The first thing I divulged in this a blog was: 1. I dance, all the time, everywhere.
It is true. This girlfriend digs dancing. I love to tap, jazz, pointe, hip hop, meringue, fist pump, head bang…you name it, I groove to it.
My formal dancing profession peeked in high school, but my dancing career had just started. Take me back to St. Lawrence University, home to Delta, Dance Team, and the Tick Tock. Dance Team was where I started my informal formal dancing career; a team known for their notorious ground hump at matriculation of Fall 2004…obviously, they had this eager freshman drooling at the mouth for more (oh, and by the way, the aforementioned ground hump was called a “parallel body roll,” thank you very much). I also found my love for dance followed me to the old Delta House, where my friends branded me as “Delta Donce Ponts” because of my talented, yet slightly offensive dance moves, and my favorite dance pants a la Victoria’s Secret. Lastly, I found my calling as a sweaty, care-free, table dancer at the Tick Tock Inn, a bar that by senior year, my other back bending, butt shaking girlfriends and I were at a minimum of 4 times a week. The Tick Tock Inn was the hub of the St. Lawrence University dance culture, and also the birthplace of my two signature dance moves: the air leg guitar, and the dishwasher. Needless to say, I could dwell on these bar memories forever, but graduation came and went, and I left with a cum laude diploma, a Tick Tock minor, and my dance fever, still pumping.
Being a devoted, life long dancer, I am always looking for ways to expand my dance knowledge and experience, a continuing education of sorts. Zumba class? Yes, please! Tap class with a coworker? Naturally! Dancing in the street at completely awkward times? Obviously! Taking on bar dance-offs with (usually short and latino) randos? Duh.
My clearly wide variety of extracurricular dance activities leads me to a very important question: what happened to jazzercise classes, and why have they disappeared? Is there a world of spandex, sweatbands, and bright leotards that I have been missing out on? I certainly hope not since I am already in complete and total bliss when wearing one of those pieces alone; I can’t even fathom the heaven I would be in if able to wear all three at one time.
I have a fever and the only prescription is more Jazzercise.
Really, who wouldn’t want Jazzercise to make a comeback? It combines all core elements that make you sweat: dumbbells, 80’s dance music, those fun little gym steps, plus a cracked out instructor, usually geared up with a headset. Hello, this is a gold mine and no one is capitalizing on it!
Don’t even try to tell me that Zumba is the Jazzercise of the future. Richard Simmons would roll over in his not-yet-dug grave. Yes, I appreciate a good Zumba class, but it will never get my heart and soul pumping like good old Jazzercise would!
This country is gearing up for a revolution. You can smell it in the air. First comes the election of Scott Brown (Go Scott or Go Home!), then what? I say we listen to the energy of the beat and bring back Jazzercise!
Friday, January 29, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Swine:1, Kristin: 0
I had a battle with Swine Flu, beginning August 15, 2009, beginning at one of my best friend’s weddings a la Cape Cod. I fought with Swine Flu, and Swine Flu won.
Sunday, 12AM: After a beautiful wedding ceremony, a few delicious hors d'oeuvres, more than a few cocktails, hours on the dance floor, and a wooting after party at the Hot Stove Saloon, I borrowed sport jacket from fellow wedding attendant. Yes, I thought he was cute, but more so because I was freezing. It was 85 degrees and I was freezing, complete with teeth chattering. If you know me at all you know that is not uncharacteristic of me, but in a bar full of drunk, sweaty people who were peeling off clothing, it was a bit weird…even for me.
Sunday, 3 AM: Us girls headed back to the motel for some well deserved rest and water. I was beat, exhausted, and overheating. Thinking that the open bar and endless Whitney Houston dance numbers had the best of me, I went to bed. When I woke up four hours later, I realized this was no hangover, but that I was in fact dying.
Sunday, 7 AM: I began the two hour drive home from Harwich. It was the longest two hours of my life. I felt cross eyed but was seeing double; I was overheating and sweating but freezing cold, and my brain couldn’t decide whether it wanted to turn off or explode. I often think back and wonder what passing cars thought as they drove by me…crack addict recovering from a rough trip? Seemed probable.
Sunday, 10 AM: I arrived home, I laid down on the couch, and did not get off of it for ten days. My temperature read 103 degrees, and it decided to stick around for the majority of those ten days.
Swine Flu Survival Pack Pictured Above : Left-Right: Ice water, Gatorade, Chloreseptic Spray, trashy gossip mags, headband, quarenteed house phone, thermometer, pointless advil, collection of classic/timeless dvds. (Note: none of these aided, healed, or comforted me besides the timeless/classic dvds)
Sunday- Tuesday: So sick that no medication, or miracle, could help. Symptoms included but were not limited to: lightheadedness, chills, achy bones, headache to the point of nausea, a sense of surrealism/stupor, exhaustion, and I was probably drooling and had no idea. By Tuesday, I had started to look at my brother as the oracle of swine flu; every night he would tell me what my symptoms would be for the following day, and every night he was right. It killed me.
Wednesday-Saturday: Think the fever was the worst part? Wrong; day 4 was the worst of them all. Combine the 102 fever that wouldn’t quit with the worst sore throat imaginable. We aren’t talking an average or even tolerable sore or irritated throat; we are talking about an intolerably painfully, looking for a knife to cut your throat out, irritated, dry, scratchy, raw, unswallowable sore throat. It was a pain that was both unfamiliar and inconsolable; nothing could provide relief for more than 30 second increments…not tea, Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia, not salt water; hell, I could have drank the damn Chloreseptic spray and it wouldn’t have made a difference, even drinking water was excruciating.
Wednesday was also the day I started to feel extremely guilty for missing so much work. I had attempted to work from home, but the pain and complete exhaustion (as I was unable to sleep) caused it to be impossible. In an attempt to show my boss that I wasn’t completely replaceable, I called into a meeting regarding an upcoming project. My boss was the first person to tell me that I had swine flu…if her already successful marketing career doesn’t work out, I will be the first to recommend her to any medical school and/or hospital. Trying to maintain my composure and professionalism, I assured her that I would be into work within the next few days. Wrong.
Thursday: With the fever I thought I would be able to ride out my symptoms, but with the addition of the lasting sore throat I called my doctor because I thought for certain I wouldn’t live to see another day if I had to try and sleep with my swollen tonsils cutting off my airway again. I was positive that I had strep throat, or some tissue eroding fungus that was swelling up and suffocating me. My “never use my prescription pad” doctor rushed me in and did both a strep and swine test, which was an absolute thrill for me, as I love being swabbed and prodded at in a spot where I am convinced I am already growing cancer.
