Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Courtrooms Give Me Anxiety (Like Thats A Surprise To Anyone)

Scene set: Kristin rolls up to District Court in place crew neck tshirt, with a gold pencil skirt, flats, bangles, and a low messy bun. My goal for my outfit = completely and totally professional, yet unaware that I look so. An effortless look makes me look like a good person, good people equal good drivers, good drivers do not drive erratically and certainly abide by all posted and non posted safety rules, those who follow safety rules are not at fault for car accidents they are in. Therefore, in summation my effortless look would send a subliminal message to the judge alerting her that she shouldn’t overturn my appeal. It is very straightforward and scientific.

Moving on.

As I walk in, I can’t but help think about how put together I look. I am articulate and stylish? Bonus points with the judge?

Anxious Interaction 1: The Parking Lot

Of course there are no parking spaces. Why would I be able to park legally in the court lot when appealing a driving-wrong-doing of mine? Isn’t it more fun to ticket those who are appealing tickets? Luckily for me, the parking lot is in desperate need of parking spot paint touch ups, so my spot was most likely a spot, but no one can ever be certain. Sigh.

Anxious Interaction 2: The Metal Detector

Dear Metal Detector, I would like to applaud you on your dedication to public safety, Metal detector. While at first, I was a bit put off by the large, federal airport-esque security monitor and procedure that welcomed me to my recent venture to the district courthouse, I commend you for protecting me from other, much angrier, citizens [who may try winning their parking ticket appeal through carrying a firearm].

You cause me deep “Am I carrying any firearms/drugs/alcohol/grenades or other flammable and/or harmful products” anxiety, but nonetheless I understand your importance and appreciate your willingness to allow me through the first time unscathed.

Anxious Interaction 3: The Security Professional Who Handles the Metal Detector

Dear Ralph? Next time, please don’t hand me back my purse, telling me I am all set, only to then tell me that the cell phone I have in my bag needs to remain in the car. I am a very anxious person, and you giving me the false hope that I was in the clear, only to then retract your thought really put a damper on my court confidence.

Anxious Interaction 4: The Metal Detector, again

Dear Metal Detector, thank you for letting me through relatively painlessly…again.

Anxious Interaction 5: The Security Hand, again

Dear Ralph? For future situations, perhaps it would be in the best interests of all parties involved to alert me about all of the contraband items I have in my purse the first time. Example? When an individual has both a cell phone and a camera, both of which are apparently contraband items, perhaps it is most efficient to tell said individual about both items at the same time, rather than having her go back out to her car, and come back in, only to be then sent back out to remove additional items.

Court confidence is completely shot.

Anxious Interaction 6: The Waiting Room

What makes a waiting room more welcoming? Church pews! Yes, I definitely think so. I especially like pews that bend and crack when an additional person sits down or stands. The waiting room smells like when group time out meets the principal’s office meets musical chairs. Sit there, and think about what you’ve done until you are told to sit in the special chair, which means you are next in line. Then everyone will stare at you while you continue to think about what you have done.

Anxious Interaction 7: Blunt Man Also Waiting for An Appeal.

While I know you may be trying to strike up a conversation with a stranger, telling me that I better “pray for a male judge so that I can bat my eyes and pop my cleave” probably isn’t the best way to start a conversation, especially while I am sitting in the “on deck” seat. May I suggest next time using a more simple approach, such as “good luck.” Also, refrain from telling me when I can go into the court room. As far as I am concerned, your advice means nothing to me unless you are the officer I will be directly conversing with.

Other honorable mentions: an awkward parking lot encounter with a woman who wanted my [possibly illegal] parking spot both times I returned to my car, noticing that if I had come in the other entrance I would have avoided the metal detectors, needing to think about which hand was my right hand when asked to swear in.

Overall, I’d say that my first experience as a defendant wasn’t much of a positive one, besides my very intimate and straightforward proceedings. Let’s hope we don’t need to do this again in the near future, Kristin Anne.

Fingers crossed for the letter coming in the mail in 3-4 weeks.

This whole situation also brings up another small life conundrum. Do I say “rabbit rabbit” tomorrow, or no? Is my appeal resting on the repetition of one little word?

Thursday, August 26, 2010

911!

http://www.wimp.com/kidmath/

Would you rather be:
a) the boy, Mikey
b) the 911 responder, Ralph
c) the mother, Jenna

Personally, I would rather be Mikey, simply due to process of elimination.

I would not want to be Jenna, because that means I will have left my four year old alone long enough for him to conduct a private tutor session with a 911 responder. This is also enough time for said child to ingest poisons, drown in a swimming pool, or get lured into a minivan by a man promising him candy and a puppy. She also has a very obnoxious voice. Thanks, but no thanks.

