Friday, July 30, 2010

Dun Nuh, Dun Nuh, Dun-nuh-na-nuh-na-nuh....

In my world of television, this is the most important week of the year.

Two reasons:

  1. Jersey Shore is back (don’t even act like that doesn’t excite you)
  2. It is Shark Week, beginning Monday (insert my squeal of pure excitement.)

I am deathly afraid of sharks. I developed a complex on the shore of Rye Beach, NH circa summer 1995ish when three detrimental events happened that turned my fascination with sharks into complete and utter terror.

The first incident that shook my shark world was when a sick, baby shark washed up on shore dead. My first reaction? “Oh my god, there is a shark on my beach.” My second? “Poor shark, his family is definitely looking for him.” My third? “Oh My God, an entire clan of sharks are looking for their lost son and are going to take revenge on innocent swimmers because they are going to think we killed him.” My fourth? “I’m never going in the ocean again.” (Clearly I was [just slightly] neurotic, even as a child…) Sharks were no longer a big, scary monster that swam around eating people off the coasts of Australia, California, and Florida; they existed in my very own beach. How rude.

The second incident included all of the neighborhood boys teaching me how to surf in high tide. High tide= big waves. Mind you I was a lot younger than all the boys on the beach, and so when they asked me to do anything I pretty much thought I was the coolest thing in the world. Regardless, when said surf lesson commenced, neighbor boy decided to motivate me by saying: “Pretend each wave has a giant Great White Shark behind it, and if you don’t catch it, the wave shark will eat you.” Great analogy for a seven-year-old, nimrod. Out of the water I went, after a few “Kristin, you can’t show him how scared you are because then you wont be cool, and they will never ask you to hang out with them again” tried on the surf board.

The third event involved inner tubes, cousins, and an accidental, very far out, drifting panic, where I most definitely knew we were in shark territory and also knew if my mother knew how far out we were, she would absolutely kill me. I kicked as hard as I could to get all of us out of deep water, no pun intended. That was it. From then on, I was terrified.

How terrified? I refused to watch any of the following: Jaws (any of them), Deep Blue Sea, Open Water, Megalodon, or Anaconda (same principle, different animal). Similarly, I refused to go on the Jaws ride while on vacation and only went swimming with Dolphins because I knew they could fight off sharks (you’ve seen Flipper, haven’t you?)

Ironically, I love Shark Week. I think it is because I am so scared of sharks, I secretly love learning everything about them. As long as I am not in the water, sharks pose no immediate threat to me…and so, I can enjoy learning about sharks from the comfort and safety of my couch. Similarly, the more I know about sharks, the more I can do to prevent a run in with said shark when out on the open seas. Overall, shark week is the best form of preventative education for me in order to prolong time until my inevitable shark attack.

Also, in completely unrelated, but just as important news…I have come up with a personal solution to my LOL problem. Now, instead of writing out Laugh Out Loud, to show people that I refuse to say LOL in any abbreviated sense, I will simply write “Oh, I just laughed aloud.” Completely different statement. Oddly enough, it doesn’t offend me nearly as much, so were going with it.

Thursday, July 29, 2010

TGIT


Good: Pelham Island Road welcomes all types of visitors. Especially those Cousin Eddie wannabes.

Great: This number is parked at the same house with the giant, 20 foot tall pineapple painted on the front of their barn door. Its only weird until you learn that the pineapple stands for welcome in Massachusetts culture (okay, so its still weird, but at least their intentions were good?)

TGIT: Well, this new addition is good for two reasons. One being that I have something else to distract me from staring at the giant Pineapple when driving home everyday; the other being another great landmark for me to give people who are trying to navigate around the burbs. Instead of just “Turn left and look for the house with the giant pineapple on the left (which usually causes an awkward silence, followed by a follow-up question)” I can now add in “Turn left and look for the house with the giant pineapple and RV in front.” I mean, they will know they didn’t misunderstand both things in my directions, therefore they will take it for what it is…no explanation necessary.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

No, No, Summer Won't Go!

This just in. Summer is not over.

It is only July 28th, people. I have a month and a half of summer left followed by my favorite season, Indian summer. Don’t try to rush away the things [tans, corn on the cob, tans, day drinking outside, tans] that make me happy.