After having tested negative for both, my doctor told me that I had Swine Flu. Remind me again how it is possible to have an illness I tested negative for, if not 30 seconds earlier? Oh, of course it is because the swine flu test is actually completely inaccurate and unreliable; so nice of my doctor-gone-devil to conduct a meaningless and non-reputable test, just to watch me flail in pain.
I left the doctor that day defeated, prescriptionless, and with a smaller soul. You can’t come back from that.
Friday- Monday: Same shit, different day. Friday threw me a curve ball I wasn’t ready for. My boss called. There was a second round of layoffs, and I was a survivor. Glimmer of hope? I’ll take it.
I began to function in a hazy, alternative world stupor; nothing felt real. I had memorized the daytime television schedule, and my diet had consisted of ice cream, Whole Foods mac/cheese, and clam chowder for more than a week.
Then magically, all of my symptoms disappeared as quickly as they first came, but my body was left in pieces. Although my severe symptoms only lasted for ten days, I was recovering for weeks after, and wasn’t my normal self until past the first of September. So, after pints of ice cream, boxes of mac and cheese, days of television, and weeks of gym-less recovery, I am proud to say that my Swine Flu pound count left me at +7.
I am a survivor of Swine Flu. Yes, I recovered and lived to tell about the cultural beast that swept the United States of America this past summer. So besides being a beautiful, quick witted, and incredibly modest individual, I am also invincible to deathly illnesses. I am unstoppable…yeah okay.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Ode to Peanut Butter
There are very few things in life that, just by existing, make the world a better place. One of them being my Grammy, and another being peanut butter.
I could go on and on about peanut butter, but what it really boils down to is consistency...and I mean both kinds.
Consistency:
The first time I had peanut butter was just barely as I started teething. My mother used to put drops of different (soft) foods on my tongue to see what kind of facial reactions I would make in response to them. Peanut butter was a winner from the start. Today, I am still as head over heals for peanut butter as I was in 1986...that is 24 years of unconditional love and support. By far the longest, and healthiest, relationship I have been in thus far; my next boyfriend has some serious competition.
Peanut butter was a lifeline during the elementary school years. When I was a kid, there were two kinds of school days: days with peanut butter and jelly for lunch, and days when there was turkey. Obviously, the peanut butter and jelly sandwich days were of much higher quality than the turkey days, and I learned that at a very young age.
Middle school was a rough patch in my relationship with peanut butter. It was no longer cool to bring lunch to school, and it definitely wasn’t cool to be that kid who had to raise your hand to request “Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich” when they were taking the tally for lunch orders in the morning. My solution? Why, eat peanut butter for breakfast, of course! And so, my breakfast of champions became peanut butter on an English muffin…for the next sevenish years.
As I got older, peanut butter was a companion through many of my adolescent life experiences. Peanut butter stayed up late with me while I was cramming for my five final extravaganza every semester; peanut butter sustained me during marathon Saturdays of college applications, and was there when I opened the acceptance letters…and the one rejection; and PB even accompanied me to West Concord Dance Academy for a quick snack between my 3-9PM marathon days.
College brought peanut butter and I to a new level entirely. Freshman year, I lived closer to the nearest supermarket than I did to the dining hall, so many of those -30 degree winter nights in upstate New York were spent with pretzel rods, oyster crackers, peanut butter, and my good friend, Alex.
Alex shared my love for peanut butter, a love so strong it turned us criminal...literally. Once we realized that our dining hall was charging for small, tablespoon size, travel cups of peanut butter, we decided to steal them. I still stand by my decision to steal peanut butter from St. Lawrence University’s dining services. I mean, I paid the equivalent of $19.50 for a banana, and they have the audacity to charge me for the accompanying peanut butter? Everybody knows that the two go together. It’s like selling a bagel, and charging extra for the cream cheese…oh wait, they did that too.
Peanut butter continued to play a key role in my collegiate career. I figured out that PB and oyster crackers were the only way to lure to get a drunk Alex, my now roommate, into her lofted bunk bed at 3AM, and that PB is a great addition to a vent sesh in the delta kitchen.
Post college and into my young professional life, peanut butter has become a permanent member of my cubicle food shelf and a critical member of my budget diet.
Needless to say, the word to describe peanut butter in my 24 years of existence: consistent.
Consistency:
Peanut butter has good consistency, and lots of them at that. I personally grew up sheltered in the peanut butter world, only being exposed to the smooth varieties until high school. Then I began experimenting with different varieties to try and find the texture that agreed with my mouth best. What did I find? Each variety serves a different purpose, and I love each differently, but equally.
Smooth is an excellent choice when the peanut butter needs to be melty/gooey. Ideal uses for smooth include: on toast or sandwiches, or atop an ice cream sundae. Crunchy is best used when an additional texture is needed; I prefer to use crunchy on apples and/or bananas, just to give my afternoon snack an extra special crunch. Extra crunchy is for when I need an aggressive crunch, a void that no normal crunchy peanut butter can fill. Usually when I have an extra crunchy PB situation, the only utensil needed is a spoon.
I have found that the consistency of peanut butter can be paired with almost all foods already found in my 20-something diet and not just the usual suspects like toast, jelly, apples, celery, and bananas, but even with pretzels, ice cream, chocolate, and carrots. The list is endless...
Peanut butter has good consistency, and should absolutely be its own category on the USDA food pyramid. I mean the “fats, oils, and sweets” section realistically should solely read “peanut butter” for two reasons: one being that peanut butter is the only food that people eat within that category (unless there is a new fad regarding olive oil consumption I am unaware of,) and the second being that peanut butter would be placed at the top of the food pyramid- looking down on all foods, which are sub-par compared to it.
Like all healthy relationships, peanut butter and I have had our turmoil. Our first fight started when I read the back of the jar, and learned of the ridiculously high fat and calorie content. I had minor heart failure, which I still hope had nothing to do with the amount of peanut butter I had previously consumed. I felt tricked and deceived, but I knew that my quality of life would suffer if I cut peanut butter out completely. I believe every relationship has faults and will only prosper if its benefits outweigh its blemishes. In this case, I know that my relationship with peanut butter is worth the risk of clogged arteries. It is a risk I am willing to take.
So, thank you peanut butter, for having great consistency, consistently.
I apologize if, after reading this, you crave peanut butter for the entirety of your day. I wish I could say I feel badly, but all I can really say is: "welcome to my life."
