DIY

Collegiate DIY and post-collegiate DIY are very different: the main difference being that one audience is generally very sober and one is generally very…not.

Let me start by saying that I am a professional DIY-er, and have been for a very long time.  My DIY portfolio includes Christmas Pageant garb, four years of sorority theme parties in upstate New York, and obviously Halloween (times three per year because, duh, college.) I haven’t purchased a Halloween costume since 2004.

That being said, my post-collegiate DIY has morphed into an obsession with apartment décor and creating a Pottery Barn feel on Dollar Store budget, and am on a never-ending quest to answer the “how do I make my frat house apartment not look like a frat house apartment?” question.  No answer on that just yet.

Additionally, being an adult has now afforded me the luxury of DIY in real life. [Real life meaning not stitching myself into a toga and calling it “sewing.”]  Now, I am hosting baby and bridal showers for women with real, expensive standards on a real, non-expensive budget. Challenge accepted.

Because of my uncanny ability to set unrealistic expectations for myself, I will share the easier DIY projects from my recent party. 

Most Recent DIY Event: Boyfriend's Sister's Baby Shower 

DIY baby banner 

Effort Scale: moderate

Price Factor: inexpensive

Wow Factor: moderate

The banner was made using thick, by-the-sheet paper found at Michael's.  I opted to use the same colors, but different patterns to make it less flat. If calligraphy isn’t your thing, you can also buy pre-cut letters…but where’s the fun in that?!

This DIY banner was super fun, and personalized the giant wall we were playing one-sie games on, but required lots of supplies, and even more glue-on-fingers.  Overall, not a show stopper.

DIY table sets

Effort Scale: easy

Price Factor: veryexpensive

Wow Factor: moderate to high

The centerpieces were simply mason jars with fresh sunflowers and assorted pumpkins.  To personalize, I created a baby photo montage of the Mum and Dad-to-be and recycled three old frames.  The baby photos were a hit, but the sunflowers were quite pricey. 

DIY Chalkboard

Effort Scale: moderate to difficult

Price Factor: inexpensive

Wow Factor: very, very high

These are so fun to make, if you enjoy doodling. All supplies, including chalk, can be found at Home Depot (but if you want chalk in fun colors, hit the CVS en route home. And, maybe get some Swedish Fish...)

If there was one highlight of the entire baby shower, it was the Chalkboard signs - the ladies simply could not get enough of them. If you like sitting on the floor and coloring while watching sports, this is a good craft for you.

DIY table decor

Effort Scale: easy to moderate

Price Factor: inexpensive

Wow Factor: moderate

Again, super cheap and super fun. I simply drew what I wanted to write in pencil, and outlined in marker.  Boyfriend and I also wrote a note to Future-Neice so that it could live in her nursery.

DIY Favors

Effort Scale: moderate

Price Factor: moderate to expensive

Wow Factor: low to moderate

No, I didn't make the wine corks, but I did make the tags!  Use a fun font, print out, and cut into circles, then simply tie ribbon into a loop and tape on the back.

This is how I tricked everyone into thinking I hosted an almost Pinterest-worthy party without breaking the bank.

Questioning Questions?

I ask meaningless questions, allegedly.

Boyfriend told me this with an accompanying eye roll immediately after I looked over at him and asked: “how often do you think someone throws up in the back of that cruiser?!” while we were watching “Cops.” [Please ignore the fact that we were watching “Cops.”]

Little does he know that I have only shared a small tidbit of the reel of questions that I actually had.

Why did the police just shove a smelly, fat, drunk man into the back of the car that they drive every day? How much booze does it take to get this giant human being as drunk as he currently is? Do they have a special transport car for those in custody that smell like perma-drunk? How do they drive a car that smells like perma-drunk man every day? What does a person that fat and that drunk even smell like? What if it is extremely hot? How do they get the smell out? This man is so drunk he is slurring. What happens if he throws up in the cop car? Do they have a giant hose to clean the car? Can they charge the drunk giant for throwing up in the police car?

These are all questions I had asked myself that I opted not to ask.  Really, he was lucky that I only asked one.

It was then that I realized that I may be the only person who contemplates these types of questions while watching reality law enforcement television, which leads me to my next question: how does no one else think about this?!

I had a similar experience last weekend when I realized that I am the only one who finds favoritism in Pottery Barn magazine extremely distracting.

For Pottery Barn and wasps everywhere, the monogram is an interior decorating staple, and thereby is a feature in every magazine. I find the monogram to be extremely distracting and have to investigate it with every PB mag I look in. Want to know my question?  Who has the monogram CME? CME is sewn onto something in every single Pottery Barn magazine, a close second being MHK. Go ahead. Look. My questions begin:

Who is CME? Does some big-wig Pottery Barn executive have a wife with the monogram CME? Does she get everything? How many monogrammed pieces can a single person own?  Who are the other monograms?  Where do these monogrammed products go after their use in the magazine?  Is there an employee rotation? Do they play psychic and assume someone with those initials will buy it and ship them used goods? Can I be put on the list of monograms?  Who gets the dog bed that says “Coco?!”

For a moment, after Boyfriend called me out on asking pointless questions, my feelings were hurt. Am I really that abnormal because my brain continues to ask? I’ve decided no. I’d rather be overly questioning than overly boring.

Dessert Was A Bad Idea...

Sometimes I have this weird moment where I say: “Self, maybe you are just a giant Hypochondriac and don’t have Celiac Disease after all. You should eat something with wheat in it…just to be sure.”

Then, days like Christmas Eve happen, and I re-learn that I never want to eat gluten ever, ever again.