So, to lengthen my summer experience, I am asking people to stop doing the following:
  1. Media Teams: Stop pushing September already. I am talking to you, really bad Office Max “back to school” commercial. You have aired even sooner than the Staples “back to school” commercial. Shame on you.
  2. Teachers: stop talking about how summer vacation is almost over and you have to go back to work soon. Newsflash: you’re the only profession who gets a three month long “summer vacation” over the age of 21. Consider yourself lucky and stop complaining.
  3. News Anchors: please stop using the “enjoy the weather while it lasts” segway in an attempt to avoid any other awkward silences. We can prepare for impending doom on our own, no need to cast the black cloud above all of our heads, Eeyore.
  4. Stores: Hold on the fall fashion. I know you are excited to show us all those new looks in olive, neutrals, and eggplant, but do we really need to see you taking bathing suits off shelves in June?

So a big, giant “stop” to all you haters rushing away summer. The only people who can officially call off summer are the UPS men, because we all know summer is over once the UPS deliverymen trade their shorts for pants. I’m not panicking, because by then we will already be talking about snow. Ew.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

True Life: I Snatch Babies

I like babies the way some people like puppies.

I understand this sentence requires an explanation, so here it is.

You know how some people are obsessed with puppies? Like the “use a cutesy voice, giggle with excitement, needs to pet it” kind of obsessive?

Yeah, well that is how I am with babies, well sans the whole petting thing.

If I find a baby particularly cute, I almost always need to say something to the parents/nanny/grandparents/nearest rando about how adorable their baby is, and then silently pray that they will stop and let me swoon over said baby.

Apparently this is not a normal response? I am sorry I’m not sorry.

I have always said that someday I am going to scare a new mother because of my sudden interest in her obviously cute offspring. I just didn’t expect that day to actually come.

Well, yesterday was the day. Yesterday was the day when a woman thought I was going to steal her baby. Um, do I look like a child thief?

At any rate, I was so mortified that I haven’t actually told anyone about it yet because I felt so uncomfortable about said interaction. I mean, I just thought her baby was cute!

Ok Kristin, back up before you send yourself into a complete panic about it…again.

So. Yesterday I was in line at CVS picking up one of my 4354235 prescriptions (with the aforementioned happy pharmacist.) Per usual, while in line I read People Magazine as fast as humanly possible (so that I can get my Lindsay [All Time] Low-han gossip fo’ free) it happened.

I saw the most perfect baby ever. This little man was a blonde, blue eyed beauty wearing light blue overall shorts, playing with his hair and giggling. Cutest. Thing. Ever.

Once I glanced up, I made eye contact with said perfect baby who was smiling at me, so I did what any normal 24 year old female would do; I said “Hi” in my cute “I am talking to a baby” voice.

While normally I don’t interact with babies unless I am joined by a friend (because evidently 2 girls saying hi to a baby is less weird than one girl saying hi to a baby- go figure), this one was just too cute to pass up.

Reality Check. Apparently, talking to a baby alone is no longer normal, which is news to me.

Diva Mom immediately popped around (mid prescription pick up), shot me a “This baby isn’t for sale” look and stormed out.

Insert oddest, most confusing, rejected, awkward silence of my life. A bit confused as to what just happened, I moved forward and submitted my prescription refill to the pharmacist [who loves her job] and began to reflect. “Self, did you just scare a mother enough for her to leave CVS mid prescription pick up?”

Clearly the woman in line next to me saw how distraught I was over this odd baby interaction I had just had, and said “Well, aren’t I happy I didn’t say anything to her in the Advil aisle. What a nut!”

Okay lady, your “I’m just trying to make you feel better, because you did nothing wrong” comment did.not.work.

I am going to continue sulking until someone tells me I am not completely crazy.