I could go on and on about peanut butter, but what it really boils down to is consistency...and I mean both kinds.
Consistency:
The first time I had peanut butter was just barely as I started teething. My mother used to put drops of different (soft) foods on my tongue to see what kind of facial reactions I would make in response to them. Peanut butter was a winner from the start. Today, I am still as head over heals for peanut butter as I was in 1986...that is 24 years of unconditional love and support. By far the longest, and healthiest, relationship I have been in thus far; my next boyfriend has some serious competition.
Peanut butter was a lifeline during the elementary school years. When I was a kid, there were two kinds of school days: days with peanut butter and jelly for lunch, and days when there was turkey. Obviously, the peanut butter and jelly sandwich days were of much higher quality than the turkey days, and I learned that at a very young age.
Middle school was a rough patch in my relationship with peanut butter. It was no longer cool to bring lunch to school, and it definitely wasn’t cool to be that kid who had to raise your hand to request “Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich” when they were taking the tally for lunch orders in the morning. My solution? Why, eat peanut butter for breakfast, of course! And so, my breakfast of champions became peanut butter on an English muffin…for the next sevenish years.
As I got older, peanut butter was a companion through many of my adolescent life experiences. Peanut butter stayed up late with me while I was cramming for my five final extravaganza every semester; peanut butter sustained me during marathon Saturdays of college applications, and was there when I opened the acceptance letters…and the one rejection; and PB even accompanied me to West Concord Dance Academy for a quick snack between my 3-9PM marathon days.
College brought peanut butter and I to a new level entirely. Freshman year, I lived closer to the nearest supermarket than I did to the dining hall, so many of those -30 degree winter nights in upstate New York were spent with pretzel rods, oyster crackers, peanut butter, and my good friend, Alex.
Alex shared my love for peanut butter, a love so strong it turned us criminal...literally. Once we realized that our dining hall was charging for small, tablespoon size, travel cups of peanut butter, we decided to steal them. I still stand by my decision to steal peanut butter from St. Lawrence University’s dining services. I mean, I paid the equivalent of $19.50 for a banana, and they have the audacity to charge me for the accompanying peanut butter? Everybody knows that the two go together. It’s like selling a bagel, and charging extra for the cream cheese…oh wait, they did that too.
Peanut butter continued to play a key role in my collegiate career. I figured out that PB and oyster crackers were the only way to lure to get a drunk Alex, my now roommate, into her lofted bunk bed at 3AM, and that PB is a great addition to a vent sesh in the delta kitchen.
Post college and into my young professional life, peanut butter has become a permanent member of my cubicle food shelf and a critical member of my budget diet.
Needless to say, the word to describe peanut butter in my 24 years of existence: consistent.
Consistency:
Peanut butter has good consistency, and lots of them at that. I personally grew up sheltered in the peanut butter world, only being exposed to the smooth varieties until high school. Then I began experimenting with different varieties to try and find the texture that agreed with my mouth best. What did I find? Each variety serves a different purpose, and I love each differently, but equally.
Smooth is an excellent choice when the peanut butter needs to be melty/gooey. Ideal uses for smooth include: on toast or sandwiches, or atop an ice cream sundae. Crunchy is best used when an additional texture is needed; I prefer to use crunchy on apples and/or bananas, just to give my afternoon snack an extra special crunch. Extra crunchy is for when I need an aggressive crunch, a void that no normal crunchy peanut butter can fill. Usually when I have an extra crunchy PB situation, the only utensil needed is a spoon.
I have found that the consistency of peanut butter can be paired with almost all foods already found in my 20-something diet and not just the usual suspects like toast, jelly, apples, celery, and bananas, but even with pretzels, ice cream, chocolate, and carrots. The list is endless...
Peanut butter has good consistency, and should absolutely be its own category on the USDA food pyramid. I mean the “fats, oils, and sweets” section realistically should solely read “peanut butter” for two reasons: one being that peanut butter is the only food that people eat within that category (unless there is a new fad regarding olive oil consumption I am unaware of,) and the second being that peanut butter would be placed at the top of the food pyramid- looking down on all foods, which are sub-par compared to it.
Like all healthy relationships, peanut butter and I have had our turmoil. Our first fight started when I read the back of the jar, and learned of the ridiculously high fat and calorie content. I had minor heart failure, which I still hope had nothing to do with the amount of peanut butter I had previously consumed. I felt tricked and deceived, but I knew that my quality of life would suffer if I cut peanut butter out completely. I believe every relationship has faults and will only prosper if its benefits outweigh its blemishes. In this case, I know that my relationship with peanut butter is worth the risk of clogged arteries. It is a risk I am willing to take.
So, thank you peanut butter, for having great consistency, consistently.
I apologize if, after reading this, you crave peanut butter for the entirety of your day. I wish I could say I feel badly, but all I can really say is: "welcome to my life."
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Get Real
My name is Kristin, and I am addicted to trashy reality television.
I have had a strong, developed love for sleazy sitcoms since 1998, when on the Real World: Seattle, I had a crush on Nathan, and Stephen hit Irene in the face. I realized I had stumbled onto a love that was to last me forever. I was twelve.
Being that my exposure to reality shows has been so comprehensive, I am a self-proclaimed reality show connoisseur, and now that watching reality television is “cool” again, with the birth of Jersey Shore, I will I would like to take this opportunity to discuss some of my favorite trashy reality television shows that have premiered over the years, and create an open forum to discuss my guilty pleasure. I know you will read it, because secretly, you love them just as much as I do.
The Real World is the spearhead for reality television; it is the show that started it all, and set the bar for all reality shows, past and present. Thank you Jonathan Murray for bringing positive role models, like Coral, Amaya, Nathan, and Trishelle into the lives of adolescent Americans. I learned valuable teenage lessons from The Real World, including how to throw completely unnecessary tantrums, dance like a drunk tramp in bars, and that bringing randos home is not only normal, but often encouraged. While the older seasons are of much higher quality, the new seasons still bring it home. Overall grade: A-.
Real World/Road Rules Challenge: I put off watching The Challenge for the same reason I will never watch Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights: no sequel is as ever good as the original (the obvious exception being Father of the Bride II.) While I decided I wouldn’t put the integrity of the original at risk, I eventually caved. My name is Kristin and I am addicted to reality television. To my surprise, The Challenge displayed a gallant effort and was able to stand on its own two feet, apart from the mothership of the original, separate from its shadow. I was initially intrigued because of all of the iconic characters from my beloved The Real World, but it was the true complex, in depth plot that kept me coming back for more.
