes along with socializing with other people. Some even find me to be slightly quick-witted, or even fun to be around! I am a social person, so why am I completely and totally awkward in certain social situations.

There is one encounter that I am getting progressively better at: office interaction. When you are new, workplace banter is the hardest art to master: which coworker is a chatter, which should you avoid, which will think you are completely and totally annoying. Tough crowd! Further, once you answer those preliminary questions and you identify who the talkers are, how much conversation is too much?

Then there are the motherships of all office encounters, the grand poobahs of perchance off-guard office run-ins. The kitchen and bathroom encounter.

The kitchen encounter usually begins normally because each party has a set action to complete: make a meal. It is when there is a lull in bustle, after the normal “hi, how are you’s,” that the interaction has the capacity to get awkward. The culprit: the microwave. After both parties finish their prep time and begin their wait time, there is an awkward panic moment for me: do I take the “mmmm, your lunch smells and/or looks delicious” route or the “any good plans for the weekend?” route. I usually go with the latter, but that can create an awkward moment when I realize its Tuesday, and now appear to be a hyper-aggressive weekend planner. Eek! On top of that, I wonder if my co-workers think that I have a normal and appropriate meal…are they judging me for eating an Activia? Do they then wonder if I am irregular? Um ew.

The bathroom run in: I cringe to think of the awkward, off-guard conversations that have come from this forced interaction. All kinds of bathroom rendezvous’ are awkward (the same time entering/exiting, handwashing, and my personal favorite, going at the same time interactions) and will always heighten my anxiety. Being a stage-fright pee-er as is (no, seriously, my college friends used to need to sing so I could pee), bathroom encounters are particularly difficult for me. I can never manage to go if I know there is someone sitting next waiting for me to pee. On the rare occasion that I cannot get over my stage fright, I awkwardly sit there until my coworker leaves, who now thinks I am in there for a reason other than peeing (you know, from all that Activia I eat). The term “shit or get off the pot” never has been so relevant, but we all know that I would never be able to close that deal at work.

Luckily, the awkward office encounters diminish as time goes on, and having been at my current company for over a year, I rarely experience an office encounter that I would consider to be particularly compromising.

Run-ins with ex-boyfriends/manfriends and/or hook ups are additional rendezvous’ where my tongue suddenly shifts into a giant knock. I know how to speak English; I know a decent amount of information about the individual standing in front of me…why is it that I am not only unable to form coherent sentences, but that when I am able, they come out as complete conversation ending phrases. The “It’s so great to see you and to hear that you and (insert name of new girlfriend) are doing well!” line is a sure way to put your already awkward conversation to bed.

Now, how to get away? If I am lucky, I usually have a gal pal to pull me away to that “super important thing I am now late for,” since I have taken sixty seconds of my time to talk to my ex-manfriend, but if I am unlucky I need to handle it alone…awkwardly. I usually try to pull the “I need to buy a drink” move, but usually I have a full drink. Double fisting? Sure! If that doesn’t work, the bathroom is always a sure break away or the “I need to go find my friends” (who are surely standing in close proximity monitoring this very conversation, waiting for a potential breakdown.) Regardless of how the chat ends, I am no longer in the red zone. I am now safe.

The last of my least favorite interactions is one that I rarely experience alone: the drive thru window. Here we are sitting in line in between two old Windstar minivans, committed to the fact that we have opted for fast food as our meal. We might as well inject fat cells directly into our inner thigh, but as Americans it is our God given right to eat at an establishment such as this. We pull up to the window and wait to be served. Insert awkward anticipatory silence here. The server, in broken English through 423 layers of static, says something. We aren’t sure what he says, but instead of asking him to repeat it, we assume it is now time to place our order. After a moment of hesitation, I begin to yell, like I’m attempting to communication with a deaf person, our “two #7 with fries and diet coke” order in the general direction of this black box speaker. Privacy? No such thing at a drive up window. Every car, person and scavenging squirrel within earshot now knows that we are complete nom noms…not to mention all the nearest vehicles around have their windows down to order, but no judgment- they are in line too. As if our first order broadcast wasn’t embarrassing enough, the server then chooses to emphasize our nomnomness and read our menu selections back to us, almost giving us an out to change our 6,000 calorie meal to an appropriate 3,000 calorie selection.

