Tuesday, August 23, 2011

And Then We Had An Earthquake

Here I am blogging about hurricanes while earthquakes are disrupting the entire East Coast.

Scroll down to see the devestating damage in Boston during the earthquake that tore through the Northeast just moments ago...






Miss Irene [Meep!]

Hurricane Irene has been monopolizing my brain for the past 48 hours.

For those of you who don’t know, I have an abnormal natural curiosity for natural disasters, especially if they affect my beloved Massachusetts and/or my weekend plans.

This leads to Irene.

Bostonian meteorologists always predict that the storm is going to affect us in some way, no matter the path of the hurricane, nor’easter, tornado or volcano. Storm a’brewing in the Gulf? There is always a chance it could hit us. I mean, if the jet stream carries it up around Canada, this could mean big problems for Massachusetts. Right, because that is going to happen.

This year, the suspense is building even further, as New England is apparently due for a large storm this hurricane season. Why tell that to anxious weather-watchers like me? Because now we are hooked, and we look to the weathermen as the beacon of light to lead us through the big storm. Literally. It is times like this where I completely forget about how I dislike meteorologists for always being wrong. Suddenly, they can do no wrong in my eyes [at least until the storm completely misses us, and David Brown has caused me monsoon anxiety for no reason whatsoever.]

Back to Irene.

Because meteorologists are always constantly adjusting the radar, it means they are constantly reporting to drooling weather geeks like me, which in turn means I begin to spew useless information about Irene to anyone who will listen to me.

Sometimes I wish I stopped for just a second and asked: “Self, does anyone else really care that Irene is most likely going to become a category 3 storm by evening? Or that maximum winds have hit over 100 mph? “ If I did, I would be able to answer both questions appropriately: no and no. I would also be able to avoid all of those awkward looks I get from coworkers when they casually bring up Irene, and I am able to, not only talk about it in an overly-educated manner, but borderline attack them for not knowing that 600,000 Puerto Ricans are without power today because of the storm last night.

The real origin of my hurricane anxiety sprouts from this:

Irene stands to join New England during two of the most important weekends of my summer; one being Di’s birthday/Countryfest, and the other being Labor Day. I have taken it upon myself to create a detailed itinerary so that we can all co-exist together in harmony [if it is possible to harmoniously exist with a hurricane.]

Di’s birthday comes on Saturday, and as any good daughter should, I will be celebrating her birth by drinking copious amounts of [gluten free] alcohol while wearing a cowboy hat and scheming as to how I can convince Kenny Chesney to notice/marry me at Countryfest. [Sorry Mommy! I love you!] Unfortunately, Irene didn’t purchase a ticket to Countryfest, and its a sold out show. This means one thing and one thing only: Irene is not welcome to crash Gillette Stadium on Saturday, so I am hoping she can plan accordingly [especially after what happened to Sugarland at the Indy State Fair.]

She is, however, allowed to move in anytime after 2AM on Sunday morning. She then has a fairly open window to do as she pleases [within reason] until Thursday, when she will need to vacate the greater Boston area.

Thursday leaves a bit of leeway for Friday, when I will need Irene to be completely gone while I celebrate the great holiday of Labor Day on the beaches of Martha’s Vineyard until Monday.

I feel that I am being extremely generous in allotting Irene a five day slot for her picking. Lets hope she is polite enough to follow suit and come when she is invited.

As if my actual storm anxiety isn’t high enough, Irene was also the origin of my body dimorphic problem my high school pointe teacher, so every time the weatherman says the name Irene, I fight the urge to listen for her subtly disparaging comments about my weight and/or wait for a swift whack at my butt if my extension wasn’t to her liking.

Hasn’t happened yet, but we still have some prime prep time before Irene graces us with her “presence.”

Monday, August 15, 2011

FOUR/FORE/HOWEVER YOU SPELL “HEADS!” IN GOLF SPEAK

I genuinely love watching sports.

I am surprised that some super successful man hasn’t swept me off my feet and claimed me on that characteristic alone.

There is nothing more I love than cuddling up on a Sunday and watching football all day long [bonus points if the New York Football Giants are televised.]

In reality, this little afternoon never happens, but in my head it is wonderful and it also includes calorie free snacks and chocolate.

You know what does happen in reality on Sunday afternoons?

Golf.

I hate golf. So does a majority of the female population.

Frankly, I am not sure how people consider golf a sport, but not dance. That, my friend, is a different issue entirely.

Anyway, here I am, snuggled up on the couch ready for an afternoon of, well really anything besides golf, and I am clicker commando-ed by my father who just so happens to love watching golf.