Plus, once The Gauntlet came along, there was an entire new reason to watch (as if I needed another)…Evan. Besides the fact that he is a gorgeous, funny, sarcastic, slightly stupid hockey jock (which we all know is my type to a tee,) he also went to our alma mater for a semester, you know, before he then transferred to Cornell to try and further his hockey career…and no, I am not a stalker, I just had friends on the hockey team.
Overall grade: B+, with room for improvement.
Laguna Beach came along and showed the rest of us common folk how extraordinary life could be if we were all rich, beautiful, and tan. It was an ingenious combination of The Fabulous Life Of, Extreme Homes, and the Real World all rolled into one “reality” television series: I was hooked. Unfortunately, with every new season, and spin off, came the more unrealistic plots, and the rumors that LB was scripted. Gasp! The most recent saga has completely turned me off of the SoCal scene, and between Brody dating a playboy bunny and Speidi revealing her addiction to plastic surgery (no judging, my name is Kristin and I am addicted to trashy reality television,) I have completely lost any interest.
Overall Grade: B for the original season, but subtract a grade point for each subsequent season to follow. The most recent season of the Hills receives a big giant F.
Rock of Love and/or Tila Tequila: Everyone deserves a fair chance at finding love, even the trailer trash, and the bi-curious. These The Bachelor gone wrongs are like equally opportunity dating services for those who can’t find love elsewhere. Who are we to stop them? Nothing paves the way for a fairy tale marriage more so than love, trust, and partially clothed hoes gallivanting around. Tila also provided a glimmer of hope to single girls everywhere: if Dani can find love, you bet your ass the rest of us can. Thank you Brett Michaels, for providing the girls of Hulett 306 with hours of trashy entertainment, and priceless life lessons.
Jersey Shore. Being the aforementioned mayor of reality television series, I would like to officially welcome Jersey Shore to the elite club of successful trashy television shows. She came in as the underdog, and I was nervous I would be watching her alone, but it turns out that everyone in America loves Guidos (and why wouldn’t they?!) As an Italian, as well as an Educational Studies minor, I applaud Jersey Shore for providing examples of true diversity within American culture, and for being able to accurately portray the typical lifestyle of an Italian-American. It is safe to say that all Italians agree that the most important things in life are family, hair gel, tanning, and other Guidos.
This, no doubt, is the beginning of a very detailed analysis of poofs, “shats,” and my personal investigation into whether Snooki was purposefully hit at the bar, or if the offender was merely “beating up the beat” and Snooki’s face was simply in the way. More to come on that at a later date.
Overall Grade: B. Add half a grade point for each tattoo, and subtract one for every shirt that was used as a dress.
While I know this is only a small portion of the quality reality shows that are out there, if I don’t limit myself to writing about only a few of the shows that have significantly affected my life, I would be writing a full memoir, as opposed to a blog. I would like to also like to recognize some other significant, but less recognized series that change my life: Sorority Life (2002), Jon and Kate Plus Eight (pre-Jon going Hollywood and Kate getting extensions), Beauty and the Geek, The Biggest Loser, and my new, most recent vice: Keeping Up With the Kardashians. When the mood strikes me, I will be sure to provide you the Cliffnotes to each, as each of them provided me much insight into my past life choices.
My name is Kristin, and I am addicted to trashy reality television.
I have had a strong, developed love for sleazy sitcoms since 1998, when on the Real World: Seattle, I had a crush on Nathan, and Stephen hit Irene in the face. I realized I had stumbled onto a love that was to last me forever. I was twelve.
Being that my exposure to reality shows has been so comprehensive, I am a self-proclaimed reality show connoisseur, and now that watching reality television is “cool” again, with the birth of Jersey Shore, I will I would like to take this opportunity to discuss some of my favorite trashy reality television shows that have premiered over the years, and create an open forum to discuss my guilty pleasure. I know you will read it, because secretly, you love them just as much as I do.
The Real World is the spearhead for reality television; it is the show that started it all, and set the bar for all reality shows, past and present. Thank you Jonathan Murray for bringing positive role models, like Coral, Amaya, Nathan, and Trishelle into the lives of adolescent Americans. I learned valuable teenage lessons from The Real World, including how to throw completely unnecessary tantrums, dance like a drunk tramp in bars, and that bringing randos home is not only normal, but often encouraged. While the older seasons are of much higher quality, the new seasons still bring it home. Overall grade: A-.
Real World/Road Rules Challenge: I put off watching The Challenge for the same reason I will never watch Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights: no sequel is as ever good as the original (the obvious exception being Father of the Bride II.) While I decided I wouldn’t put the integrity of the original at risk, I eventually caved. My name is Kristin and I am addicted to reality television. To my surprise, The Challenge displayed a gallant effort and was able to stand on its own two feet, apart from the mothership of the original, separate from its shadow. I was initially intrigued because of all of the iconic characters from my beloved The Real World, but it was the true complex, in depth plot that kept me coming back for more.
Plus, once The Gauntlet came along, there was an entire new reason to watch (as if I needed another)…Evan. Besides the fact that he is a gorgeous, funny, sarcastic, slightly stupid hockey jock (which we all know is my type to a tee,) he also went to our alma mater for a semester, you know, before he then transferred to Cornell to try and further his hockey career…and no, I am not a stalker, I just had friends on the hockey team.
Overall grade: B+, with room for improvement.
Laguna Beach came along and showed the rest of us common folk how extraordinary life could be if we were all rich, beautiful, and tan. It was an ingenious combination of The Fabulous Life Of, Extreme Homes, and the Real World all rolled into one “reality” television series: I was hooked. Unfortunately, with every new season, and spin off, came the more unrealistic plots, and the rumors that LB was scripted. Gasp! The most recent saga has completely turned me off of the SoCal scene, and between Brody dating a playboy bunny and Speidi revealing her addiction to plastic surgery (no judging, my name is Kristin and I am addicted to trashy reality television,) I have completely lost any interest.
Overall Grade: B for the original season, but subtract a grade point for each subsequent season to follow. The most recent season of the Hills receives a big giant F.
Rock of Love and/or Tila Tequila: Everyone deserves a fair chance at finding love, even the trailer trash, and the bi-curious. These The Bachelor gone wrongs are like equally opportunity dating services for those who can’t find love elsewhere. Who are we to stop them? Nothing paves the way for a fairy tale marriage more so than love, trust, and partially clothed hoes gallivanting around. Tila also provided a glimmer of hope to single girls everywhere: if Dani can find love, you bet your ass the rest of us can. Thank you Brett Michaels, for providing the girls of Hulett 306 with hours of trashy entertainment, and priceless life lessons.