I am super aware of what I put into my body.  Gluten hides in everything and I’ve learned that being a tad more relaxed on food research, especially during the holidays, always results in my curling up on the floor, wondering if I am actually going to die.

The floor is no place to spend your Christmas.  Trust me.

This year, our Annual Mother/Daughter Christmas dinner occurred on the Eve of Christmas Eve.  Second to Christmas itself, this tradition is my favorite evening of the year where my mother, our two friends, and I meet at a super-fun restaurant and laugh, drink, and eat delicious food together. This year, while we certainly laughed, drank, and ate; I opt to omit the “delicious” descriptor from our meal; our service was rushed, our waitress was distracted, and my scallops were burned.  I should have known then that dessert was a bad idea, but upon receiving the dessert menu, the words Gluten Free Chocolate Cake immediately got my attention.  Yes, just yes.

Usually I skip dessert, but because it was advertised specifically as gluten-free, we decided to get a slice for the table.  To be sure, as always, I confirmed with our waitress that the cake was actually gluten free, to which she said yes.  She even mentioned that they had a regular chocolate cake with gluten, but I reminded her of my allergy to wheat and she confirmed.  I should have known then that dessert was a bad idea, but went against my better judgment and trusted the waitress. 

I continued to ignore my gut when the cake arrived: it was the most beautiful slice of cake I had seen in a long time, partially due to my thinking I could eat it. It was delicious, and addicting, and I found myself devouring it with my usual self-control seemingly missing.  I should have known then that dessert was a bad idea.

Fast forward through my evening, I was restless and uncomfortable but thought nothing of it - usually gluten poisoning hits me soon after ingestion, so the thought never crossed my mind that she could be the culprit. In hind-sight, I’ve never willingly eaten something so saturated with flour: now, I think my body was in shock.

It wasn’t until the morning where I realized the searing pain shooting through my body was gluten, visiting for the holidays without an invitation. As it stood, I was due at my parent’s house for pre-Christmas festivities, so I made my way there, fighting the pain, pretending it could go away. It didn’t.

I’m sure my mother appreciated my holiday arrival which was something along the lines of: “Hi. Merry Christmas. Iamgoingtothrowupmovemovemove.”

I will spare you the details, because Google, but after trying to fight through the family dinner …and failing, I gave in to the Gluten Gods, and realized my Christmas wasn’t going to be the usual church-going, carol-singing, Santa-filled night. No lights, no carols, no laughing, no ho-ho-holiday spirit. Just me, my miserable self, and my rockstar boyfriend. Missing church on Christmas Eve was my ultimate nightmare.

Luckily, this Christmas, I was also witness to a true Christmas miracle.  As quickly as the poison came, it seemingly left.  That’s not to say I felt good by any measure, but on Christmas, I was able to co-exist and ingest food like a normal human without looking sloth-like. [Yes, that is actually what it looks like.]

I have taken small memories from this past Christmas Eve, and tucked them away to remember in times of Celiac Doubt, for the days when I’m just unsure if I am actually capable of lying to myself. No Kristin, you aren’t faking.  No Kristin, you can’t eat that roll. No Kristin, Christmas Eve 2013.

What I've Learned About Men After Living With Them...

One of the biggest transitions of this past year was not moving in with my boyfriend... it was moving in with his roommates. 

Evidently, I knew nothing about the male population prior to this.

Thus, I have compiled what I have learned in the past year so that you don’t have to learn the hard way…like I did.

1. Men are messy.
Remember, the term “clean” is a relative term and used loosely based on personal interpretation.  To some, “clean” dishes may be those that have been run under water sans soap and a sponge, but to me, those dishes are called “dirty.”

2. Patience is a valuable virtue.

The shoes in the middle of the hall will eventually be moved, but only after someone needs to wear said shoes or someone trips over said shoes and is in enough pain to alert the entire apartment about their stumble.

3. Selective hearing exists.

It has been widely rumored that men don’t listen.  While at times this is accurate, don’t get caught assuming they aren’t listening when they actually are. Side note: selective hearing isn’t one sided, so don’t be a hypocrite.

4. The importance of picking your battles and letting things go.

Men don’t do drama like women do, but they do observe and retain. Learn your breaking point, and understand what is and isn’t important enough to get upset over.  If you constantly complain, you’ll lose your audience (See #3), but if you are tactful and direct, your point will resonate.

5. Some men are clean.

Confused?  Yes, I know.  It turns out that some men are actually neat freaks. There is a strategy here: align yourself with the clean one – he will be your voice in the battle against dirt.

6. We have way too much stuff.

Maybe it is just because we have a shoe-box-sized closet for two people and two cats, but it has become very apparent that we just have too much stuff. The problem?  I can’t seem to figure out what we do not need.  What we do need? A large apartment with vast amounts of storage.

7. Don’t ask questions you already know the answers to.

It seems simple, but avoiding this passive-aggressive tactic will save everyone the frustrations (see #4).

8. It is completely possible to play videogames all day long…

…and only that. There will be a day when you leave in the morning and return in the evening to find all male roommates exactly where you left them in front of the television.  Do yourself a favor, and don’t ask what they did all day (see #7) and then get upset when you’ve learned they’ve done nothing (see #4).

9. Men have feelings.

Our apartment has been filled with immense joy, utter sadness, complete disappointment, and total confusion over the past year. Unless you surround yourself with uneducated, heartless men, you will know and embrace the many emotions you’ll see from them. There is another lesson here: women can be cruel.

10. I have a very supportive boyfriend.

Moving in together was never a formal step for us. One day, I woke up and realized that all of my belongings were in his apartment, and I decided it was fair to start paying rent. Every day, K continues to amaze me in how he can handle my over-sensitivity and completely rational irrational anger without missing a beat.  