I would not want to be Ralph because he is a 911 responder, meaning that he needs to deal with people in crisis on a regular basis. While I find this profession to be very reqarding, just thinking about it gives me anxiety. I have my own life crisis to solve, I highly doubt I would be able to solve yours, when you are at your climax of stress. Also, I am better at learning and teaching visually, therefore my ability to survey a scene and administer medical advice via phone would be anything but efficient. Also, the fact that Ralph is taking time away from actual emergencies to help Mikey with his homework clearly displays that his workday usually moves quite slowly. Eek. Worst nightmare ever. Lastly, in the two times I have had to call 911, my hands were shaking beyond belief, and I am almost certain that my sentences were not complete- I find that my career as a 911 responder would be very shortlived, and then I would be unemployed.

I would want to be Mikey for the following reasons.

  • Mikey hates math, and so do I.
  • Mikey is a quick learning, and is easy to train. Lesson: call 911 if you have an emergency and require help. Learned: I need help on my math, therefore Mom said to call 911 when I need help. Lesson learned. Well done, kid. It isn’t your fault that your mother didn’t clearly explain what constitutes a 911 emergency from a non-911 emergency.
  • Mikey is four-years-old and completing subtraction problems? Genius in the making?
  • Mikey knows he shouldn’t ever tell strangers where he lives, and instead wants anonymous tutoring over the phone. Maybe he was paying attention during that stranger danger lecture.
  • For a 4 year old, Mikey is very articulate and can carry on a conversation with an adult very well.
  • Mikey is very good at explaining his intentions. Mom, you told me to call when I needed help, how was I supposed to know you didn’t mean for me to call the police. Clear communication, please, I am four.

Thanks EPML for this winner of a distraction!

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

And Inhale...

(Somehow this didn't post yesterday...damn technology)

My Favorite Winter Smells

  • Christmas trees. Shopping for a tree each year is like aroma therapy. I went as far as to by a pine scented candle so that I could enjoy it all year round, but unfortunately, it seems as though I am the only person who enjoys that scented candle. Solution? When I live alone, my apartment will have one of those candles in every room. Deal with it.
  • Laundry fresh from the dryer. I admit that I do occasionally stick my face in clean laundry and sniff, just like they do in the commercials. Don’t lie, you’ve done it too.
  • Warm carbs. Judge away, but if you toast, grill or otherwise warm a carb, I will start salivating. Toast? Bagels? Muffins? Waffles? Yes.yes.yes.yes.
  • Snow. There is a distinct smell right before snow falls, and I really like it. If only we could enjoy that smell without the lingering thought of “how early will I need to wake up to clean my car off tomorrow morning?”


My Favorite Spring Smells


  • Lilies…I think its lilies, but im not actually sure. There is one specific flower that I love the smell of, but I haven’t been able to get my dad, the flower guru in the area with me when I do smell it, so I just pretend its lilies so I have a concrete answer for myself.
  • Fresh sheets. This kind of goes along with the aforementioned fresh laundry, but if it isn’t warm, this now becomes a favorite scent for the spring season.


My Favorite Summer Smells

  • Non-stinky low tide. The one that smells like ocean, not sewage.
  • Freshly cut grass, but not when it is accompanied with the smell of lawnmower. The gasoline needs to burn off before I enjoy the aroma.
  • Coconut scented suntan lotion. Mostly due to its direct correlation with me being tan. Remember, call me Kris-tan, but don’t ever spell it wrong.
  • New shower curtain. Yes, I like the new smell, but I also think it might have something to do with the fact that I am no longer scared to touch a germ infested curtain.
  • Gasoline. As in car gasoline. As in I love the smell of a gas station. This could explain so much.


My Favorite Fall Smells

  • old books. Just call me Carrie.
  • Popcorn
  • Cider
  • Freshly baked apple pie. That is a smell my nose is rarely exposed to, and if it is, it is usually accompanied by the soothing sounds of my parents’ smoke alarm
  • burning campfires, specifically because it associates me with being warm, drinking an alcoholic beverage, and usually digesting a smore.
  • pipe smoke. I was a very disappointed 5 year old when I found out that pipes didn’t taste how they smelled. What is the point?!

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Back To School Special!

Mom and I were reflecting on one of the sure signs that would have foreshadowed the fact that I wasn’t going to be normal.

Back-to-school-supply shopping was the ultimate shopping excursion for me as a kid.

And no, we aren’t talking about back-to-school clothing shopping [those excursions usually ended with me crying in the dressing room and my mother dragging me out of the mall].

I am talking about the actual supplies.

