Just when you think that life is kind of meh, the light breaks through. I’ve made a nice little life for myself. It is nice to stop and marvel at it sometimes. I hope your 2014 is full of love, laughter and adventure.
I am currently sitting on a dirty, dog-couch, drinking a hard cider and watching Parks and Rec on FXX. I made it to Park City! My travels have sparked some thoughts that I would like to share.
Kids on planes: I thought that taking a 7:21pm flight out of JFK would no kids. Apparently I was way wrong. I could have booked 6 nanny gigs in the front of the plane alone. (I made the mistake of sitting in the back of the plane. So that means I would have had to deal with Ana Lucia. Yuck)
Fitbits: My wonderful friend got me a great deal on some Fitbits. I gave one to my dad for Christmas. I am now obsessed with my activity. This poor machine is going to get the wrong impression. This might be the one week out of 2013 that I’m not tethered to my couch/bed/nap-thrown.
Fresh air makes me feel sick and really nice people freak me out.
Free bus ride: Sundance brings in so much money that you don’t have to pay to take the bus. The city doesn’t want your money. DOESN’T WANT IT. Mind = blown.
Ride-share van people: I used a ride-share van from SLC to my brother’s bro-palace. It was at 1:40am. My van consisted of: a 30 something hipster couple from Brooklyn and their trendy baby, a very uptight couple and their overmedicated child, 3 separate dudes and me. Our driver didn’t have a GPS and wore sunglasses.
Why is it that every time I go to a market the person ahead of me is buying lottery tickets. EVERY TIME. You would think there was an APB out that I had dry mouth and craved an Arnold Palmer. Why are these people always purchasing lotto tickets? And it’s not just one ticket. It’s like fifteen. And there is always the lady in the Tweety Bird pajamas. I can’t. This needs to stop.
Catfish is really depressing. I have watched roughly 30 hours of the show and it keeps breaking my heart. I was very creeped out by “Artis and Jess and Justin” (ep. 209). I was certain that the Justin dude was going to murder all of them and then store their body parts in shoe boxes. Yikes. My relationship with Nev and Max has started to fluctuate. Sometimes they ask really personal and direct questions and it makes me squirm. Max can be kind of mean but I guess he is just being real. Most of these people just signed up to have their dreams crushed. I am impressed by the people who are ready to rumble. They show up all pissed and deliver a powerful speech about how they will rise about this bullshit. It is amazing how people muster the courage from complete humiliation. They’ve got nothing to lose at this point. Why not make the first thirty five minutes worth it. And what about these assholes. Oh, they are lonely. Or they don’t know how to talk to girls. Wah. I am still super uncomfortable with the group therapy that happens at the end. Sometimes they fight and Nev and Max think they are helping (but they are really making it worse). Are we a nation of crazy people? Does everyone with an IP address have a personality disorder? I do like some of the music. It is a good soundtrack for my commentary.
We finally got the rest of the furniture for our apartment. You’d think our lives were sponsored by Ikea circa 2010. My cat is enjoying all of the new surfaces he can groom himself on. This is yet another adventure in short term disability that I can attempt to navigate on muscle relaxers.
Buzzfeed posted an article, I Was Drugged By A Stranger. Read it.
Can we just all agree that we are over mustaches? They need to stop. They are ruining cups, and towels and tee shirts and scarves. I can’t. I was over this a year ago. And add bacon to the list. As a bacon enthusiast, I can assure you my love for pork yumminess is genuine. But I have to draw a line somewhere. Toothpaste? Candles? Bacon deodorant? Why would someone want to punish themselves with the illusion of my beloved bacon? How stupid.
The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills has reached ridiculous proportions. It is a weekly lesson in passive aggressive shit slinging. These ladies can’t even get together for one meal without getting into some high school level bullshit. Brandy needs to jump off this sinking ship before her 15 minutes are up. I have grown to like her. This new Carlton lady creeps me out. Her weird tan makes her look sick. Yuck.
I really miss 30 Rock. I’m still superficially into Revenge. The Blacklist is super. Parenthood is dehydrating me. TV is pretty great. Even SNL has been keeping my interest. The news has really been writing the jokes lately. Rob Ford is a clown. Jon Stewart’s writing team doesn’t even have to try. Hooray for television!
My best friend is starting a project: http://jlk2930.tumblr.com/ . You should keep track of her awesomeness. She is going to do great things.
Parenthood is so good. But if Julia cheats on Joel I will lose my shit. She needs a therapist. And a hobby. Joel was super dad for 4 seasons. He juggled Sidney and Victor and all of her needs flawlessly. And he made it look so damn sexy in his slightly unfitted button ups. Julia needs to get it together before she ruins everything and I hate her forever.