BONUS. A Dishwasher: you either have a functioning one, or you are one.

A dishwasher is one of those apartment luxuries that I will never take for granted again.

Don't think it's just me that's learned a thing or two since I've moved in. No one is allowed to be afraid of tampons in our apartment anymore. 

Janu-angry

I am not making a New Years Resolution, because no one actually keeps resolutions…

I do, however, believe in the concept behind setting a goal and achieving it, so this year, I am implementing two lifestyle changes that I hope will help improve my 2013.

No, neither of them are of the lose-weight, gym-more, be-a-better-you category, for two reasons:   

1.  If I were any more aware of what goes into my body, it would be unhealthy
2. My body, and its relationship with gravity, is involved in almost every decision I make.  There is simply no need to add a sham resolution to my already keenly-aware lifestyle.

With that, here are my two 2013 lifestyle changes that I am going to really, seriously, honest-to-God try to implement in my day-to-day life…which is why they aren’t exactly mind blowing.

Have less road rage.

It’s no secret that I have my fair share of car-related peril/anger/grudges, which in the past have all been completely necessary unnecessary.

It’s a new year.  I have a new car. I need a new attitude to match.

So I ask this: “self, how do you transition this resolution into a life change?”  Why sure, I’ll tell you.

• Stop aggressively honking.  If I have time to honk to prove a point, I have time to avoid the dumb driver.  In April 2010, I didn’t have time to honk: I was too busy braking, swerving, and thinking I was going to die. Stop honking unless its completely necessary.
• Stop yelling at people.  They can’t hear you, they really can’t.
• The whole “throwing your hands in the air to really drive the ‘I’m annoyed’ point home” needs to stop. Seriously. Plus, everyone in the car with you is looking at you…and judging.
• Use your blinker.  No really, use it.  Yes, even when switching lanes when no one is behind you.
• No more blogs about road rage. I know, I am as disappointed about this as you are.

The good news is that I have never, nor will I ever, flipped someone off in a car. So, I already have that going for me.

Notice how my resolution doesn’t completely eliminate road rage?  I mean, lets be realistic: I live in Boston – the capital of texting-while-driving, whatsa-blinker capital of America - there has to be some sort of geographically-sensitive grey area...

Take better pictures. 

This one is easy to explain.  2012 in pictures was mediocre at best, its not hard to improve when my photography looks like that of a six year old.

TGIT

Good: we, as in my hunky boyfriend and I, own 2 quirky yet slightly lovable cats.

Bad: they are slightly lovable....

TGIT: this is what happens every time I try to take a photo of Sally. I find it annoying that I have to surprise-photo-attack my cat so that I don't begin a photographic collection of her forehead.

#thisisalongpost

Twitter serves as my one-stop-shop for statuses, complaints, victories, and most recently free stuff [thanks McDonalds, Hooters, and Trident Gum!]  You should follow me – I am pretty witty.

At any rate, college students nationwide have been pouring their college realities into the Twitterverse, and it got me thinking: what would my twitterfeed have looked like during my college days?

I obviously couldn’t stop at thinking, and so, I have constructed my what-would-have-been collegiate twitterfeed, had I had this during my time at St. Lawrence University.

FRESHMAN YEAR:

@kristindacey: just saw the dance team body roll parallel to the grass at matriculation. Welcome to college.  #whenaretryouts

@kristindacey: clearly, it is no longer cool to go to bed at 10:30PM on weeknights. Body clock, please adjust accordingly #butilovesleep

@kristindacey: I live in the dorm so far on the outskirts of campus that it is faster to walk to the supermarket, than it is to eat in the dining hall. #smartfoodfordinner

@kristindacey: I MADE THE DANCE TEAM. #happydancehappydance

@kristindacey: nightly 6:00 dinner date with @maryewood, @bassettbaha, cyn, sar, and sarah…then off to Lee North to try and re-create a rum and grapefruit juice drink made by Cyn’s mama

@kristindacey: I just fell down the Pine Street staircase…again…and why is there sand all over the floor?! #frathouseproblems

@kristindacey: encounter with football boy in the dining hall. Played it cool by gasping and speed walking in the other direction #smoothmove

@kristindacey: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=60og9gwKh1o you are welcome.

@kristindacey: Copem find me inn the bachk bar of the tickr tock!!!!

@kristindacey: I woke up with a door knob from Phi Kap in my purse, so all evidence points to us having a good night? #whereisthegatorade

SOPHMORE YEAR:

@kristindacey: On the ferry en route to SLU. Moving into the block with the S6! #cantwait #sorryneighbors

@kristindacey: Update: our room is the size of a shoe closet…this should be good.

@kristindacey: starting rush…and spend an unhealthy amount of time on my nametag.  Don’t judge me - the nametag could be what gets me in…

@kristindacey: RUSHING GIVES ME EXTREME ANXIETY. Just had to peel myself off my dorm room floor after sobbing to my mom. Am I six? #justturnedinmybidcard

@kristindacey: DELTA DELTA DELTA!!!! BID DAY! #bestdayever #canteventweet #ohmygod

@kristindacey: What? Pledging? What is that?

@kristindacey: The three blind mice are confused why the bodypainted girl opted to do so in the rain. #youarenaked #thepaintisrunning

@kristindacey: can’t I just take whatever classes I want and call it a major? I hate my life #mymajorisbeingawesome

@kristindacey: Boy #1 just walked by in the red pleather pants he had on last night, and Boy #2 is in a light blue high-calf bathrobe.  Not sure my day can get much better, and its 11AM.