My prep for back to school shopping was fairly simple:

  1. wait patiently all summer to get back-to-school list and teacher’s letter in the mail.
  2. pawn over said letter and list until my mother was ready to go back-to-school shopping
  3. clean out back pack entirely so as to convince my mother that there was absolutely nothing I could re-use from the previous year. New year = new stuff, you want me to do well in school, don’t you?
  4. brainstorm items that weren’t on my teacher’s list that I would need to convince my mother I would simply need. (I’ll never understand how my teachers didn’t realize that I would need both fat and skinny markers, as well as two boxes of colored pencils, and sharpie pens.)
  5. make a very organized back-to-school-supply-wish-list by school subject
  6. remain calm until shopping excursion

Mind you, my excitement for back-to-school shopping was anything but subtle, and my mother actually thought that it was normal for children to be excited to buy school supplies, that is until my brother came along when she realized that I was actually the exception to the rule, as opposed to the rule. (Sorry Matt, for setting an unfair precedent for you in that school supply shopping was fun.)

At any rate, back to the thriving metropolis that was the Framingham area Staples. Ahhh, the smell of victory was in the air.

I had my routine, which I meticulously followed every year. Back to school shopping was like grocery shopping: start at one end, and go aisle by aisle to the other end. First I got the essentials: different [yet appropriately picked] colored binders for every subject, with spiral notebook to match in designated color (which needed to fit inside three ring binder, behind folder pockets in each binder. Next we got the other basics like the ruler, protractor, and pencil/supply case. Those were the things that I knew I wouldn’t need to argue over.

Then came the good stuff.

Each aisle was dedicated to a different aspect of my neurotic school year: writing utensils, organization materials, and storage materials.

This was where the bargaining came into play.

If my parents wanted me to do well in school, in addition to the aforementioned markers and pencils, I also needed sticky notes, multi-colored highlighters, dividers, markers to clearly label said dividers, mechanical pencils, pens, a red pen, white out pen, agenda book, and labels. If I did not get all of these things, then I would not do well in school, and it would be my parents’ fault completely. Also, how is it that my mother didn’t understand that I needed the full box of colored pencils, including limited edition colors, as opposed to just the typical box of colored pencils. Helloooo, limited edition colors!

At the end of the day, I would be forced to compromise, but end up getting most of the amazing supplies I needed in order to have a great school year.

Sometimes I wonder if my powers of persuasion hit their prime at age twelve.

Regardless of the loot, I would rush home, dump everything out on the family room floor, and meticulously label, organize, and pack my [cute, monogrammed, hunter green] L.L. Bean backpack. Then, I would sit there amidst the lingering plastic film, feeling accomplished, but way too tired to clean up any of the trash.

Yes, this I know that this should have been loud, overpowering warning alarm as to how I would organize school supplies into college, and might even explain a few of my mental thought processes currently, but we all know my New Year’s resolution (you cannot stress about the things you cannot control) and I dont intend on stressing over whether therapy as a child might have solved some of my current life problems.

HA. Right.

Monday, August 23, 2010

(Wo)Man Vs Wild?

Them vs. Me: Shark Edition

This is a new form of blogging which I will take the actions of others and compare them to what I would have done, had I been in the same situation.

Today’s “them” is Chuck.

Me my Shark and I from Chuck Patterson on Vimeo.


And begin.

Chuck was circled by a couple of sharks while surfing in SoCal.
I would a) never go surfing in SoCal, and b) would high-tail it out of that water so fast as soon as I heard the jaws theme song. Girlfriend doesn’t need a mangled leg, we are already self-conscious enough, thank you.

Chuck decides to go back out at the exact same time the next day in hopes of finding more sharks.
I would never go into salt, or fresh, water ever again. Pools would be a stretch. Who knows, one could actually come out of the drain.

Chuck decides to sit in a small, very breakable, seal-like kayak.
If I were to ever get back into the water, which I wouldn’t, I would be wearing one of those mesh shark suits, inside of a Shark Cage, with a rifle so that if said shark were to somehow get into the cage, I could kill it before it killed me. “Cuz’ if I don’t kick his ask, he’s gonna come kick my ask.”

Chuck paddles very far off the coast.
I would stick to a safe knee deep area, unless accompanied by a shark get-rid-of-er.

Chuck sits in the midst of very murky water.
I would be sitting onshore with dry tanning oil, and a “Bahama mama” rum drink in hand.

Chuck mounts camera onto 10 foot pole so that he can further antagonize said sharks.
I would whisper sweet nothings to the sharks and throw huge tubs of bait far, far away from me so that the sharks would leave me the eff alone.