Monday, July 26, 2010

Just Another Manic Monday (Wooo-ahhh-ohh)

My day (and even a few weekend highlights) in questions:

  • Why did it take me so long to figure out that when I dispose of a banana peel and orange rind in my cube trash create a not-so-faint dumpster-esque smell?
  • Why are pharmacists so grumpy? They get paid big bucks to work in air conditioning and talk to people. Maybe your day will go by faster if you smile, Miss “I am slightly emo, look about 15, but am still smart enough to be a pharmacist” pharmacist
  • Why had I never heard the song “Home” until just recently, and since then it has been playing every.where?
  • What is it about the Stoli Blueberry, Soda, Lime combo that makes them so delicious?
  • Why did I opt to drink 5 full iced-venti-sized Starbucks cups full of water? Half of my day has been dedicated to walking to and from the bathroom.
  • Who thought it was a good idea to give up pretty much anything delicious the week before Jackie’s wedding?
  • Why do they not make children’s films like they used to. Don’t even try to tell me that The Squeekquel can be compared to Mary Martin’s Peter Pan. Just don’t do it.
  • Why does Mad Men only play once a week during one season? There should be an entire channel dedicated to Donald Draper, 24/7.
  • How much shorter I can push my dresses to be without rocking the “Diva forgot to put pants on” look?

Friday, July 23, 2010

Hurrinames.

Okay, yes, I admit, I have a weird obsession with names and weather. This I know.

I may have been that kid that sat in front of the television waiting for them to announce the hurricane names for the upcoming season when no one else around me cared. Welcome to my life.

Since I have been in a particularly research-oriented, “can’t let life questions go unanswered” mood lately, I decided to also tackle one of life’s bigger unanswered questions…

How did they decide the names of Hurricanes, and why aren’t they normal names?

Being that I am completely unable to leave questions I have unanswered, I did some research (shocking).

All hurricanes are named by the World Meteorological Organization and are included in a six year rotation, alternating between male and female names. Every sixth year, the first list of names begins again. After a particularly disastrous storm, the WMO retires the hurricane name permanently and picks a new one.

My first reaction? Why didn’t anyone tell me this when I was 7? I could have avoided years of disappointment after finding out “Kristin” hadn’t made the list repetitively.

My second reaction? Wow, these World Meteorological Organization people have a weird collection of namesakes…

Example? The sixth name of the 2009 Hurricane Season was Fabian…what ever happened to a normal name like Fred or Frank? Why is it that we need to pick unpronounceable names like Horrtense, Paloma, Cesar, or Hermine (admit it, you couldn’t pronounce it until after Harry Potter) when they could have picked names like Harry, Polly, Casey, or Helen? Also, why are we using international names like Juan, Gustav, and Phillipe when we can use their Americanized counterparts? I mean, this is America, right? Further, why is it when they do use normal names, they insist on spelling them differently? Why can’t Charley be Charlie, or Karl can’t be Carl, and Erika isn’t Erica? Why is it that the American People choose to spell common names in an alternate spelling, yet my name is always spelled wrong. Why the sudden spelling sensitivity, America? Am I the only person that thinks about things like this? The answer is most likely yes.

Of course there is always hope of my name being chosen due to a female K storm being retired. I had high hopes when Katrina’s name was retired, because there are only so many female names that start with K. This was my chance. Did the WMO choose the obvious choice of Kristin? No, no, they opted for the common American name, Katia (yet another name that could have alternate pronunciations, spellings and origins.)

I mean, it could be worse. There could be a hurricane named “Kristen.” That would haunt me for life.

Nobody Puts Baby [Blue] In A Corner



Lets be frank here.

Blue eyes are the diamond in the rough.

Van Morrison was singing about the wrong girls the whole time.

Think about it.

I mean, heterozygously speaking, blue eyed people are far more valuable than brown eyed people, solely because of their rarity (and outstanding good looks).

How do I figure? The odds:

If I retained my 7th grade biology study of alleles and phenotypes accurately, which I most certainly did, then I can explain eye color heterozygous alleles very easily.

If you have brown eyes, you carry the dominant gene, commonly known as RR or Rr. If you carry the most dominant gene, then you carry RR; if you carry the slightly less dominant, but still dominant brown, you have Rr.

All blue eyed people have the recessive gene, rr. Even based on pure capitalization, it is obvious that brown eyed genes hold the power. Sigh.

R always beats r.