@kristindacey: that groaning that we thought was two people having sex in the shower all the time? No, no, just the big lunky football guy that lives down the hall #dontusethatshower #ew

JUNIOR YEAR:

@kristindacey: moving into Delta with Lisa and Sara. WOOP WOOP! #whyisntmarymovinginwithus

@kristindacey: tell me how I’m supposed to breathe with no airrrr, aiirrrr @essceebee http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DvABw3j844k

@kristindacey: I have pretty much moved into the fourth floor of Whitman. #sorryimnotsorry

@kristindacey: I’d tweet more, but I can get better internet connection in Southern Africa than I can in this sorority. #1connecting

@kristindacey: #LIBRARYRAT #bringcaffienetothebackleftcornerofthelibrary #stressed

@kristindacey: everyone is going abroad.  If I don’t get into London, I will be drinking alone in my dorm room until next Fall. #pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease

@kristindacey: LONDON OR BUST!

@kristindacey: getting on the plane, and I am already homesick? #maybemilkwasabadchoice #iloveamerica

@kristindacey: dear mom, call the dean. #welivewithswingers

@kristindacey: okay, so we don’t know how to turn on the hot water or the lights in the bathroom.  #coldbathbeforenightfall

@kristindacey: Stonehenge? Not so exciting. The spicy burrito for dinner? Pretty exciting.

SENIOR YEAR:

@kristindacey: moving into the suite. Goals for the year: making it out with all appendages and graduating…in that order.

@kristindacey:  Copem find me inn the frnt bar of the tickr tock!!!! #bettedaviseyes

@kristindacey: the moment after you frantically run to the bathroom hungover and exit to find the entire SLU football team sitting on your couch watching ANTM, waiting for a haircut…and judging you.

@kristindacey: @maryewood: come in my room.

@kristindacey: @maryewood: no, you come here.

@kristindacey: @maryewood: no, I am more hungover than you.

@kristindacey: @maryewood: fine. I’m coming.

@kristindacey: Senior Thesis-ing.  Don’t talk to me until end of December. #iminthecomputerlabofthelibrarybringcoffee

@kristindacey: “You taking two dance classes in one semester is like me taking two skiing classes” – Gabe Cohen #sorryimnotsorry #bestacademicsemesterever #deanslistorbust

@kristindacey: Should we talk about what happens if someone gets jello in their eyes during jello wrestling? No? Okay then.  #mom

@kristindacey: you can tell who was invited to Delta formal by whether they have blue glitter all over their pants. Hahahaha #festive #deltalovescrafts

@kristindacey: hungover. don’t talk to me.

@kristindacey: Poll: will anyone notice if I wear the same dress to Delta, Kappa, and Phi Kap formals or will everyone be equally blacked out all three nights?

@kristindacey: Apply for a job? What? What is a job?! #maybeishouldfailadanceclass #neverleaving

@kristindacey: I am sitting at graduation and I just realized I never took off my shower shoes… #myparentswillbeproud

All I'm Ever Gonna Be Is Mean?

Taylor Swift is this decade’s Nickelback.

Bold statement, I know, but just hear my thought process.

The cool thing now is to hate Nickelback.  Right?  I mean, I do.

The odd thing is that at one point I definitely liked Nickelback, and you did too, alone with millions of other Americans. I mean, how else would they have become so popular?  Someone had to have liked them, and don’t tell me you didn’t belt “How you remind me” in the car a couple of times.  Yes, I linked it for old times sake. You’re welcome.

Anywho, currently I dislike Nickelback, but I kind of feel bad about it.  I mean, they didn’t really do anything to me besides gradually annoy me more and more.  This is kind how my relationship with Tay-Tay is currently: tumultuous at best.

I was the first to stick up for Taylor during the Kanye scandal.  No one deserves to be publicly humiliated and bullied on such a large scale.  The girl has serious pipes, and a flawless career.  No one can take that away from her.

Lately, though, I have heard more about Taylor’s love life with Taylor Lautner  John Mayer  Jake Gyllenhaal   Conor Kennedy  Harry Styles than her music [which is ironic since she has written at least one song about each of her failed relationships] – and that annoys me.  If she wants to be a country singer, sing, if she wants to publicly display her failing love life, go on the Bachelor.  Either way, Tay will be in my life [hi, giant Bachelor fan here], but at least I will know how to properly categorize her in my brain.

Don’t get me wrong, I respect Taylor for being able to build an empire off of a teenager with a squeaky clean reputation, but slowly she is outgrowing the very image that made her famous.  At this rate, she has dated more men than Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian combined during the same time period. That is no girl next door, America, unless its on HBO after 11PM.

I know that Taylor is most likely a misunderstood twenty-something just looking for love, but is it sympathy that now sells her records over her twang, yet slightly pop, voice? I like to think not, and I’d like to keep it that way.

At this point, every time I hear a Taylor song, I can’t help but wonder if she will ever, ever, ever get that it might be her, not the men she opts to date.

I am guilt-stricken for disliking Taylor as much as I currently do, but I just can’t help how I feel.

So, as I say to Nickelback, that’s enough Taylor Swift.

Do You Want To Drive?

Ive come to terms with the fact that there is one condition where I feel completely comfortable driving – and that is when I am in the passenger seat.

Unsatisfactory driving condition breakdown, ahem:

When I am in a hurry

My life is a string of activities held together by unrealistic travel times; therefore, a majority of my life is spent trying to get somewhere faster than it is physically possible.  Again, we stumble onto my reoccurring problem with unrealistic expectations, or in this case, commuting realities. My apartment to my parent’s house in 25 minutes? Sure! Work in Framingham to my apartment in Boston in less than 45 minutes at 5:00 on a Friday?  Doable.  Boston to the Martha’s Vineyard ferry in less than two hours? Totally realistic. It is also imminent that I will hit the worst traffic when I am in the biggest hurry [please see When in traffic.]