Chuck holds the camera under water once sharks appear.
I would immediately start crying, freak out, and inadvertently tip my kayak. Now, I am swimming with sharks.

Chuck is not scared of deafening silence, including the bubble noises heard once shoving the camera under water.
I had to mute the movie, because the sound affects were too scary for me.

Chuck is able to calmly pan from shark to shark to capture their “beauty.”
By now, I would have dropped camera, gone into a panic, and had a panic attack.

Chuck clearly hangs on to his oar, and is able to paddle freely while recording.
I would have accidently dropped my oar so that I am unable to escape from sharks.

Chuck is enjoying himself.
I would have thrown up in terror.

Chuck calls this an unreal experience that he will cherish forever.
I would call this the documentation of how I literally scared myself to death. The footage would need to be recovered after my drowning.

Reese Witherspoon

I couldn't come up with a creative title for this blog, so I decided to cut o the chase.

Why I want to be Reese Witherspoon.

She stood up for blondes everywhere. Um, hello! Legally Blonde is the first movie where the pretty blonde girl actually wins. Take that, bitter brunettes!

Her face shape: she can rock any haircut and look good. Long hair with straight-front-bangs? Sure! Lob with a side sweep bang? Why not! Lots of layers with a hint of curl? Looking fab. If I try to rock any of these, I would look like an awkward 6th grader, and so would you.

She rejected Jake Gyllenhaal. Really, lets be serious here- Jake had me at his role as Jimmy in “Bubbly Boy.” Every woman in America is in love with Jake, well everybody, that is, besides Reese. Her ability to dump a total hotty in order to stay true to herself is really quite stupid, I mean, commendable. She broke Jake’s heart, and everyone still loves her…even Jake. Honestly, Reese is so BA.

She makes flats fashionable. Yes, she is only 5’2”, but Reese embraces her petite-ness, and respects her feet. 5” heels? No thanks, she’ll take the more modest, but equally adorable flats. The tall women of America thank you, Reese!

She’s from the South, and that means one thing and one thing only: she has the ability to turn on the accent. Sigh, we all know that all I have ever wanted is a southern accent, and a ridiculously rich, charming and attractive boyfriend.

She looks amazing in any hue, including red lipstick and Pleasantville’s black and white.

She has blonde hair, blue eyes children…we all know that if my children have anything but that, I will be giving them up for adoption.

Oh, and she didn’t name aforementioned kids anything dumb like Apple, Cinnamon, Pinetree or Pillow. At least Reese’s Christmas cards don’t read like an awkward shopping list.

No matter what, the press loves her. Reese can do no wrong, kind of like me.

She got hot make out scenes with Mark Walberg as a teenager. Another life long dream of mine. Nicole 4 Eva.

She can sing, too? Icing on the cake when I saw her as June Carter in Walk the Line. Character Envy. I live vicariously through her.

She is classy and gorgeous, and her beauty is timeless.

Okay, thats enough, I think I need to end this love-fest before it starts to read as creepy.

When I grow up I want to be just.like.her.

Friday, August 20, 2010

Roger Rage

This just in… yet another athlete has found himself of the “Performance Enhancing Drug” Spotlight.

Welcome, Roger Clemens.

Gasp! The horror! Eek! I can’t believe it!

Since the release of this new [very important, nevermind the oil in the gulf] headline, I have come up with three questions re: American culture.

First Question:
Why are professional athletes so stupid?

Yes, the obvious reaction does involve getting hit by a bat/ball/club/Frisbee/car one too many times, and maybe includes the possibility that some nerd completed all of said athletes academic work while they were working on their game (both on and off the field.) That being said, isn’t it rather intuitive that if you cheat and get caught, you get punished? Is it not one of the fundamental rules children learn in elementary school?

At any rate, Roger will join fellow athletes who also thought they were better than the law, including Mark McGwire, Manny Ramirez, and the obvious steroid user, Olympian Marion Jones. Talk about a fun party.

Athletes, if you do drugs, you will get caught. Roger that, uh Roger?


Second question:
Why is it that Americans are still shocked when athletes are caught using Performance Enhancing drugs?

Um hello? This is America: the most goal driven, attention seeking, monetary focused culture in the world. Americans, particularly celebrities, are obsessed with getting ahead, being the best of the best, and staying in the spotlight- and it doesn’t matter how they do it, as long as they don’t get caught.

Clearly there are ways around the rules. I mean, all rules are made to be broken…right? It is just confusing to me when people are surprised that yet another public figure has gotten caught.

I guess I am the only individual that is constantly judging the actions of others. Tell me something I didn’t know.

Third question:
Is twitter the new publicist?