After little to no discussion with either the guy who swipes my credit card, or the guy that hands you the bag, already soaked in grease, it is time to whip out of there as fast as possible, and hope no one recognized me, my car, or my school decal. Hand me my chicken nuggets.

bELIeve

This is Superbowl week, and this year that means absolutely nothing. Sorry ahead of time to all you nons, but this is meant for one audience, and one audience only: my dad.

Being offspring of a life-long, obsessive New York Football Giants fan, I myself have become the ultimate pigskin fan myself…and I am a girl. Believe it or not, Bob has raised a daughter who likes nothing more than chips, dip, and a New York Giants football game. Unfortunately for us, this season was cut tragically short due to Eli’s mid-season confusion on which team he played for, and the defensive lines excessive interest in the sideline cheerleaders, as opposed to the TD’s being thrown by the other team. I should have dressed in the true blues and hit the field, at least games would have been one part entertainment, three parts embarrassment.

That aside, this is Superbowl week. If my do-no-wrong Giants do not make playoffs, which within the past few years has been a non-happening, my hometown team, the New England Patriots, are usually a shoe-in for the post-season season. Regardless, usually there is one (if not two!) team in playoffs that I love, or want to see win. Not this year.

Fine, so my team didn’t make it this year. We cannot win them all, can we? Give me someone that I absolutely hate so I can passionately route against them, just to keep it interesting. Bring on the Dallas Jerkoffs, I mean Cowboys, or Donavan McCrab and the Philadelphia Eagles, just so I can watch the utter disappointment and sadness on their faces after a Superbowl upset. If I cannot see my Brothers in Blue bring another Superbowl win to the Meadowlands, watching the Cowboys lose the chance to bring the same victory to their brand new, $2 billion stadium would be enough for me. But again, that won’t be happening this year.

This year’s Superbowl is meaningless to the majority of America, you know, besides the 27 people watching in Indianapolis and those who aren’t getting ready for Mardi Gras in New Orleans. It will no doubt be the reunion of two great teams, both who have earned their right to be there, but the NFL is no doubt cursing the outcome of this Superbowl, which has no huge money generating team in its midst.

So while Superbowl week usually crawls by for this football girl, this year it is actually moving fairly quickly…one aspect of a crappy Superbowl I am not complaining about. So, bring on the funny advertisements, The Who halftime show, and two teams of public indifference…I’ll be the one wearing the Giants hat, plotting for next year.

Go Saints?

quick like a bunny!

I forgot to say “Rabbit Rabbit” yesterday, and that means one thing. Bad luck all month. It is true. In the sixteen years that I have believed in this superstitious act, I find that it is a particularly accurate predictor for the month to come.

What is “Rabbit Rabbit?” Well, if you were born and raised in a hole in the ground, I suppose you may not be familiar with the monthly ritual, so here it is in a nutshell. On the first of every month, the first words to leave your mouth must be “Rabbit Rabbit,” followed by your getting out of bed in a funky way. If you do so, the following month is full of luck. If you fail to do so, your month will be saturated with impending doom, well not really, but it will certainly not be a month of good fortune.

I’d never really thought about Rabbit Rabbit’s accuracy until yesterday, when a friend and I were discussing my past year of particularly unlucky events. What is the common link in all these unfortunate happenings? I am almost positive that each bad luck month has been preceded with an un-rabbit rabbit first of the month. Scary, isn’t it? (Insert St. Lawrence shout out here.)

I know for a fact that I did not say “Rabbit Rabbit” on both March 1, 2009 and August 1, 2009. I know this for two reasons: one being that both were months of incredible misfortune, and the other being that I recorded my failure to “rabbit rabbit” in my diary (yes, I often keep a diary). On the days that I forget, I usually remember about half-way through my shower or commute to work, and spend the rest of my day getting angry and cursing at myself for forgetting. Woopsie!

I should have said “Rabbit Rabbit” on March 1, 2009. Why? Because if I had, I most definitely would not have broken my tailbone.