What happens when I am driving in a hurry:

Oh hey, constant state of anxious panic! I’ve missed you.  Elevated heartrate?  Check.  Compulsively switching lanes to keep from breaking? Check. Yelling at the car in front of me? Check.  Constantly staring at the clock?  Check.  Either listening to music really loudly, or accidentally sitting in complete silence?  Check.  Doing all this while also looking for undercover staties? Check.

When I am in traffic:

I am not a good traffic driver. I absolutely abhor sitting bumper to bumper for no apparent reason other than a minivan with a flat tire in the breakdown lane.  Bostonians are naturally a curious, some say noisy, breed; combine inbred curious personalities with awful driving technique and you’ll get the perfect set up for an additional accident due to staring at said mini-van.  There is nothing to see, fellow drivers.  Less looking and more foot-to-gas-pedal, please.

What happens when I am driving in traffic?

Let the games begin!  As soon as I see brake lights, I almost immediately fly into the lane that is moving the fastest and try to ride on the coattails of the drivers in front of me to bypass traffic.  Once I realize that I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, I then pick a car in another lane and race it…while in traffic. The game changes when I am in a rush, to which I then become that girl who rides the bumper of the car in front of me in hopes of getting them to go faster, you know, because its their fault that I am sitting in traffic with only 15 minutes to get home.

When its raining:

95% of Massachusetts drivers panic and/or completely forget how to drive when any form of moisture falls from the sky.  It is water, people, not molten lava. Regardless, rain means windshield wipers, windshield wipers mean distracted driving, distracted driving means traffic. I hate traffic [please see When in traffic –are we sensing a trend?]

What happens when I am driving in the rain?

Since my windshield wipers now work, a majority of my drive consists of my smiling at said functioning windshield wipers, and giving Gertrude in the Subaru in front of me plenty of space as she breaks for puddles.

When its monsooning:

Rain is one thing, but outright downpours are another. No one likes driving while being unable to see.

What happens when I am driving in a monsoon?

White knuckle driving, hands at ten and two. No talking. Most likely on the verge of tears.

When its snowing:

I am better at driving in the snow than you are, I can dig my car out faster than you, and I can get my car out of almost any snowed-in parking space.  Yes, I am talking to you.  My vast experience comes from father-taught skidding seminars, living in the arctic tundra throughout my collegiate years, and one particularly bad 9 hour drive home from Burlington, Vermont a la blizzard that has left me very confident in my abilities to drive in the snow. I am not worried about my driving in the snow; I am worried about yours.

What happens when I am driving in the snow?

Space. Lots of space happens in the snow. I give you space; you give me space; and we both win when you go into a decent skid into the other lane, and I am able to stop with nailing you. You are very welcome. If the weather is considered blizzarding and requires actual attention, please see When its monsooning.

When its dark:

For those of you who don’t know, I am nearsighted and am in complete denial over the fact that I need to wear my glasses in order to see far distances. Darkness heightens my said blindness, yet I still never have my glasses with me when I need them.  Need me to read an upcoming exit sign?  Not going to happen. 

What happens when I am driving in the dark?

I lock my doors (stranger danger), and start squinting a la Long Duck Dong.  Yes, that was just a reference to “Sixteen Candles.”

When I have acquaintance-level people in the car:

Obviously, I am completely comfortable driving around my friends and family – its when friends-of-friends or acquaintances join that this blonde gets a tad uncomfortable. Am I driving too slow?  Are they judging me for not using my blinker?  Do they think my radio pre-set is sub-par?  Are they concerned that I am a hoarding out of my car? All of these thoughts monopolize my brain while I have unfamiliar company in the car, when the majority of my brain power should be actually spent concentrating on the road. Since passengers are most likely only concerned with getting from Point A to Point B quickly and safely, it becomes a mute point if they are enjoying my music selection if we slam into the back of another car because I was fiddling with the radio.  I digress.

What happens when I am driving with other people in the car?

I am always talking; shocking, I know.  I think it is my way of making sure they are entertained for the entirety of the car ride. What, its not normal wanting people to reflect on their car ride fondly?  Would you mind filling out a post-ride survey outlining your Sass experience?

When its sunny:

You’d think that a sunny day would be an anxiety free experience, but then I remember that beautiful April day in 2010, when I technically totaled Sass…so then there’s that…

At any rate, you can see how most likely shouldn't operate a motor vehicle at all since my attention is almost always focused on something other than the actual road.

(Disclaimer: I am actually a very good driver, I just hate doing it.)

Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen

Just kidding, only confessions from me…a just slightly neurotic twenty-something…not nearly as dramatic, but definitely as hormonal.