Between Roger’s tweet of innocence, and Lindsay [All Time] Low-han’s constant statement on twitter and a variety of celeb’s using twitter as their personal press conference, the twitter newsfeed seems to be slowly phasing out the need for a public relations team.

Being that my initial interests in marketing were based on my foundation of PR (thanks Nickerson PME), this sends me into a complete and total panic.

What if public relations fades out…will it take marketing with it? WILL I LOSE MY JOB?! panicpanicpanic.

(Self, public relations will not disappear as much as it will evolve with the times. Stay on top of your game- and you will be fine.)

Are we now in the midst of a generation where instead of having your people call my people, your twitter will now need to consult with my twitter? Just seems very, um, technologically impersonal.

Thanks Roger, for bringing up all sorts of anxiety-driving questions for me. Yet another reason for me to dislike you…as if I need another.

Thursday, August 19, 2010

tgit

We have a double TGIT this week, dedicated to the smart thinkers and hard workers of our local Department of Public Works.


#1: The Spray and Fill


Good: my parents live on a quiet back road, adjacent to a pond. Growing up on this street rocked- think bikes, pond, limited traffic, and limited parental supervision.

Great: After getting my driver’s license, I realized with aforementioned lack of traffic and police patrol, it is relatively easy to navigate the road with ease. Over the years, I have also memorized my way around the flat-tire-causing potholes.

TGIT: Once neighbors start to complain about the conditions of the roads, due to plowtrucks and an entire month of the road eroding under flood waters, DPW decided to fix the problem. Did they repave? No, no that is silly and overly expensive. Why repave when commuters would then travel at a normal speed down the road without fear of getting a flat? Hello, potholes= nature’s natural speed trap. Instead, lets simply circle problem areas, and fill them with loose pavement. This way, people cant fly down the road and will need to remain unneccasarily alert of potholes, when they are already avoiding sharp turns around the pond, and navigating aggressively narrowing roads. Their problem solving skills further prove why they decided to go into road construction in the first place…



#2: The Set It and Forget It!

Good: my commute to work from my parent’s house is 8 minutes door to door. This is nice, especially in the winter.

Great: My commute is only back roads. I completely avoid any type of highway and/or other traffic causing route.

TGIT: this is yet another tactful DPW solution to a trouble-causing pothole. Why fill the pothole, when you can just put a giant orange cone inside of it, alerting drivers to its existence? Cheaper, and easier solution. While before, I had to hit the pothole right on, as I take that immediate left you see in the distance, I now need to swerve over to the right to avoid the cone, to then swoop back left in order to make my turn. This is definitely a safe alternative to simply filling the pothole.

Thank you for putting our tax dollars to good use!

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

To The Man In The Canadian Tuxedo.

This morning I saw a huge male fashion no-no.

A man was walking into my office building wearing an entire suit a la denim. Cringe. Who could have possibly let “I-think-these-denims-totally-match” leave the house this morning.

My only answer? Clearly this man lives alone, most likely do to his other risky [but blatantly bad] fashion risks.

Since we all know how dedicated I have been to expanding my fashion horizon and taking small fashion risk-acitas, I decided it was only appropriate to make a list of major fashion yes-yes’ and no-no’s for the male population.

You are welcome in advance. I am talking to you, David Arquette.

Things Men Look Good In:

A Suit. Hello, do you not watch Mad Men? You can put a monkey in a fresh pressed suit and still find it to be moderately attractive. Suit = Successful = Goal Driven = Attractive. Isnt that what all of our mothers want us to find in a husband?

Flannel. You don’t think so? I do, and here’s why. A) Nothing says “I am man, hear me roar” more than a solid flannel shirt. Need someone to fix a fire or change a flat? Ten dollars says the man in the flannel can help. B) I am cold 97% of the time. Snuggling up with someone in flannel instantly makes me warmer. Therefore, those who wear flannel are more practical and comfortable than those who don’t.

Baseball Hats. Extra points if it is a New York Football Giants Hat. Super Extra Points if you have, or have had at some point, the lax flow.

Nantucket Reds. Provided you don’t look like you just rolled out of a Vineyard Vines Magazine, Nantucket reds look great in moderation. They say: “I care about how I look, but I am casual.” Same goes for boat shoes. A risk-acita is wearing them together, some can pull it off, some scream tool. I think its worth taking the risk.

A Baby...as in they are holding one. It is true. If you are good with babies, it is an easy point winner. Ask any female. Provided that it is not your baby, you automatically seem super sensitive and attractive if you can hold onto a baby without making it break out into tears. Extra points if you can get the baby to laugh.

The same goes for puppies. Instant chick magnet, but that isn’t anything new.