So how do us ridiculously good looking blue eyed people get said blue eyes? See Punnett Square below (don’t even act like you aren’t impressed with that vocab!)


Above is the described phenotype of two brown eyed mates (replacing said R's with B's)

Notice how they both carry the recessive gene.

Ahem.

Statistically speaking, if two brown eyed people procreate, the chances of them having a blue eyed child are only 6.25%, compared to the 75% chance of having brown, and the 18.75% chance of having green. Yes, I looked it up.

I know you are asking: “Kristin, what happens if one of the people only carry dominant genes?”

Well, the answer is simple. Their kids will not have blue eyes, but their potential grand kids could. See, if their mate is to have the recessive gene, it is possible (while slim) that the recessive gene can be passed down, therefore if their children carry the recessive gene, and then mate with someone who also carries the recessive gene (or is an elite member of the BEC – Blue Eyed Club--) they may be lucky enough to parent a child with blue eyes.

Yes, another “Kristin, why the hell do you think about these things” entry from me.

I mean, there is just so much talk about how rare red heads are (yes, I love my gingers- ahem Mary)…but why does no one appreciate the blue eyed girl?

Thursday, July 22, 2010

TGi(A)T

Thank God Its ALREADY Thursday! (who would have thought I would ever say that!)

Good: I am tan. My name is no longer Kristin, but rather KrisTAN (although don’t ever spell it wrong…we all know my pet peeve)
Great: I have proof that I have gone from ghostly pale to a golden bronze.
TGIT: Maybe next summer, someone can remind me to remove my rings, pre-tan.

Lindsay [All Time] Low-han

The streets of Los Angeles are finally safe.

LiLo is off to jail. Insert your [what I am sure is a very real] sigh of relief here.

Just because I really had no real understanding of why Lindsay Lohan is actually going to jail, I have decided to put together a list of the reasons why I personally think she should have been incarcerated over the years.

  • Reason #1: for going from this....

to this....



  • Reason #2: for wearing this



  • Reaon #3: that whole eff word painted on her fingernail. If you have something to say, say it, but don’t paint it on your fingernails for publicity. Poor form. I am sure your colorful choice of polish certainly won you brownie points with the judge....oh wait.


  • Reason #4: for doing this.




Yes, its funny, but its only another attempt at a publicity stunt. It obviously worked, but we don’t need Lindsay raving about herself and habits in yet another media outlet.

  • Reason #5: maybe she should go to jail for repeatedly violating the terms of her probation

But don’t you worry all you LiLo fans out there! Lindsay will still be allowed access to prescription drugs, hair extentions and a cell phone while in her private wing of jail. It is certainly going to be hard for her to “rough it.”

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

What The Duck!

I hate being psychic sometimes (or theorizing all possible outcomes so that no matter what happens, I am always right…)

Duckboat Anxiety #1: Fear of the Surprise Quack
March was the month of rain.

For those of you that remember, March was also the month that the Boston Duckboat Brigade took over my parents’ road out in the burbs because of said rain. For those of you who don’t remember, read here and you will.

If you recall, I was completely warmhearted over how giving the duckboat team was for sharing their unique vehicles with those stranded on Pelham “Island” [ironic, isn’t it? #1] and suggested that their good deed was great, “we’re good people” free publicity for their company. I had theorized that the duckboats were either going to have an awesome summer season because to close out a great spring….that or completely flop and need to rely on their spring good deed to keep their heads above water (no pun intended.)

Duckboat Anxiety #2: Fear of Duckboat Sinkage
Philadelphia: duck boat and barge collide.

Panic! Do I know anyone in Philadelphia that could possibly be atop this sinking quackboat? Does that mean all duckboats are unsafe? What happens if I go on a duckboat and it sinks?! Does this mean the duckboat franchise is ovah?

Pause. Self, you don’t know a single person in Philadelphia…you only just remembered your 7th grade visit a few weeks back. Rest assured that there is certainly no one on the duckboat that you need to call and/or throw them a life vest. Secondly, duckboat collisions are not correlated geographically. All duckboats are not unsafe, just that one in Philly, but further, when do you ever plan on going on a duckboat and why would you panic about said trip when you know how to swim. Lastly, what do you care if the duckboat franchise seizes to exist. You. Hate. Duckboats.