1. I spend way too much time thinking about how birds get inside the mall…
2. Hi, my name is Kristin and I am a fan of Wilson Phillips. You are too, you should watch this video.
3. Apparently, every time I get up from my desk, I hum and/or sing whatever song is currently stuck in my head. Unfortunate for those who dislike Wilson Phillips, see #2.
4. I think those who don’t utilize resistance on cardio machines are wimps.
5. Sitting Indian style > sitting any other way.
6. I have double jointed hips and toes. #ballerinaproblems
7. I only buy OPI nail polish…and its because I think the color names are witty, kind of like me.
8. Apparently, I am the only person who despises cantaloupe.
9. I have to actively not pick nail polish off my fingernails.
10. There is nothing more annoying to me than someone who misspells my name.
11. Best feeling ever = newly sharpened pencil. Note: pencil can be both of the lead and make-up variety.
12. According to most bridesmaid dress measurement charts, my chest size is 3 sizes larger than the rest of my body. I keep reminding myself that some women pay to have this problem. Right.
13. I am twenty five years old, and I still say the alphabet when I bend the tab on top of a seltzer can. You do the math.
14. If I need chocolate, it seems as though any type will do…in unrelated news, did you know there is chocolate whipped cream?
15. There is often abnormally loud cracks that come from my joints. I blame 22 years of dance, my mother blames 20 years of purposeful cracking.
16. I notice when people don’t wash their hands in a public bathroom. They are lucky I don’t chase after them with hand sanitizer
17. My dresser is from the infant department of target…and now I get emails weekly about Target’s nursery furniture sales. Just because I lived in a small apartment does not make me an expectant mother, Target.
18. My afternoon snack almost always includes a glass of almond milk. Am I six?
19. If you are busy enough, no one will notice that you haven’t styled your hair or worn anything but Ugg boots to work for the past 3 weeks.
20. It is now unnatural for me to use an informal contraction in any type of writing – informal or not. What – you don’t feel like you’ve committed a crime when you use don’t instead of do not?
    

TGIT

This happened. #irishgirlproblems.

Daylight Savings Directly Caused Me To Re-Live Middle School

[Disclaimer: this is a story I just have to put out into the universe…but I feel like a cyber bully…]

This morning was odd. For one, getting out of bed post time change has been, well, just plain painful.
I am a morning person, but I am no morning person when the clock says its 6AM, but it is really 5AM. That makes my clock a liar, and we all know how I feel about those.
Daylight savings caused me sleep loss.
At any rate, there I was this morning with an unusual craving for a caffeinated beverage, and knowing what my day had in store, I indulged and stopped. That should have been my first clue that something in my day was to go awry…the last time I stopped for coffee “just because” was about ten minutes before the Great Car Accident of 2010. Click here if you haven’t read that gem yet…
Daylight savings caused me sleep loss which caused me to stop for caffeine.
Immediately after walking into Starbucks, I regretted my decision to stop for coffee. The line was far too long for the caffeine headache I was undoubtedly going to get at 3:00PM because I so rarely drink caffeine. I almost turned around, but I decided to stay. As I am haphazardly catching up on some of my Words With Friends games (which has become a chore in and of itself), I hear a “Oh my god! Is that you Kristin Dacey?!”

That is a line that I never like to hear, but that is a line I am down-right afraid to hear if I am a) in my hometown, b) not wearing any make up, or c) in a hurry. Luckily for me, this morning I hit the trifecta.

I turn around with my best fake sorority smile, not knowing who to expect, and there she was: my middle school bully.

I will be the first to admit that middle school sucks. Period. People who say they liked middle school are one of two things:

1. A bold-face liar
2. One of those mean girls who peaked far too early in their social career.

The middle school bully was not popular or pretty…she was just a girl, who didn’t want a new girl to join her social circle…and I had. Because no one actually wants to hear about my middle school baggage, and frankly, I am not ready to be that transparent, we will just go on record as saying that she was mostly successful re: making my life miserable…I mean, it is only healthy to scrub your name off a bathroom wall so many times before it starts to wear you down.

Back to the Starbucks, I am now make-up-less face-to-face with the bully…and we are both in the same snail’s pace line. I was stuck.
Daylight savings caused me sleep loss which caused me to stop for caffeine which led me to see Bully.
I have to say, we had a very nice conversation and I left with a caffeinated beverage, and a little extra oomph in my step.

Why, you might ask? Because I ran into the middle school bully, and she was ugly and unemployed.

My mom will be thrilled to know that her prediction of 15 years ago has come to fruition. Does it make me a bad person that I am not upset that she was right?

TGIT

I have decided that if I were ever to vacate my desk quickly, this is what I would have left someone else to not only clean up, but also decipher.

This is what I am currently dealing with on my desk.


For those of you who do not have beyond perfect vision, I will highlight some of my favorite "reminders"

• to start, one of them simply says "Friday." Your guess is as good as mine as to what that could possibly be reminding me of. Perhaps I was supposed to do something super important on Friday that I couldn't forget, or maybe I was merely wishing it was Friday. Either way, this sticky proves useless.
• Another good one is the one that reads: "Travel Idea! Do not forget..." Well, thank the lord I wrote that down, never mind leaving myself a hint as to what this amazing travel idea might be. Again, this is another super helpful and descriptive sticky note.
• there is also a sticky note with a library call number that will spit you in the middle of the Celiac Disease section of my library if someone were to actually look it up...as well as a sticky note reminding myself of a rock version of the "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy" song from the Nutcracker.

....maybe I should think about utilizing the voice memo or reminder option in my iPhone.

Ode to CVS

Because of my ungodly amount of prescription meds [thanks for that, bod] I find myself frequenting CVS far more than any normal person should. It is with that caveat that I explain, CVS is my drug.

For one, the second I walk into CVS, my body releases an unusual amount of Seratonin/Dopamine/every other happy-enducing hormone that my body produces. It’s like I subconsciously know that my every want and need is going to be fulfilled before I leave the very doors I just entered. CVS is like my fix.

Its layout is nearly perfect for the way my brain functions. To start, the shopping baskets are placed in the most obnoxious place - I can’t walk in without tripping over them. To some might be annoying, but to others [like me who attempt to balance all their goods in one arm while trying to grab something on the bottom shelf] it is a blessing. CVS reminds me of my shortcomings.