Things that men should never wear. Ever.
Excessive jewelry. Whoever told you that the large stud diamonds were a good look lied. I am talking to you, Chad Ochocinco. Women do not like it when you are wearing bigger, and more expensive diamonds than they are. Just a heads up. Similarly, those bulky chains? They do not work, and they will most likely give you scoliosis, which may inadvertently cause you to loose game because women generally dislike when men are shorter than they are. Just a friendly tip.

Skinny Jeans. Women do not like to feel larger than their prospective mates, nor do they like wearing clothing of the same label and/or style. Skinny jeans are meant to accentuate certain areas on a woman that should not be accentuated on men. Period. A man who wears skinny jeans also presents a completely new problem, in and of itself. Accidental matching. Um, hello, I do not want to have to call my boyfriend to make sure he isn’t wearing the same skinny jeans I am. That is just silly.

Hawaiian shirts. Unless you are at an Americanized Luau/frat party, or a camp director who is obsessed with Hawaii and its state fish – the Humuhumunukunukuapua'a (that’s for you, Joe Dinnemore) is time to put away the loud, floral, tablecloths. There is nothing flattering about a bright, loosely fit shirt complemented by khaki pants and flip flops.

Sweater vests. In the 8th grade, I learned very quickly that there are only two men in the world who can pull of a sweater vest. You are not one of those people. Who are they, you may wonder? Mr. Rogers and my grandfather.

Extreme Faux-hawks. Nuff said.

Football Jerseys, with the obvious exception being when you are at a football game. If it is June, you should not be wearing a Tom Brady jersey. Tom Brady is currently gallivanting around Boston with his supermodel “it should be the law to breastfeed” wife. If he isn’t concerned about football, you shouldn’t be…and neither should your wardrobe.

Camouflage. No one looks good in camo. In fact, the original intent of camouflage garb was to help people blend in with their surroundings. The only people who should be wearing camo (and look extremely attractive in said camo) are those who are serving our country. Here is a helpful motto: “You don’t serve, you don’t camo.” Very easy, to the point, and accurate.

Anything Ed Hardy. This just in: you are wearing another mans name scrawled across your chest. Just ad some bedazzled studs and you may find yourself in the middle of Ricky Martin’s “She Bangs” video. If anyone ever told you that you looked good in said EH shirt, they were most likely making commission off your pending purchase.

Messenger Bags. Do you find yourself physically delivering messages and/or singing telegrams? If not, loose the bag. There is no reason you should be carrying around anything but your wallet, cellphone, keys, and maybeeeee an engagement ring. The rest is baggage, and women don’t like men with more baggage than them…are you sensing a trend here?

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

I am ALIVE!

Alright. My [very busy, but very exciting] day (and weekend) in randoms:
  • the first thing I ate was a mini twix bar. Healthy decisions, ten more minutes on the elliptical for that
  • I talked to 11 friends, two coworkers, and one family member on gchat yesterday. I am more connected than ever.
  • ELLEN DEGENERES IS FOLLOWING ME ON TWITTER. Oh em gee, coolest day ever. Since all the cool people are doing it, you probably should too. Just sayin’
  • I had canned soup for lunch…again. Clearly my body is lacking sodium.
  • 40: the number of minutes I spent arguing with a [unhappy, unsympathetic] CVS pharmacist over how to spell my last name. Yes, I am positive I filled my prescription; yes, I am sure my name is spelled d-a-c-e-y. What’s that? Oh, you found it? In the wrong bin? In the wrong bin labeled d-e-c-a-y? Looks like one of your associates is unknowingly dyslexic and put my prescription in the wrong bin. What ever happened to “the customer is always right, Megan” if that is even your real name.
  • Sass’ passenger side window goes up and down at a glacially slow pace. I will add that to my “List of things that Sass Needs Fixed That I Cannot Afford Until I Move Home.” This list includes, but is not limited to: new brakes that I was recommended to get in May, tire rotation (also May due date), car length scratch repair on passenger side, chip in front windshield, and now window fixin’s.
  • My once long fingernails are no longer. I blame, stress, boredom, and loosing my driver’s license on said loss of nails.
  • I like my Bloody Mary spicy, salty, and with a large piece of celery…and keep em’ coming!
    I now need to start planning my weekend around bars that haven’t had a major crime and/or stabbing committed in them. Love that dirty water.
  • No one is allowed to drink and drive ever again. I am talking to you, every-single-one-of-my-friends-that-I-love-too-much.
  • The New York Football Giants won the first game in the New Giants Stadium. Yes, I meant to say Giants Stadium.
  • I witnessed my biggest fear ever in preseason football: Eli Manning, helmetless on field, and bleeding profusely from the head. Gasp! The horror! Stop showing instant replays!