Apparently I was witnessing one of the “biggest golf moments of the season.” [Please contain your excitement, I know I was able to.]

My dad, completely enthralled by the whimsical sport that is golf, has gone into a typical sports-trance where he no longer acknowledges anyone in the room. My mom and I continue to carry on a conversation, because let’s face it, you don’t actually need to hear what is going on in order to follow the game: he either gets it in the hole, or he doesn’t. end.of.story.

After coming to a natural pause in our conversation, my mom and I realized that this whole “watching golf” excerpt of our afternoon was nowhere near its conclusion, so we decided to make it interesting.

[Insert excessive cheering/whooping/booing/ No golf claps permitted, please here]

I must admit, after our new rule implementation, I have to say that watching golf wasn’t even completely miserable. Dare I say, even semi tolerable?

I feel, that should there be another unforeseeable-forced-golf-watching session in my future, I will be able to stomach it, with the help of facebook and jsn.blogspot, of course.

Friday, August 12, 2011

I Wanna Loft!

I have always wanted to live in a loft.

My keen sense of interior design awareness of lofts began in 1995, when the movie “Man of the House” debuted.

I was nine, and at the height of my “Jonathan Taylor Thomas is immortal” phase, also at the height of my father’s love for Blockbuster Video. Deadly combination.

I remember standing in the aisle holding “Man of the House,” ready to rent it, only for my Dad to look at me disappointingly and mutter “againnnn?!?!?”

I digress.

At any rate, this is where my obsession with lofts began…Look at the home of Sandy and Ben Archer.

Look at the lighting [keep in mind this is an evening snapshot], the high ceilings, the staircase, the open kitchen [not shown here]. All of these were things I knew I wanted in my future home.

I imagined, at the ripe age of 9, that when I was a successful 20-something [which was ohmygodsoold] I would live in an ultra-mod, high ceiling, perfectly accessorized loft apartment such as this one.

Oh, the girl had big dreams.

Now, as that [slightly poorer, and definitely not as mod] 20-something, I still want to live in that loft…or any loft for that matter.

Sometimes, I peruse the Craiglist ads, just to see what kind of rustic, yet roomy lofts are available. More often than not, I find none that meet my unrealistic expectations [based on cost and amenities].

It is then that I realize that I will never find a loft to the likes of the Archer family, but that doesn’t mean I am going to stop trying…

Feel free to find it for me.

Also, you can blame my obsession with collages on “Man of the House” and their beach collage seen below.

Thursday, August 11, 2011

THIS IS A COMPLEX CARB RANT

My life is currently an episode of “True Life: I have a food allergy or am an extreme hypochondriac.”

Its so fun.

Right now, the prime suspect for my constant exhaustion/sore and itchy throat/weird itchy spots on my skin/did I mention complete and total exhaustion? looks to be wheat and/or gluten products.

Yes, you heard me correctly; that means there is the potential for me to have a gluten allergy [and I will become that girl that is allergic to everything….and lets be honest here, no one likes that girl.]

If anyone ever tells you that a gluten-free diet is easy, they are lying. Bold face lying.

As if I didn’t have enough food envy prior to my glu-tardness, [I am talking to you skinny girl eating the giant bacon cheeseburger with fries while I’ll have the salad withthedressingonthesidethanks] I now have it at almost every meal I eat.

Want a sandwich? Nope. Beer? Nope. Cereal? Nope. Crackers? Nope. How about a salad with croutons? Nope. Maybe some soup? Probably not.

You get the idea. Life sans gluten has been challenging, but I will continue to do so because I am feeling better*.

If you haven’t had the gluten conversation with me yet, here are some common phrases to avoid when we do have the inevitable conversation.

Are you sure you have an allergy? No, [insert name of aspiring medic here], I am not certain it is a gluten allergy, hence the elimination of gluten to find out if it is the culprit. I am fairly confident that my allergist knows what he’s doing, being that its his profession and all.

Oooohhh! You are going to lose so much weight? I am on week 2.5 and have seen little to no weight loss, so this comment immediately makes me feel defeated. I know that people mean for this to be a positive aspect to the obviously negative, but really after hearing it 35+ times, all I hear right now is “maybe this will help you lose some weight, fatty!”

So does that mean you can’t eat, like, pasta? That sucks! My reaction to that? “That’s, like, exactly what that means. Thank you for pointing out the obvious fact that my new potential way of life is, like, now going to be subpar.” I haven’t figured that out in the past 3 weeks.

Oh, yeah I feel like that sometimes, are you sure its not just in your head? I know as well as you do that I am most likely completely crazy and/or just slightly neurotic about most health related issues, and well, most life issues in general. This is one of those situations where I am completely comfortable in saying that I am not going crazy, thank you very much. It is comforting to know that you know that I have full conversations with myself [now I don’t have to hide it anymore!].