Jersey Shore. Being the aforementioned mayor of reality television series, I would like to officially welcome Jersey Shore to the elite club of successful trashy television shows. She came in as the underdog, and I was nervous I would be watching her alone, but it turns out that everyone in America loves Guidos (and why wouldn’t they?!) As an Italian, as well as an Educational Studies minor, I applaud Jersey Shore for providing examples of true diversity within American culture, and for being able to accurately portray the typical lifestyle of an Italian-American. It is safe to say that all Italians agree that the most important things in life are family, hair gel, tanning, and other Guidos.
This, no doubt, is the beginning of a very detailed analysis of poofs, “shats,” and my personal investigation into whether Snooki was purposefully hit at the bar, or if the offender was merely “beating up the beat” and Snooki’s face was simply in the way. More to come on that at a later date.
Overall Grade: B. Add half a grade point for each tattoo, and subtract one for every shirt that was used as a dress.
While I know this is only a small portion of the quality reality shows that are out there, if I don’t limit myself to writing about only a few of the shows that have significantly affected my life, I would be writing a full memoir, as opposed to a blog. I would like to also like to recognize some other significant, but less recognized series that change my life: Sorority Life (2002), Jon and Kate Plus Eight (pre-Jon going Hollywood and Kate getting extensions), Beauty and the Geek, The Biggest Loser, and my new, most recent vice: Keeping Up With the Kardashians. When the mood strikes me, I will be sure to provide you the Cliffnotes to each, as each of them provided me much insight into my past life choices.
My name is Kristin, and I am addicted to trashy reality television.
Monday, January 25, 2010
traffic jam when you're already late
Alanis Morissette was right. Irony is a bitch. That whole: “meeting the man of my dreams, and then meeting his beautiful wife [girlfriend, boyfriend, really awful ego]” line…she knows her shit. Alanis, you are the J. K. Gannon of unlucky Americans everywhere.
My recent brush with irony? Thursday, I blogged about my nose-picking theory on gossip. Twenty four hours later, a friend and I find ourselves in the midst of an intense gossip scandal. Granted, I didn’t know I was in the midst of it until this morning (shows how far down the high school gossip phone tree I am,) and were not talking “jaw dropping, sleepless night” kind of gossip, but it’s a scandal nonetheless.
Is there a chance that this isn’t some kind of coincidence? Is it possible that the gossiper with the big trapperkeeper read my blog, digested my thoughts and then immediately threw me to the gossip monsters? Doubtful, since a) who has the time and resources to do that, but mainly b) my blog web stats are anything but impressive. I imagine I have totaled maybe six unique visitors and ten total impressions, making it a very small pool of gossiping suspects.
It is still up for debate as to whether this is an example of irony at its best, if I am a telepathic blogger, or if I am a victim of a blog hit and run, but regardless I still ask myself the question: “Now what?”
Has becoming an instant subject of a trivial rumor changed the way I feel about gossip? Not so much. If anything, I am still stuck like gum on my idea of gossip being a natural response to stimulus, and it’s existence being in the hands of the quidnunc. I have, however, gone from Second Lieutenant to First in my gossip detective work, and I have also realized I couldn’t care less about what certain people say or think about me.
I am just going to leave it at that as I can feel my mood changing from curious Sherlock Holmes to catty Regina George at a rapid pace, but I just felt like this moment bared recording, you know, in case I continue to clairvoyantly blog and we sense a trend.
Gossip away, but don’t be surprised when it comes around and kicks you in the ass…hard.
And if this is a trend developing, does this mean that something significant is going to happen to me while I am driving on the pike?
My recent brush with irony? Thursday, I blogged about my nose-picking theory on gossip. Twenty four hours later, a friend and I find ourselves in the midst of an intense gossip scandal. Granted, I didn’t know I was in the midst of it until this morning (shows how far down the high school gossip phone tree I am,) and were not talking “jaw dropping, sleepless night” kind of gossip, but it’s a scandal nonetheless.
Is there a chance that this isn’t some kind of coincidence? Is it possible that the gossiper with the big trapperkeeper read my blog, digested my thoughts and then immediately threw me to the gossip monsters? Doubtful, since a) who has the time and resources to do that, but mainly b) my blog web stats are anything but impressive. I imagine I have totaled maybe six unique visitors and ten total impressions, making it a very small pool of gossiping suspects.
It is still up for debate as to whether this is an example of irony at its best, if I am a telepathic blogger, or if I am a victim of a blog hit and run, but regardless I still ask myself the question: “Now what?”
Has becoming an instant subject of a trivial rumor changed the way I feel about gossip? Not so much. If anything, I am still stuck like gum on my idea of gossip being a natural response to stimulus, and it’s existence being in the hands of the quidnunc. I have, however, gone from Second Lieutenant to First in my gossip detective work, and I have also realized I couldn’t care less about what certain people say or think about me.
I am just going to leave it at that as I can feel my mood changing from curious Sherlock Holmes to catty Regina George at a rapid pace, but I just felt like this moment bared recording, you know, in case I continue to clairvoyantly blog and we sense a trend.
Gossip away, but don’t be surprised when it comes around and kicks you in the ass…hard.
And if this is a trend developing, does this mean that something significant is going to happen to me while I am driving on the pike?
Friday, January 22, 2010
Saab 9-3
I am a Boston commuter and that means one thing: I am forced to drive on I-90 daily. Below are the things I think about more often than not while commuting to Framingham and back every day. Any true commuter will agree with me on many of the following observations, and here begins my Boston ranting:
The Good:
Pro: Its familiarity. As a native JOB resident (Just outside of Boston, for all you nons), I have always associated interstates 90, 95, and 128 with being close to home…the hub of the United States. As long as someone can get me to the Mass Pike, I will be able to find my way home. So, Mazel Tov, Mass Pike, for being a beacon of light toward home for so many years and counting…
Pro: It’s a one stop shop: I get on the pike at my apartment, and 2 (expensive) tolls later, I exit the pike at work. Simple, easy, and a good transition into my workday.
Pro: Once I arrive at work, I feel less stressed at my desk than I did for the previous 30-45 minutes of my life behind the wheel. Same goes for when I arrive home. Small life victory.