Thursday, August 12, 2010

tgit

Good: I love the mall

Great: I love dance studios.

Amazing: I love malls that have en-suite dance studios. Yes please!

TGIT: This is the only store in the Natick Collection that has interactive window displays. Yes, that is a dancing man in front of the store, as well as a couple getting lessons.

Talk about window shopping!

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Justin Heave-er

Got this gem from a co-worker.



You are welcome.

Monday, August 9, 2010

These Steets Will Make You Feel Anxious?

My weekend by the numbers:
45: minutes of traffic I sat in to get to the train station
1: number of trains I almost missed
1: total driver’s licenses I lost en route to New York City. Sober.
1: number of drunk people surrounding me on my way down to the city of dreams
4: number of apple products man next to me used in our 3 hours train ride
1: sars mask
6: number of times I cleaned out, re-cleaned out, and re-re-cleaned out all luggage I brought to NYC to find missing ID
25: the amount of minutes I sat on hold with Amtrak to get the lost and found phone number, only to find out its hours of operation were Mon-Fri, 7:30 to 4PM. Helpful at 1PM on a Saturday
25: The amount of dollars spent to replace lost ID online.
4: amount of bars I had to sneak into. I am the only 24 year old in America that wished she brought her old fake out with her? Getting in? Not as difficult as you would think!
3: number of people who asked me if I color my hair?
1: number of hungover driven anxiety attacks in a public place.
60: number of minutes our train was late
1: number of homeless men I witnessed faint while during said wait
45: minutes I spent on phone to try and entertain myself
3: number of smart waters I had while waiting
6: number of times the [mildly attractive] man in front of me swore to himself everytime our train delayed.
0: number of bathroom trips I made while on [very late] train home

Friday, August 6, 2010

Fried-day

You know I need a weekend when:
  • I chugged green tea 3 days this week. at.my.desk.
  • I say: “self, you can go to the bathroom during the next commercial break.” Seems logical until you remember that the radio station you listen to is commercial free from 9 am to noon….and its only 10.
  • Paper holes from my earlier 3 hole punch experience miraculous fall out of a crevice of my dress, once I do go to the bathroom.
  • I’ve been trying to figure out how to print onto legal sized paper from one of the printers for a week, only to do it accidently on a document that doesn’t require it.
  • I was tempted to follow Leighton Meister on twitter.
  • I googled the following things today: Origin of Aniela, The Little Mermaid’s sisters, studio apartments- Boston (yeah, that turned out well)
  • I restarted my computer in hopes of getting our office server to re-load onto my computer. Fail.
  • After saving my finished, ready to send out, clip report in some imaginary folder on my computer, I was unable to find it once re-starting the computer. Yes, I am positive I saved it. It was complete.
  • I redid said clip report.

Liquor to mouth, as fast as possible.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

tgit

longest. week. ever.
Good: We still have glasses, which if you have seen our bare, ahem simplistic, apartment lately, you would know that is an accomplishment.
Great: Annie and I like to fill said glasses with delicious alcoholic concoctions…
TGIT: this is how our sink typically looks by the time we are ready to go out. Straws. Are. Clutch. Yes, there were only two of us.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Just Call Me KMZ.

So, there is just so much going on in my world these days, I decided to make a quick hit list of some of the headlines that have been clouding up my brain

  • Not sure if I mentioned this before, but its SHARK WEEK.
  • Ali picked Roberto! Thank god! Was I the only person who saw her fall in love with him on the first night? Chris, I am available, and I also love my family and am from Massachusetts. Just throwing it out there.
  • LiLo is out of jail, and off to rehab! That was the fastest 90 days ever! Sorry, no sharp objects in rehab, LiLo.
  • Jersey Shore is back. Six months without Snooki, shaattts, blowouts, girls forgetting to wear pants, and GTL is just too long.
  • Shaq is coming to the Celtics? So does this mean he isn’t too busy filming his television show, where he proves his ego is bigger than his gargantuan bod (Sorry Shaq, but I doubt you are actually better at racecar driving than Dale Ernheart Jr.)? Is there even room for another big ego in the Boston Garden?
  • Hillary Clinton, Mexico called and they want their quincenera dress back when you are done wearing it to Chelsea’s wedding. Thanks!
  • 12 days until the New York Football Giants have their first pre-season game.
  • 74% of the oil in the gulf has either evaporated or been otherwise eliminated
  • Mike Tyson admits he appeared in 'The Hangover to fund drug habit. Gee, shocking.