Duckboat Anxiety #3: Being Hit By Said Duckboat
Well, the Boat Fever has moved to Boston. The first incident? Well, obviously a collision with a lesbian couple en route to get legally married. The second incident? An incident encounter with an innocent pedestrian. Mothers, get your children off the streets!

I look back on my naĂŻve anxiety in March, completely shocked at what has happened since then. Are duckboats turning on the American people? Is this like when all those circus animals turned on their trainers? I am concerned…

Monday, July 19, 2010

Cold Feet?

Disclaimer: There will be many a blog this week because even though I was on vacation, my brain [and anxiety] never rest, so the ridiculous thoughts continued to flow-- even while I was laying on a beach chair.

Vacation was wonderful. I guess you don’t realize you need a vacation until you have one, only to then realize how frazzled you truly are.

Whilst tanning my (no longer) pale bod, I spent copious amounts of time asking myself important life questions, such as: “Self, if you actively try less to get tan, won’t you become tan faster?” and “Self, why do you eat so much ice cream when you know ice cream gives you stomach aches?” but also “Self, where are your apartment keys?”and even “Self, why are you completely brainless when on vacation (maybe you should stop drinking)?”

In my efforts to be a transparent, authentic blogger (you know, exposing all of my completely random—and often inappropriate—thoughts) I have decided to share one of my more entertaining inner monologues I had with myself .

While laying in bed in amidst 90 degree weather, I ask: “Self, why is it that your feet are always cold when trying to fall asleep?”

I have come up with the following answers.
  1. the temperature of my bed decreases as I move from the top to bottom of the bed to the bottom. This would scientifically explain said coldness of feet, and prove that this is yet another world phenomenon that is completely out of my control.
  2. My subtle switch from flip flop to Ugg Boot (and vice versa) causes temperature regulation problems in my feet. Too hot for Uggs? well just wear flip flops! Too cold for flip flops? Throw on the Uggs! It is a relatively easy theory, and it worked well for the entirety of my collegiate career, except for the occasional accidental flop in sleet incidents.
  3. Poor circulation. The most realistic, and boring theory of them all.
  4. My constant overuse of my feet causes them to drastically cool when I am done using them for the day? I am dancing, running, ellipticating, walking.
  5. I don’t have enough covers on the foot of my bed. Right, the puff, comforter, and wool blanket just isn’t enough.
  6. I have a phobia about wearing socks to bed. Once, a family friend shared with me the direct correlation between wearing socks to bed and having family homes burn down. That information was enough for me. Socks to bed = house burning down = not something I am willing to risk, therefore, no matter how cold my feet are, I will never wear socks to bed. Ever.

Yes, this is what I think about before I fall asleep.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

My Vacay A La Photos

Ok, ok! I know I haven’t blogged in two days, but I have been too busy doing things like this:




...And this! (okay, not doing this, but recording and laughing!)




And eating yummy things like this:



...And this!



and even this (yes, that is candy from floor to ceiling)


So, I am sure you can understand why I was simply unable to blog until I was comfortably snuggled on the couch while watching Cupcake Wars.


On another note, thank you for all the subtle (and not so subtle) notes, texts and wallposts reminding me to blog. Way to keep me on my toes :)

Friday, July 9, 2010

One Year Closer to AARP!

Since today is the 24th anniversary of my birth, I decided to list out each year, base on a significant event that happened in each. Perhaps this will clear up why I am the way I am.