Immediately, I am spit into the aisle where I actually need something, which is conveniently connected to the aisle containing the things I don’t need, per se, but probably should have, which is conveniently connected to the make-up aisle, which then syncs me up with the nail polish section, which leads me to what I call the “Aleve and Celiac” aisle, which syncs to the “as seen on tv” aisle, followed by the yummy drink and vitamin aisle, which connects me back to the pharmacy where I can get one of my 1345 prescriptions and skip the line at the front of the store, created by the woman trying to pay with all coupons and pennies. Phew.

Before I tip my hat to their corporate store-planners, [bravo, corporate, bravo], I would also like to toot my own horn, as I believe that I not only have perfected the CVS shopping experience, but have also single-handedly employ most of the pharmacists on hand at any given time. This is another reason I simply adore CVS- I can get snacks and anti-anxiety meds in the same place. CVS is created for [just slightly neurotic] twenty-somethings just like me.

Lastly, being on the pharmacy VIP list also has its perks [no pun intended.] For one, I am on a conversational basis with all pharmacists: one of them knows my name and asks how many I am picking up, another one tells me that I haven’t changed since second grade. Secondly, I now have the CVS phone number memorized for when I get automatic refill reminders. I now avoid the call, acting like it’s a bad boyfriend, but always end up at the CVS for my weekly pick-me-up. CVS knows that I forget everything if it isn’t causing me immediate anxiety.

I Am Sorry I am Not Sorry

Frankly, the term “I am sorry” is the most overused word in the English language.

I am sorry, but I am most definitely an apology addict.

I am sorry I got so drunk. I am sorry I got into a better school than you. I am sorry that I am a stickler for grammar. I am sorry that you don’t have a car. I am sorry that I am taller than you. I am sorry I have such neat handwriting. I am sorry you walked into me.

All of these things have come out of my mouth in the last 48 hours, but the one that forced me into writing a blog about it was this one:

I am sorry, I have Celiac.

Recently, this is a sentence that has been word vomiting from my mouth far more frequently than it should be. As if my pre-existing ordering awkwardness wasn’t already weird enough, I now need to explain to all wait staff that I have a dietary limitation. I am now that girl.

So, when I feel like a waitress is judging me for customizing my meal, instead of leaving my [very personal, noneya business] explanation out, I always end up not only over-sharing, but also asking for forgiveness.

I am sorry, I have Celiac.

I stop and think: what exactly am I sorry for?! Well, I profusely apologize that my genetic defect, which has turned my world upside down in less than three months, is now going to inconvenience you. Now, instead of simply writing my carbon-copy order down, you now need to note that I need dressing on the side/no croutons please/ no bread on the side/ need to make sure the sauce has no gluten. Your life must be so hard.*

*Your life is so hard, that is, until you go to eat the free dinner you are provided in the back, and not think once about any of the ingredients in the chicken dish you are shoving into your mouth.

I am so sorry that I need your help in learning about the ingredients in the food you are about to serve to me, only doing so because I am unable to find said ingredients on your website which I most definitely scoured prior to my arriving at your restaurant. I am so sorry that if you don’t do this small custom order for me, that I will spend the next several hours doubled over in pain because it was such an inconvenience to you.

Well, guess what. I am not sorry…so, I am not going to say it anymore.

Fool Me Once: Stop Going To Nightclubs, Fool Me Twice?

Lets, for a brief moment, relive the painful memory that is November 2008, when Plaxico Burress accidently shot himself in the leg.

In avoiding the obvious questions I had as an avid, my-dad-raised-me-as-a-boy-when-it-comes-to-football fan, abridged into the following overly long question: “Um, why was Plaxico Burress packing in the first place… in a bar… the night before a big game against Washington…with other Giants players…with the gun stored in a position that could shoot himself or others…without a safety on?”

I digress.

I actually want to think about the public consequences that came of his poor decision, such as:

• Plaxico’s recuperation process after physically shooting himself in the leg
• being convicted of a felony, and forced to serve time
• Never being able to play football as well as he did pre-shooting self in leg
• The financial burden in paying legal fees and not having the security net of a professional football play salary
• Letting down an entire football team, and its corresponding fans
• His forever tainted public image as the “idiot who actually shot himself in the foot.”
• Crushing a certain 21 year old fan, who was relying on him to pull through as her favorite Giant when Michael Strahan retired. Ahem.

Not to mention the toll it took on me, I mean Giants Nation…as if it isn’t hard enough being Giants fans already. If I had a dollar for each moment of second-hand Plaxico embarrassment I felt, I would most likely be writing this from my private yacht somewhere in the middle of the Mediterranean. Ah, a girl can dream. Its fine though, I mean really who doesn’t like having to defend the reasoning behind their team’s wide receiver shooting themselves in the foot in the middle of the season?

Giants Nation Moral Lesson: no more packing whilst in Manhattan nightclubs.

Fine. Easy. We move on…

…or at least we had moved on until Monday night, when four members of the Giants starting line-up were caught in a fatal Manhattan night club shooting. [read the embarressing story here, thanks espn]

Déjà vu, anyone?

Luckily, no one from my beloved NYG franchise was hurt, but it sparks 3 immediate alarming thoughts for me:

1. Did we not learn our lesson the first time? (see above)
2. Can we not find better establishments to hang out at whilst enjoying ourselves? Perhaps places where people aren’t packing might suffice.
3. Is it necessary to start running a nightly program where players need to check in weaponless, and can’t leave until the morning?

Also, Victor Cruz, who was rapidly climbing my “Favorite Giant Player” ladder has been forced to the bottom, as I don’t think I can come to avidly supporting someone who might accidently shoot himself in the leg…again.

[Insert Quote from the Procrastinator A La Nickelodean's 'All That']

So recently, while at a church council meeting [yes, I was asked to join church council…that’s another story in and of itself…] we began talking about the validity of blogs.