The Bad:
Con: Two words: Pot. Hole. Yes, I know we are in the 42nd year of the Big Dig, and don’t get me wrong, I love the new tunnel to the airport…but the conditions of Massachusetts state roads are atrocious. Driving to the airport is like a real life, real consequence version of Mario Kart. Your mission: get brother to airport on time. Level one is avoiding pot holes and construction details, while being able to maneuver your vehicle between lanes and beating traffic; level two adds things falling from above, like tunnel tiles and rocks from overpasses. Finish line= Ted Williams tunnel, which provides a brief moment of relief, only to be interrupted by a feeling of impending doom when I realize that the only thing separating me from millions of gallons of ocean water is a concrete wall made by the same people who can’t properly adhere tiles to the top of a tunnel. Panic!
Con: The traffic: Eastbound, Westbound, 9AM, 1PM- there will always be traffic one way or another. There is a permanent centrifugal force that drives cars to the pike and keeps them there at ALL HOURS of the day (and who says I didn’t retain anything from physics, Mrs. Mills.) Think you can beat the traffic by leaving 4 hours early for a Bruins game? Wrong, because half the people going to the Bruins game have thought of the same thing, as have the commuters who are trying to avoid the same traffic as you…so now instead of 2 hours of bumper to bumper white knuckle driving, there is now a glacially moving 4 hour pile up, starting at the Weston State Police Barracks and shuffling through to 93.
Con: The billboards: The pike billboards bother me for two reasons: one being that they are completely and totally distracting, as if Massachusetts drivers need yet another reason to take their eyes and concentration of the road; the other being that each and every billboard is a nagging reminder that I am slowly going blind. Let’s tackle the distraction of billboards first, shall we? Being a young marketing professional, I completely appreciate the need for guerilla marketing in an urban, well travelled area, and often find myself admiring many of the billboards I see, but that is a separate topic for another day.
The megatron videoscreen popping out of the New Balance building is not only completely overpowering and bright, but it has yet to display any actual advertising message. While I do love looking at gigantic photos of the WHDH team and black/white photos of babies crying, I find that I spend a significant amount of time waiting for the picture to change, and less time with my eyes on the road. Have they intertwined a hypnotic component that I should be aware of? Maybe, maybe not, but what I can tell you is that I don’t want Bob, the guy driving the 18-wheeler mac truck next to me, to also have fallen into the hypnosis of the movie screen and lost focus of the little black Saab I am driving on his immediate left. Thanks, but no thanks.
The billboard is also a constant reminder of my ophthalmological needs. The blurry billboard issue really has nothing to do with the structure itself, besides the fact that I feel like it is taunting and mocking me for being unable to see it clearly. Every time I read one, or try to rather, I remember I cannot find my glasses and that my eyesight is slowly fading because I am too stubborn to either a) schedule an appointment and buy new ones, or b) find my functioning pair. I know once I choose to do either option, preferably the latter, I will look at these same billboards and give them a giant “Can’t fool me, pig,” but for now I dislike them…and will continue to do so.
Con: The fact that no matter which lane I drive in, it automatically becomes the slow lane. This however, can morph into a pro once I pass the driver and shoot them the “you are the worst driver ever” look. One point Kristin. How is it that Caravans never seem to realize that they are being aggressively passed by cars on both the left and the right?
The Ugly:
Call me crazy, but I have always thought that someday while stuck in traffic (see: The Bad), I would just happen to pull up next a shiny beemer, with a dashing, tall, dark and handsome Prince Charming sitting behind the wheel. Clearly he would throw his phone number up against his window, and we would live happily ever after. That might happen in LA, but it will never happen on the pike. Ever…unless your type is the grungy, slightly overweight, HVAC white van driver, and in that case- game on.
Why not just keep my eyes on the road and shut up? Because I am a masshole, and we don’t do that here.
The Good:
Pro: Its familiarity. As a native JOB resident (Just outside of Boston, for all you nons), I have always associated interstates 90, 95, and 128 with being close to home…the hub of the United States. As long as someone can get me to the Mass Pike, I will be able to find my way home. So, Mazel Tov, Mass Pike, for being a beacon of light toward home for so many years and counting…
Pro: It’s a one stop shop: I get on the pike at my apartment, and 2 (expensive) tolls later, I exit the pike at work. Simple, easy, and a good transition into my workday.
Pro: Once I arrive at work, I feel less stressed at my desk than I did for the previous 30-45 minutes of my life behind the wheel. Same goes for when I arrive home. Small life victory.
The Bad:
Con: Two words: Pot. Hole. Yes, I know we are in the 42nd year of the Big Dig, and don’t get me wrong, I love the new tunnel to the airport…but the conditions of Massachusetts state roads are atrocious. Driving to the airport is like a real life, real consequence version of Mario Kart. Your mission: get brother to airport on time. Level one is avoiding pot holes and construction details, while being able to maneuver your vehicle between lanes and beating traffic; level two adds things falling from above, like tunnel tiles and rocks from overpasses. Finish line= Ted Williams tunnel, which provides a brief moment of relief, only to be interrupted by a feeling of impending doom when I realize that the only thing separating me from millions of gallons of ocean water is a concrete wall made by the same people who can’t properly adhere tiles to the top of a tunnel. Panic!
Con: The traffic: Eastbound, Westbound, 9AM, 1PM- there will always be traffic one way or another. There is a permanent centrifugal force that drives cars to the pike and keeps them there at ALL HOURS of the day (and who says I didn’t retain anything from physics, Mrs. Mills.) Think you can beat the traffic by leaving 4 hours early for a Bruins game? Wrong, because half the people going to the Bruins game have thought of the same thing, as have the commuters who are trying to avoid the same traffic as you…so now instead of 2 hours of bumper to bumper white knuckle driving, there is now a glacially moving 4 hour pile up, starting at the Weston State Police Barracks and shuffling through to 93.
Con: The billboards: The pike billboards bother me for two reasons: one being that they are completely and totally distracting, as if Massachusetts drivers need yet another reason to take their eyes and concentration of the road; the other being that each and every billboard is a nagging reminder that I am slowly going blind. Let’s tackle the distraction of billboards first, shall we? Being a young marketing professional, I completely appreciate the need for guerilla marketing in an urban, well travelled area, and often find myself admiring many of the billboards I see, but that is a separate topic for another day.