It was a beautiful March day, semi warm and not a cloud in the sky. Friends were off to snowboard, and offered to teach this well-balanced, eager novice how to shred down the mountain on a board, not on skis. Being a dancer, I figured I would be able to handle the balance aspect without a problem, but after trying to use my brother’s skateboard, I was terrified out of my mind.

Long story short, snowboarding and I didn’t get along during my first attempt. Getting up, and building up speed wasn’t so much the problem, where as steering, stopping and falling was. After a brief tutorial on the bunny hill, my friends decided it was time to conquer the mountain. I was more concerned about getting off the chairlift in one piece. Three rounds in, I had a major wipe out: a “hit your tailbone so hard your nose hurts, you feel nauseous, and a woman on the chairlift starts yelling for people to call mountain emt’s” type of wipe out. I somehow managed to get myself down the mountain, and every time I fell, an overwhelmingly aweful feeling of nausea took over my body. I was done.

I have a very small butt. Always have. Sometimes I feel like a higher being decided the padding for my butt would be better utilized elsewhere, like my rack. Thanks? At any rate, snowboarding and my little to no butt padding create the perfect storm for tailbone breakage…and a padded donut for the next several weeks.

Thanks, Rabbit Rabbit.

I also should have said “Rabbit Rabbit” on August 1, 2009. Why? Because if I had, I most certainly would not have come down with Swine Flu. (see blog entitled “Swine:1, Kristin: 0” for a more detailed encounter, that I would rather not relive again.)

If I had simply stated those two small words just 16 days earlier, I would have saved myself ten days of absolute misery, and several weeks of extended recovery. Fact? Most certainly.

Touche, Rabbit Rabbit.

Lastly, I should have said “Rabbit Rabbit” yesterday, February 1, 2010. Why? Because if I had, I most certainly would not have had to watch a best friend deploy to Iraq.

I have been putting off the deployment of First Lieutenant Houpt for the past seven years. Until yesterday, I had single-handedly prevented him from being stationed by pretending it wasn’t happening and completely avoiding the subject all together. I had miraculously helped Bill avoid a first tour of Afghanistan, ignored the possibility of him going to Germany, and rolled my eyes at the potential of him being stationed in South Korea (eek!) My plan seemed to be working flawlessly, until I forgot to say “Rabbit Rabbit” yesterday. It wasn’t more than 5 hours after I started cursing myself for yet another month of misfortune when I got the call. The call I have been dreading/avoiding/tactfully rerouting for seven years came just hours after an awful and underestimated mistake.

Yes, Bill has been waiting to deploy since mid January, and every day he has told me that deployment is inevitable, and that it is not only coming but in the very near future. True, he has been adequately prepared and we have all had ample time to send him off graciously, but his deployment had to come the day I forget to whisper “Rabbit Rabbit?”

Too creepy, Rabbit Rabbit, and not at all funny.

Here is an anticipatory “Rabbit Rabbit” to March 2010 being a month of luck!

what not to facebook

You are addicted to Facebook. I am addicted to Facebook, Twitter, and most likely writing to this blog. Each of these social networking mediums serve either a personal or profession service to me, as I am sure they serve a similar purpose for you. There are some who utilize different social networking sites in the wrong way, and here is a list of the guiltiest of culprits:

The Gamer: I have compassion for gamers, I really do. If my day job as a marketing coordinator for a video game convention isn’t enough, I then have my 20 year old brother, who prides himself on his ability to game in our basement for hours at a time, to build my tolerance. There is one type of gamer I cannot stand: the Farmville enthusiast. I appreciate your eagerness to be involved in something bigger than you, but do you think it is necessary to publish all your farm milestones into the newsfeeds of those you socially network with? I think I speak for the vast majority of your facebook friends, associates, and frenemies when I say spare us on the chicken coop, pig pen, mysetery white egg updates. We do not actually care. On that note, stop inviting me to play Farmville; don’t you think I would have joined the first 27 times you invited me had I been interested (please see excessive inviter)

The quizzer: Another kind to use social networking sites in a negative manner is the nagging quizzer. While I enjoy perusing through my newsfeed with my hot green tea every morning to update on friends, colleagues, and frenemies, I do not need to learn the answers to every quiz you have taken since I last signed into my account. To the quizzer: I do not care that you took the “What President Are You?, Which Golden Girl Are You, What Villian from a Classic Disney Movie” quizzes and found out that you are Grover Cleveland, Bea Arthur, and Ursula, nor do I want to take the quiz to find out who my corresponding pair is. If you must, Take the quizzes to find your true identity, but don’t publish them for the world to see…I have a hard time publishing my photo albums for people to see, and half the people who would look at it are in the album!