Headlines that shouldn't still be headlines:

  • Mel Gibson and his rants. I say we just treat him like he’s an obnoxious six year old. If we pretend he isn’t there, he will get bored and disappear.
  • Anything to do with Tiger Woods.
  • Michael Lohan and his inner struggles as a father.
  • The fact that Giselle Bunchen believes breastfeeding babies should be required by law.
  • Bristol Palin and Levi Johnston end their engagement for a second time. Is anyone surprised? I mean, I’m sure Mom and Dad weren’t too thrilled that her baby’s daddy was bashing the family name…and the mentally retarded family member…
  • Justin Beiber went to Sea World. Other ridiculously unimportant highlights from his day include: 10,092 blinks, 3 sneezes and one funnel cake.
  • “Dating models, I had to learn to like small dogs and cigarettes.”- another life lesson from Kanye. Thanks, CNN.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Sass Is Back In Good Standing

August 1 was a Sunday.

What does that mean?

It means that I couldn’t get my car inspected on the first of the month (Panic!)

What does that mean?

It means that I was required to drive my car around for 24 hours with an expired expiration sticker.

This may not be a big risk for you, person with average luck, but for me, it most certainly means I will get pulled over and cited. I am like a citation magnet. Police know when my sticker expires and pull me over before I even realize its no longer valid.

Last time it happened was July 5th, 2008. I know this because I had just gotten home from celebrating America’s birth in Maine, and right before my birthday. Girlfriend didn’t plan ahead (surprised?!) and found herself with an expired sticker.

“Self, you can just do it tomorrow. Annie drove around with an expired sticker for two years, you can most certainly get away with 2 days.” Should have known better.

I was wrong.

After having a complete breakdown to the Weston police officer who pulled me over while I was battling traffic on my way home from my [old, very-slave-like, we don’t talk about it anymore, first out of college] job, he let me off with a written warning.

“Consider this an early birthday present.” He says.

Gee thanks, I’ll be sure to send you a thank you note.

After that, I immediately call my mother [who prides herself on her ability to extend her expiration sticker expiration by one month each year] in hysterics. Naturally, her 21 year old “I can’t do anything by myself without crying daughter” needed her help, so she called the local Gas Station, who proceeded to stay open late so that I could get my car inspected right then and there.

Some people get away with having their stickers expired for months before even noticing, nevermind getting pulled over, but me on the other hand, I can only ride on the wild side for a few hours without getting pulled over and cited. It’s a rare talent that many can’t come by.

So fast forward back to July 31, 2010. Again, girlfriend didn’t plan ahead. On July 31, I had a wedding to go to, and I found it to be just silly to drive around looking for a random garage in Boston to inspect my car, when I knew I would be in the burbs just 24 hours later.

Do it tomorrow, Kristin.

Well, smartass, tomorrow came, and you realized that the first was a Sunday, the one day of the week where no one will inspect your car. I can smell the citation coming already.

But alas, my good fortune (and God knows I need to document it when that happens), and I made it to the gas station without getting pulled over and cited.

I know. I am just as shocked as you are.

After leaving with my innocent, legal, blue 8/2011 sticker plastered on my windshield, I drove by 2 of Sudbury’s finest, and two stateys. Look at me go.

Life victory that I just couldn’t keep to myself.

PS: I didn’t say “rabbit rabbit” – are these incidences related?
PSS: Does this mean I potentially just jinxed a good month or does it mean I am going to have a lucky month…I’m going with the latter.

Monday, August 2, 2010

Laugh Aloud...Quietly

Okay, I was going to save this for my TGIT, but this just cannot wait.

The evidence I am about to show you proves that God also dislikes the term “LOL” and sends me signs that he thinks so.

See below.


Yes, that is a silly band that says “LOL.”

Background: Annie is moving tonight (Sigh.) Being the very mature 7, I mean 24 year old women we are, we decided to buy a pack of silly bandz and split them. Best friends forever.

Anyway- I found a pack that included all sorts of abrevs including: brb, xoxo, cya, ttyl…but the most important one being “BFF.” Obviously, this was the pack we needed to buy. The catch? I was forced to support a franchise that created a silly band shaped as “LOL.”

“Self, this is not a big deal. The rest of the pack is perfect for your inevitable split from Annie. Buy the set and walk away.”

So we did.

Fast forward to the gas station, Annie and I split the pack so that we had one of each, including the appropriate “BFF” and even the “LOL” (Dun, dun, dun)

As Annie assisted me in putting on my 8 silly bandz to model and enjoy, one of them snapped.

The horror! Panicking, as I thought it was the “BFF” bracelet, aka the only reason for justifying my “LOL” purchase, that snapped.

I look and immediately feel satisfied. Which silly band broke? The “LOL” band. How poetic.

“LOL” is dumb…even the higher beings think so. Take the hint, people.