Evidently, in order to stay up-to-date [which we know I am currently nowhere near], I need to blog every two to three days.

Panic.

Remember when I used to be such a good little blogger because ohmygodmyreadersneedsomethingtoreadanditismydutyasaselfproclaimedbloggertopost?

Ah yes, the good ole days of having a functioning computer at home, and not having the sleep-inducing side effects of diagnosing Celiac Disease (which by the way I officially now have…)

In the middle of my church meeting, I then had a sudden urge to blog…not just blog, but meaningfully and passionately blog…

…it was an urge that clearly passed, as by the end of the meeting, I had no doubt completely forgotten about blogging and moved onto more important, in-the-moment issues, such as why I had such a deeply rooted headache in the core of my brain.

I almost completely forgot about one little justslightlyneurotic.blogspot.com, until again today JSN was brought up in a conversation.

I again wee-womped at the fact that I have been badly neglecting JSN. I started to feel guilty...

...then after deciding that my website definitely does not have feelings, I realized, more importantly, that I will now need to rely on my unreliable memory to remember what I did throughout the 2011 year, as opposed to being able to flip through my electronically captured inner monologue. Sigh.

So here I am, writing an apology note to the vast space of the world wide web, JSN.blogspot, and well, myself and promise to do a better job of keeping my life somehow logged.

Did I really just write a blog excusing my lack of blogging? Yup.
Do I promise to start blogging more, despite my life with a touch of completelycrazy? Yup.
Think I can procrastinate doing so until tomorrow, when I honest will write about something other than my lack-o-bloggin’? Yup!

Camp Anawanna?

Apologies for my lack of blogging lately, but don’t be looking for any blogging next week either.

Why?

Because I will be camping [for the first time ever].

No need to adjust the brightness on your monitor, I did just say camping.

What started out as a joke between friends has quickly escalated to a very real reality. I will be one with nature beginning on Monday. Sound the alarms.

Surprisingly, I am actually very excited to partake in my first camping trip. For one, I will be going in toe with 6 of my closet friends, copious amounts of alcohol and scrabble. All of which amount to a wonderful time separately, never mind when they are combined together. Secondly, I have been [if only just slightly] neurotically checking the weather forecast, and it seems as though things look relatively dry*

Much to my worry, I have gotten mixed reviews re: my upcoming camping trip. Statistics based on initial reactions are shared below:

• 50% agree that I will enjoy camping…and maybe even love it
• 30% think that camping is the most wretched activity ever to be invented by man
• 18% politely expressed that everyone has that “one camping story” and that they can’t wait to hear mine
• 2% immediately warned me not to trust anyone if they said they would bring a sleeping bag for me to borrow.

These reactions worried me for many reasons, the most glaring reason being that I am, in fact, relying on someone to bring me a sleeping bag. Do you not think I will be a fun camper? Do I seem like a high maintence person? Why don’t you think I will like camping? [Insert neurotic questioning rant here.]

I decided that, instead of allowing others to decide whether or not I would be a good camper, I would myself decide if I could hack it in the wilderness of New Hampshire during October.

Here enter my Pro/Con Camping List:

These are the reasons why I will be a fantastic fall camper.

1. I am excited! Generally, positive attitude = positive experience. I think [I am going to have fun], therefore I am [going to have fun].
2. I can do cold weather. I don’t just “do” cold weather, I excel in cold weather. Cold builds character, and I have lots of character. Let’s take this opportunity to remember my collegiate years in the arctic, where yours truly joined a sorority where it was tradition to all sleep in one room with the windows open all year round.
3. I like nature…as in I like gazing at stars, sitting around camp fires, and hanging outside with friends…I think.
4. I can sleep anywhere, provided it isn’t extremely uncomfortable, light or hot, and that I can fall asleep on my stomach.
5. I am excited to turn off my cell phone…can you hear me now? Nope.
6. I am very educated on what to do if something goes wrong. I have seen pretty much every episode of “Man vs Wild”, as well as “Man, Woman, Wild.” I feel confident on my abilities to thrive under pressure in an emergency. I think of my continuing outdoor education and my epipen in a similar manner: I learn to use it with the hopes of never having to.
7. I love the people I’m going with. Good company = good time.

These are the reasons why I might not be a fantastic camper.

1. The closest experience I have ever had to camping would be day drinking at the Hunt. The Hunt, for those of you who don’t know, is a horse race in Jersey where the waspy 20-somethings of New England pretend to be outdoorsy by standing in a muddy field in preparation for a fox hunt. This is also an opportunity for wasps to wear their Barbour jacket, Hunter boots, and Rayban sunglasses just to say as to say “I’m loaded, waspy, but can be bro outdoors.” I wish I could pretend that I wasn’t absolutely dying for a Barbour jacket, but I completely am. I digress.
2. Nature…as in existing with it for an extended period of time. I wouldn’t be concerned if we were taking a short camping trip, however, me being me agreed to go on a six day camping excursion, having never gone before…not my brightest idea.
3. Bugs. I don’t do well with bugs, spiders, snakes, or anything else I have seen on the Discovery Channel.
4. Hi, I have Celiac. No one wants to go camping with someone who has a food problem.
5. Hi, I have an epipen. No one wants to go camping with someone who could die because of said food problem.
6. I am no good at hiking, but I think I am saved with the group I am going with, as the word “exercise” is often perceived as a bad word.
7. I have a very vibrant imagination and am extremely paranoid. This cannot be a good combination in the middle of the woods with a bunch of pranksters.

Stay tuned for my camping experiences, and that one token camp story that is bound to be born.

Signed, Woman of the Wilderness