The unfriendly poker: You have poked me, and in the good, friendly, online flirting world of facebook poking, I have poked you back…but then you poke me back again. Aggressive! It has now gone from a flirty, slightly cute suggestion to an awkward social interaction. Do I stand you up and abandon you in the virtual world of pokes, or do I poke you back, only to perpetuate the cycle of poking? There is a high chance that I will not re-poke after the initial poke, unless you are Hunter Karnedy, to which I will definitely poke back in order to ensure our future marriage. Further, what is with people who are not friends with me having the ability to poke me? I believe I will quote the wise Stephanie Judith Tanner with an appropriate: “How rude!”

The constant requester: This demon uses Facebook in its intended use, but is overzealous in execution. To the requester: if I wanted to play Mafia Wars, become a Fan of your ‘Super Unsuccessful Webpage,’ join the Green Patch, Fuzzy Bunny, or Favorite Cocktail Club, I probably would have done so on my own accord, but thank you for the invite in case I had somehow missed it. If you have already invited me, and I have rejected your invitation, it doesn’t mean that I will be interested if you re-invite me after I previously rejected your request. It means that I am either a) completely uninterested in your cause, b) anti-facebook clutter, or c) both. Regardless of my reasoning behind the aforementioned rejection, please take it as it is…a mere application rejection, and not an attack on your character or merit.

The philosopher/emo status updater. The excessive status updater challenges the very purpose of the status update itself. Is the status’ purpose to update your peers on things that are currently happening? Sure! Perchance to share exciting news or events? Yes! To ask questions that encompass the meaning of life? Definitely not. You are not Sophocles, Socrates, or Hercules, so don’t post as though you are.

In tandem, a status update is not an open forum regarding your current feelings, nor is it a place to hope for sympathy. The appropriate place to vent, rant, or complain is to a confidant (offline), in a diary, or in a slightly public, partially publicized blog (ahem.)


The person that writes you back on your wall with a question. True, I brought on this conflict myself by writing a comment on your wall that could possibly warrant a direct response from you (probably not, but go with it). I consider you writing back on my wall as your response to my call to action…your leaving a post open ended with a question poses a bigger moral dilemma than had I not written on your wall in the first place. Do I ignore your post and leave you out to dry, or do I answer your question, thereby becoming “that girl” on your wall? This quagmire is usually solved on a case by case basis, but generally I cringe to think about being a consecutive repeat facebook wall writer. Writer beware.

Bad grammar-er/over-abbreviator. We all enjoy using an approp. abrev. every once and a while. I am guilty of over abbreviating or making a grammar error on occasion, my bad. When is it not appropriate? 1) on facebook posts 2) in blog postings.

As a grammar geek, it pains me to leave other’s postings and/or comments on my wall, photo albums or (rare) status updates if they are grammatically incorrect. If you are taking the time to write a comment on my wall, knowing I am a punk for punctuation, take the time to proofread your post. Maybe it is just me, but I cringe to read posts or blogs with the misplacement of your vs. you’re. The “Kristin, your so awesome!” does not do it for me, and it shouldn’t do it for you either.

Further, the over-abbreviator (usually in conjunction with the bad grammar-er) will most likely send me over the edge. We all know how I feel about the term “LOL,” but what is with people who think that “LOLzzzz, LMAO, ROFLMAO” are appropriate responses to any facebook update. If you are in fact “roflmaoing” you would most definitely not be within reach of your keyboard, and certainly not in a state of mind to coherently express that you are rolling on the floor, laughing your ass off, as you type your response. That is a fact.

Take that, Mark Zuckerberg!