  1. Year of the spotlight. I was the most important thing in the world to everyone, and if you didn’t know it, I didn’t care about you.
  2. Year of “Hi.” Hi was my first word, and I am fairly certain that everyone knew it, being that I took every opportunity to show off my vocabulary whenever possible.
  3. Year of the Brother. Welcome to the world, Matthew. We will get along until you learn how to say “no.”
  4. Year of the Patten Leather Shoe. Yes, Stacey (my most wonderful babysitter- Hi Stace!) I am allowed to wear my party shoes to bed.
  5. Year of the New House. We moved, and I loved it. Why? Because the first time I went into my room, I was allowed to jump on my bed with my grandfather. Very sneaky Mom, very sneaky.
  6. Year of the nail biting. Mrs. Whitney tried to get me to kick the habit at 6, but I wasn’t able to until I was 23.
  7. Year of Colonial Massachusetts. I think pretty much everything I participated in had something to do with Pilgrims, Plymouth, or Constance Hopkins. Sudbury Public beat it into our little, malleable brains
  8. Year of Multiplication. I still don’t know my 7 and 8’s tables. I was reminded of that in fourth grade, when our substitute teacher used to make us play around the world, and I always got stuck against the smart people.
  9. Year of the Vermont Odyssey, where I realized that I was the only fourth grader who knew, and enjoyed, all songs by REM and Melissa Ethridge. Thanks Mom and Dad!
  10. Year of the Consumer Science Project and my first public speaking experience. Yes, I was required to read my D.A.R.E essay in front of my entire grade, and their parents. Obviously, I was a gifted writer from the get-go. Oh, and don’t do drugs.
  11. Year of the Capitals. Throughout the school year, I eventually learned every capital to every country in the world, and every state in the United States. Unfortunately, I have ultimately retained maybe 20% of what I learned. Sigh.
  12. Year of the tears. Middle schoolers were mean, mean people.
  13. Year of the Bangs Grow Out. Operation Bangs Grow Out= one thing, and one thing only…hair clips. Yes, you know the ones I am talking about, those fashionable metal clips that you would plaster all over your head in hopes of holding down every stray follicle on your head. Yes, those were the rage.
  14. Year of Cheerleading. I decided it was only appropriate to become a cheerleader. Thank god I was talked out of that phase sooner, rather than later.
  15. Year of Dance. I chose to participate in Dance over softball. Clearly that was disappointing to my “#19 in your program, but #1 in my heart” softball pitcher of a Dad (Go Coyotes!) But don’t worry Dad, I rekindled my love for softball once I hit the ripe age of 22.
  16. Year of the Drivers License. Oh freedom. Need me to go to the store? Sure! Want me to pick up Matt? Not a problem! Oh, but can I get some gas money?
  17. Year of the Car Accident. Not my fault, for the record!
  18. Year of the Dance Team. It was my life, and I loved it.
  19. Year of the Sorority. Tri Delta, or don’t try at all, bia.
  20. Year of the Abroad Experience. Why yes, London, we would LOVE to live with swingers, thank you for asking!
  21. Year of the Graduation….and senior week.
  22. Year of the realizing that I’m not in college anymore. That was a tough pill to swallow.
  23. Year of the Staph infection, broken tailbone, Swine Flu, and major car accident. Enough said.
  24. Year of the winning the lottery, buying a house in Cabo, getting a puppy, shrinking 3 inches and becoming a size 2!

Thursday, July 8, 2010

TGIT

TGIT from Africa, well not really.


Good: I mean, I have a great [and by great I mean slight] tan going.
Great: Well, it is hot, but its not like its hot enough to boil my internal organs completely.
TGIT: You are not required to clean off your car, start your car ahead of time, shovel, or salt extreme heat. I am still not looking forward to February, thank you very much.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Both Of You, Go To Your Rooms.

Never did I think I would be able to find two people who are better at bickering than my brother and I are.

Boy, was I wrong.

Here enter the televised cat fight, I mean reunion, of Jake and Vienna.

This breakup brings me to the larger question here…why is it that the American public is always so surprised when a couple from the Bachelor breaks up? Um hello, it’s a reality show….

Here’s how producers create the perfect love story:

The Show:

  • Pick the Bachelor, a previously rejected contestant from the last season of the Bachelorette.
  • Meet the new eligible bachelorettes; half looking for love, half looking for fame, and some looking to be the next Bachelorette.
  • Send them to the most ideal, romantic, unrealistic places in the world so that they can get to know each other and fall in love.
  • Insert everybody hating one person, and the Bachelor keeping her for ratings.
  • Insert surprise return of a previous cast member, just to spice it up.
  • Insert slightly realistic, maybe partially heartfelt, but very over dramatic proposal to bring the season to a close.