The megatron videoscreen popping out of the New Balance building is not only completely overpowering and bright, but it has yet to display any actual advertising message. While I do love looking at gigantic photos of the WHDH team and black/white photos of babies crying, I find that I spend a significant amount of time waiting for the picture to change, and less time with my eyes on the road. Have they intertwined a hypnotic component that I should be aware of? Maybe, maybe not, but what I can tell you is that I don’t want Bob, the guy driving the 18-wheeler mac truck next to me, to also have fallen into the hypnosis of the movie screen and lost focus of the little black Saab I am driving on his immediate left. Thanks, but no thanks.
The billboard is also a constant reminder of my ophthalmological needs. The blurry billboard issue really has nothing to do with the structure itself, besides the fact that I feel like it is taunting and mocking me for being unable to see it clearly. Every time I read one, or try to rather, I remember I cannot find my glasses and that my eyesight is slowly fading because I am too stubborn to either a) schedule an appointment and buy new ones, or b) find my functioning pair. I know once I choose to do either option, preferably the latter, I will look at these same billboards and give them a giant “Can’t fool me, pig,” but for now I dislike them…and will continue to do so.
Con: The fact that no matter which lane I drive in, it automatically becomes the slow lane. This however, can morph into a pro once I pass the driver and shoot them the “you are the worst driver ever” look. One point Kristin. How is it that Caravans never seem to realize that they are being aggressively passed by cars on both the left and the right?
The Ugly:
Call me crazy, but I have always thought that someday while stuck in traffic (see: The Bad), I would just happen to pull up next a shiny beemer, with a dashing, tall, dark and handsome Prince Charming sitting behind the wheel. Clearly he would throw his phone number up against his window, and we would live happily ever after. That might happen in LA, but it will never happen on the pike. Ever…unless your type is the grungy, slightly overweight, HVAC white van driver, and in that case- game on.
Why not just keep my eyes on the road and shut up? Because I am a masshole, and we don’t do that here.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
keep your shnaz to yourself?
I am a selective mental pack rat. I am not sure where this memory ability was when I was in college, cramming for my United States Foreign policy final, but nonetheless it has surfaced since. I have realized I learn and retain information that is not important for me to know and I hang onto it, somewhere below this shoulder length blonde mop I have. Why has it become a problem? Because I am now a constant thinker… and it is exhausting.
Solution? 2010 is the year of the mental de-clutter. I do not know how I will do this, nor do I know if it is possible to do, but I do know I will need to encounter one of my biggest demons: gossip.
I have had a love-hate relationship with gossip over the past 23.6 years. My naturally curious (and female!) personality yearns for the most up to date information on whatever perks my interest at that particular moment: intimate details about JT and Jessica Biel’s nasty break up? Yes, please! Interesting late night rendezvous revealed during an early Sunday morning fire alarm in Hulett? Why not! Newsfeed on facebook? Sure thing!
Having completely confessed to my dependence and intrigue for gossip, I have come up with my own social theory on this topic.
Gossip is like picking your nose, and here is why.
To the world, picking your nose is embarrassing, and being caught picking your nose is even worse. Those who say they do not pick their nose are flat out liars. They are scared of the social ramifications they will suffer if they admit to doing something that has been labeled to be so humiliating.
The reality? Everyone picks their nose. It is a natural reaction to a stimulus coming from your own body. You have an itch? Scratch it! Something blocking your nasal passage? Remove it. Am I the only person in the world who thinks that there is a reason your finger can even fit into your nose holes in the first place? I certainly hope not. The part that makes a difference is what you do with the booger after picking it (insert potty mouth booger joke here.) The mildly socially acceptable thing to do with the aforementioned booger would be to use a tissue or discretely dispose of it. The unacceptable thing to do would be to eat it, or as my brother prefers to do, flick it at an innocent bystander.
Gossip is like picking your nose. It is something that everyone does, but no one will admit to it because of the social ramifications it brings along with it. But just like picking your nose, gossip is a natural reaction to a stimulus provided to your brain. The part that makes a difference is what you do with the gossip after you have heard it, just like when you pick your nose. The choice you need to make is this: are you going to be the one to spread the gossip, essentially becoming a chain in the game of telephone, or are you going to keep it to yourself?
At the end of the day, everyone has both perpetuated gossip and halted it, so why is it perceived in such a negative light? If everyone does it, why do we associate negative traits to those who are “gossipers,” when in reality we all gossip at heart. Further, why is it socially acceptable for us common folk to pry into the lives of celebrities, but then feel so violated when our privacy is compromised?
Obviously this is still a working analogy, and I may have just confused myself completely, but this is step one of my mental de-clutter.
Think gossip is unnatural now? Well guess what…its snot!
Solution? 2010 is the year of the mental de-clutter. I do not know how I will do this, nor do I know if it is possible to do, but I do know I will need to encounter one of my biggest demons: gossip.
I have had a love-hate relationship with gossip over the past 23.6 years. My naturally curious (and female!) personality yearns for the most up to date information on whatever perks my interest at that particular moment: intimate details about JT and Jessica Biel’s nasty break up? Yes, please! Interesting late night rendezvous revealed during an early Sunday morning fire alarm in Hulett? Why not! Newsfeed on facebook? Sure thing!
Having completely confessed to my dependence and intrigue for gossip, I have come up with my own social theory on this topic.
Gossip is like picking your nose, and here is why.
To the world, picking your nose is embarrassing, and being caught picking your nose is even worse. Those who say they do not pick their nose are flat out liars. They are scared of the social ramifications they will suffer if they admit to doing something that has been labeled to be so humiliating.
The reality? Everyone picks their nose. It is a natural reaction to a stimulus coming from your own body. You have an itch? Scratch it! Something blocking your nasal passage? Remove it. Am I the only person in the world who thinks that there is a reason your finger can even fit into your nose holes in the first place? I certainly hope not. The part that makes a difference is what you do with the booger after picking it (insert potty mouth booger joke here.) The mildly socially acceptable thing to do with the aforementioned booger would be to use a tissue or discretely dispose of it. The unacceptable thing to do would be to eat it, or as my brother prefers to do, flick it at an innocent bystander.
Gossip is like picking your nose. It is something that everyone does, but no one will admit to it because of the social ramifications it brings along with it. But just like picking your nose, gossip is a natural reaction to a stimulus provided to your brain. The part that makes a difference is what you do with the gossip after you have heard it, just like when you pick your nose. The choice you need to make is this: are you going to be the one to spread the gossip, essentially becoming a chain in the game of telephone, or are you going to keep it to yourself?