You just need some exercise. Well, I’ll be damned. You are right! I am just too busy being a fattyfattynomnomnom to even fathom that my lack of exercise could be the route of my problems.

You are making a big deal about nothing. I was battling with how I could cry for help and/or plea for attention and I decided that the best route in doing so would be through a gluten intolerance. Much more believable than some of my other ideas!

What are some good things to say?

“well, at least vodka is still on the list!”
“CHOCOLATE IS GLUTEN FREE.”
“my cat is allergic to gluten, let me know if you want to start a support group.”
“My very single, wealthy, attractive, humorous and successful brother is also a glu-tard looking for a wife who is also a glu-tard! And he has a boat, and owns a private island”
[insert something witty, but slightly self-depricating to make me feel better]

Okay, rant over.

*better meaning that I no longer think about sleeping for the entirety of my day, no longer need to force myself to stay awake until 8PM, and no longer have the sore throat that I have had since…well, 1999.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Before You Hang Up....

I am now a proud member of the National Do Not Call Registry.

…and here’s why….

My apartment does have a landline phone. The wonderful [please note sarcasm] people of Comcast refuse to make a bundle with only cable and internet, so in order to qualify for the discounted bundle price, we pay for a landline too. If I pay for it, I am going to use it.

I now know why I get cable at a discounted rate because of the landline. Comcast is clearly paid off by the people who now have our home phone number for sales calls.

A typical conversation goes something like this:

Me: Hello?

Salesperson: Hi Ma’am, before I begin, I would like to assure you that this is no sales call…blablabla [continue until she takes a breath]

Me: I am not interested, but thanks for calling! Good luck!

Except when it is 8AM on a Saturday, to which it then sounds like this [if I wake up to it]:

Me: Hello?

Salesperson: Hi Ma’am, before I begin…”

Me: Hi. It is 8AM on a Saturday. Take me off your calling list. [Click]

Or when I get an overly aggressive salesperson from the Boston Globe, which usually sounds like this:

Me: Hello?

Salesperson: Hi Ma’am, this is Michael from the Boston Globe, were interested in earning your business

Me: I am not interested, but thanks for calling! Good luck!

Salesperson: Before you hang up, can I tell you about our [insert name of worthless promotion targeted to my demographic] promotion we are running?

Me: No thanks!

Salesperson: Did you know…

Me: Look, I am a republican, and your paper not only supported the democratic candidate in the most recent election, but spoke disparagingly about the republican candidate. I.am.not.interested.

Salesperson: Oh well, if it is of interest to you, the Boston Globe does have an insert that is targeted to your political agenda.

Me: Your paper shouldn’t need an insert to give me news in an unbiased way. Put me on your DNC list now. [Click]

Keep in mind, as a former radio ad sales rep, I have a very high tolerance and respect for cold callers. It is an awful, cruel way to earn a living.

I have never had a sales phone call that has gotten me so worked up that I have put the apartment phone number on the National DNC list…that is until they started calling my cell phone.

I don’t know what list I inadvertently put my cell number on, but within the last few months my cell phone has been ringing off the hook.

In particularly, one phone number has gotten accustomed to calling me multiple times a day from the same number. Thinking it may have been a coworker, I picked it up several times only to get the same pre-recorded message. I finally had to save the number in my phone as SPAM.

Do you have any idea how annoying it is to see 3 missed calls from SPAM after a full work day? Very annoying is putting it lightly.

After listening to the entire pre-recorded message once to see if my number would finally be moved to the “reached” list in their database, I hoped it would go away. It didn’t.

The final straw was when they called again. This is when I begin to hit 0 repetitively. This also does nothing. I then hit every button. Still nothing.

I decided to “remain on the line to speak to a sales associate on how I could have peace of mind with a new alarm system!” [I’d contemplate buying the alarm if it meant peace of mind from the repetitive phone calls.]

Poor sales kid. Didn’t see it coming. Here she was, ready to sell me a top-of-the-line alarm system, and I was on the other end, ready to rip apart the first human voice I came into contact with.

The details of the conversation are a blur to me, but I do remember rambling on about how if this were an email campaign, it would be illegal for there not to be an “unsubscribe” button and it should be the same thing for a phone campaign and ADD ME TO YOUR DNC list immediately.

By now, I’d realized that I’d become a broken record when it comes to sales calls, and so I decided to take the plunge.

All you telemarketers out there, you can thank the 603 area code alarm company for removing my number from your lead list…

…and if it keeps up, the apartment phone is next…