Voila, instant love. (Further, I am pretty sure I could fall in love with anyone whilst playing in a waterfall with a Mariachi Band accompanying me, followed by a dinner under the stars and private, beachfront cabana. Duh.)

The reunion:
Aw, look at the Bachelor and FiancĂ© all happy together. They are so in love and do not care who knows it! “We beat the odds, America, we beat the odds!”

Rightttttt.

The reality:
So then what happens? Once the cameras stop rolling, and the couple is forced to return to a [semi-normal, but still over-glamorized] harsh reality. Then what?

Oh, you mean that once they come home from fantasy land, things aren’t as perfect as they were over in Fiji? Are you trying to tell me that they actually need to love one another in a normal setting? Gasp! Eek! The horror!

Plain and simple, we have two over-dramatic, fame seeking individuals on our hands in a very overly public relationship. It is bound to go south, and it does…

The Reunion #2:
The final huzzah for each party to seek one last moment in the Bachelor spotlight. They now hate each other, and think the other is completely selfish and responsible for the downfall of their relationship.

Usually there is only fake emotion- complete with a few empty tears, but this time things were different.

Vienna, I am sorry that I spoke so disparagingly about you over the past six months. I guess I didn’t realize how genuine you were until I saw those true, real, raw emotions pour from you on the set of the reunion (#2). I don’t believe anyone could have faked the tears you shared with America.

For the first time, I think we saw Vienna in a vulnerable state.

As my mother used to say to me in those dark days of middle school, “Vienna, turn around and let me take that knife out of your back.”

I never thought these words would ever leave my mouth, but I am on Team Vienna.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Amurica, Freedom.

(Written yesterday, but I was too busy basking in SPF 15 to post)

In honor of America’s 234th birthday, I would like to share my list of the American Elite.

Some of My Favorite Americans:
  • Johnny Cash
  • Anyone who has ever served for our country. Thank you!
  • And their families.
  • Walt Disney
  • Amelia Earhart
  • Michael Strahan
  • Bob Fosse
  • Madonna
  • Babe Ruth
  • Ronald Reagan
  • Jackie Kennedy
  • Johnny Appleseed
  • Alexander Graham Bell, um hello. Telephone= Cell Phone. Cell Phone= Texting, meaning that Alexander Graham Bell is responsible for the invention of text messaging.
  • Alfred Butts, the inventor of Scrabble
  • Earle Dickson, the inventor of Bandaids.
  • Richard Drew, the inventor of Tape
  • Josephy Gayetty, inventor of toilet paper
  • Bob and Diane Dacey, inventors of the DingNot...and me
  • Levi Strauss, inventor of denim…indirect inventor of the Canadian tuxedo (I’ll let that portion slide…)
  • Ellen DeGeneres

Who are your favorite Americans?

Friday, July 2, 2010

New Favorite Song Alert!

It seems like everyone is just having a bad day, so I decided to introduce the newest member of my iPod fave list.

Thanks to my newlywed cousin’s nuptials (Hi Karen!) I have stumbled upon a new song favorite.

Welcome “Home,” by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes.

Now before you go all “Kristin, you have the weirdest taste in music” on me (which, admittedly, I do), take a second listen.

She really grows on you, doesn’t she?

Why do I like it?

  1. Well, for one, its sing-able…and we all know how important that is to me.
  2. This is what you get when Wagon Wheel and The Apache have a love child.
  3. Um hello, you can dance to it...
  4. It. makes. me. happy.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

TGITAJ (Thank God Its Thursday AND July!)

TGIT, all

Before:

After:

Good: I love corn on the cob, and have thoroughly enjoyed it throughout my entire life…even with braces.
Great: I am resourceful! I hate having corn stuck in my teeth, therefore, at a young age, I figured out how to eat corn on the cob without getting said kernels stuck in said teeth. I have been a smart cookie, starting when I was just a cub.
TGIT: Yet another real life example of how it is almost impossible for me to do a day-to-day task normally. Can I just eat corn? Not I need to [just slightly] neurotically eat corn row by row.




By the way, Happy July aka the most important month of the year! Yours truly will be celebrating the 24th anniversary of my birth next week. I will be accepting gifts/cards/shots/well wishes through the month of July.