At the end of the day, everyone has both perpetuated gossip and halted it, so why is it perceived in such a negative light? If everyone does it, why do we associate negative traits to those who are “gossipers,” when in reality we all gossip at heart. Further, why is it socially acceptable for us common folk to pry into the lives of celebrities, but then feel so violated when our privacy is compromised?
Obviously this is still a working analogy, and I may have just confused myself completely, but this is step one of my mental de-clutter.
Think gossip is unnatural now? Well guess what…its snot!
day 1
this is the birth of my blog. after weeks of mental prep and self thought, hours of procrastination, and many failed attempts at a witty blog name and bi-line (which is still, and probably will always be a work in progress,) i have given in and published, therefore commited to, a blog.
i am not sure why i have gotten such cold feet regarding a blog, nor do i know what i plan to write about...but what i do know is that i am always very jealous of people who blog, and so i plan to become a blogger. right here. right now.
so, before i jump into this random, but slightly interesting blog of mine, i found it fitting to share some random, but slightly interesting facts about myself to get this ball rolling...and here they are.
1. I dance, all the time, everywhere.
2. I believe it should be socially acceptable to wear pajamas everywhere, including work and in bars.
3. I never have, or will, color my hair
4. I wish I was a combo of Cameron Diaz, Reese Witherspoon, and Kate Hudson (wardrobes included)
5. I love crime investigation shows (ex: csi, law and order, ncis) and think the perfect murder involves an icicle (sick, i know)
6. if I could eat one thing for the rest of my life it would be goldfish and diet coke.
7. and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches…
8. why eat an m&m if there is no peanut in it?
9. I have, and will always love my church on Christmas eve
10. I am always cold.
11. i have had only one screen name since the birth of aol...i feel as though i was a very insightful 12 year old
12. i'm afraid of heights, shark attacks, bridges over water, and being alone
13. the best alcoholic drink is one that has the least amount of flavor, and the most amount of alcohol.
14. some of my closest friends are the ones I made in kindergarten
15. drinking apple juice makes me feel sick- and I think it is because I saw my brother drink so much of it as a kid
16. fave movies = Dirty Dancing, Father of the Bride II, and Overboard
17. I love Tri Delt and the girls in it, and will forever make deltas with my hands in pictures for the rest of my life
18. some of my happiest memories are in a run down college bar in Canton, NY
19. I can wiggle my ears, touch my tongue to my nose, snap with all fingers, and stand on my toes
20. I think the people who invented garages, space heaters, and Swedish fish are genius, and want to give them a hug and a thank you note.
21. I am an unintentional cover hog
22. i love good bloody marys and extra dirty vodka martinis
23. I love driving with the windows down, even if its cold
24. I love the feeling of sand between my toes, but not the feeling of not being able to get it off of you.
25. I love surprises.
26. i analyze people, and overanalyze people
27. im allergic to pine nuts
28. i am scared to sleep with socks on
29. i always hate my haircut
30. i hate it when people say "LOL" and cant respond to people when they say "LOLOLOLOL" ewwww.
31. my favorite season is indian summer
32. i'm loyal, spontaneous, and sometimes stubborn
33. i would do almost anything to help a friend
34. i am a survivor of swine flu.
35. i'd rather eat cookie dough than a cookie.
So, before I begin this self reflective, rambling, but hopefully a bit funny adventure, I would like to express a big beforehand "thank you" to those who are reading this (if there are any at all) for forgiving me in my inability to transcribe my verbal wittiness onto paper, or any other written medium for that matter. I hope that your humor and interests will align with mine, and you will be intrigued by this fun, educated 20-something who needs something to do besides drink, dance, and laugh with friends.
i am not sure why i have gotten such cold feet regarding a blog, nor do i know what i plan to write about...but what i do know is that i am always very jealous of people who blog, and so i plan to become a blogger. right here. right now.
so, before i jump into this random, but slightly interesting blog of mine, i found it fitting to share some random, but slightly interesting facts about myself to get this ball rolling...and here they are.
1. I dance, all the time, everywhere.
2. I believe it should be socially acceptable to wear pajamas everywhere, including work and in bars.
3. I never have, or will, color my hair
4. I wish I was a combo of Cameron Diaz, Reese Witherspoon, and Kate Hudson (wardrobes included)
5. I love crime investigation shows (ex: csi, law and order, ncis) and think the perfect murder involves an icicle (sick, i know)
6. if I could eat one thing for the rest of my life it would be goldfish and diet coke.
7. and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches…
8. why eat an m&m if there is no peanut in it?
9. I have, and will always love my church on Christmas eve
10. I am always cold.
11. i have had only one screen name since the birth of aol...i feel as though i was a very insightful 12 year old
12. i'm afraid of heights, shark attacks, bridges over water, and being alone
13. the best alcoholic drink is one that has the least amount of flavor, and the most amount of alcohol.
14. some of my closest friends are the ones I made in kindergarten
15. drinking apple juice makes me feel sick- and I think it is because I saw my brother drink so much of it as a kid
16. fave movies = Dirty Dancing, Father of the Bride II, and Overboard
17. I love Tri Delt and the girls in it, and will forever make deltas with my hands in pictures for the rest of my life
18. some of my happiest memories are in a run down college bar in Canton, NY
19. I can wiggle my ears, touch my tongue to my nose, snap with all fingers, and stand on my toes
20. I think the people who invented garages, space heaters, and Swedish fish are genius, and want to give them a hug and a thank you note.
21. I am an unintentional cover hog
22. i love good bloody marys and extra dirty vodka martinis
23. I love driving with the windows down, even if its cold
24. I love the feeling of sand between my toes, but not the feeling of not being able to get it off of you.
25. I love surprises.
26. i analyze people, and overanalyze people
27. im allergic to pine nuts
28. i am scared to sleep with socks on
29. i always hate my haircut
30. i hate it when people say "LOL" and cant respond to people when they say "LOLOLOLOL" ewwww.
31. my favorite season is indian summer
32. i'm loyal, spontaneous, and sometimes stubborn
33. i would do almost anything to help a friend
34. i am a survivor of swine flu.
35. i'd rather eat cookie dough than a cookie.
So, before I begin this self reflective, rambling, but hopefully a bit funny adventure, I would like to express a big beforehand "thank you" to those who are reading this (if there are any at all) for forgiving me in my inability to transcribe my verbal wittiness onto paper, or any other written medium for that matter. I hope that your humor and interests will align with mine, and you will be intrigued by this fun, educated 20-something who needs something to do besides drink, dance, and laugh with friends.
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