I turned 27 yesterday. That was weird. It was really great to hear from everyone. I felt very loved. Especially in the form of food! My manfriend took me to see John Mulaney. Apparently it was blazer night at The Wilbur Theater. John, Jeremy and I all looked adorable in our seasonal outerwear. John was great, as usual. I just wish he had done more new stuff.
Does anyone else think there is something really weird about the whole Miami Dolphins hazing thing? Shocker, people are dicks. The NFL has been in the news almost as much as George Zimmerman this year. Why don’t they just keep it to themselves like a normal group of criminals. Tannehill’s hot wife can’t eclipse this disaster. Yikes. In other news, my Colts are doing awesome. I’m not really sure what happened against the Texans, but I will take the W. Sunday should be easy. The Rams have been meh.
I’m really into The Blacklist. I think Elizabeth Keen is pretty awesome. She could potentially reach Lorelai/Olivia status. (I know, crazy. How could I even say that so early into the relationship. I just have a good feeling.) I am really into her storyline. What is the deal with her husband? I still think that there are way more creepy secrets. I really hope that there are more twists. I miss Dexter. I really need this to work out.
The Ice Truck Killer, Trinity and Deb’s weird eye.
Dexter is over. What the f was that finale?
How do I move on?
In a final season that started strongly but waned quickly, Dexter left us with one of the show’s saddest and most heartbreaking scenes. In Remember the Monsters? (season 8 episode 12), Dexter visits his sister Deb after she is shot by Vogel’s weirdo son. Things had taken an emotional dump on the sibling the past two seasons.You know, after Deb discovered and struggled to accept that her beloved brother is a serial killer. The loving relationship the two managed to form in spite of everything turns out to be their final conversation in the hospital. Cue the tears.
Not long after Dexter leaves Deb’s bedside, she suffers a blood clot that leads to a stroke and puts her in a persistent vegetative state.
In anger and despair, Dexter kills Oliver to avenge Deb and goes to her bedside even though the hospital is a shitshow from the incoming hurricane. Me: crying.
Dexter, in brooding agony, tells Deb he is sorry and tearfully takes her off life support. Me: sobbing. Before she flat lines, Dexter whispers in Deb’s ear that he does love her. Me: SOBBING.
I was weirded out by Dexter taking Debs body out to sea. That was kind of a dick move on his part. And then we watch Hannah take Harrison onto a plane (okay bye). And then we watch Dex drive his boat into the hurricane. I was no longer sobbing. I think I stopped crying out of confusion. Or immense disappointment.
Finales are tough. Dexter was a weird show so there wasn’t any sort of formula to follow. But we had a good run. The Ice Truck Killer, Trinity, Deb’s weird eye. I’m going to miss yelling at Quinn for sleeping with strippers and Dexter for being a horrible father/ stepfather. Now what? Do I just tuck it away with my other lost friends? I can file it next to Liz Lemon and Jim Halpert (god I miss them). It’s okay… time for some new shows. The Newsroom pilot was pretty awesome…
Oh my god. okay. Can we talk about SVU on Wednesday. I can’t. I am already crying. What is going to happen to Olivia? That dude from Weeds/Orange Is The New Black was in her apartment and had a gun to her head! And now the commercials are freaking me out. I am almost too scared to watch. She has to be okay. I haven’t heard anything about Mariska’s contract being up. I couldn’t handle it. She is my everything.
Also, Parenthood starts on Thursday. I’m pumped. It will be an additional dose of therapy each week. I am still shocked that none of them were nominated for an Emmy. Monica Potter’s performance last season was incredible. Peter Krause taught me what hope truly looks like. The Braverman family was a masterpiece that never disappointed. So what’s the deal Emmys? You’re stupid.
Terry Richardson directed the new Miley Cyrus video and it’s pretty riveting. This is probably how people felt about Lady Gaga 6 years ago. I’m only just now understanding it, but it’s like watching a couple fight in public. So entertaining. And while it’s not sustainable, it managed to get everyones attention. She’s putting some kind of narrative lens on whatever the fuck she’s trying to say, and that’s compelling.
There might be something real somewhere in her “moment”. Sure but then she’s also showing us her rock hard quads and fellating a sledgehammer with Terry Richardson behind a camera. And the whole thing is just fascinating. I want to be vulnerable, but only in this way. I want to cry, but only if it begets ~controversy~. Something’s at stake, probably. Or at least it feels like something’s at stake — and maybe that’s where the real art is. Tricking me into hitting play.
Her response to comments should really be “I think I look hot”. I would respect that. She’s 20 and loaded. I was 20 and broke. I wore a toga for 4 days in a row one summer. No one thought I was having a “moment”. Jeeze
Most of these pop nerds just sing catchy love songs. But this pop nerd wants to sing catchy love songs and make you feel weirdsies the entire time. Her Vanity Fair photo shoot was the same nonsense. As soon as she took the stage at the VMAs, I took out my laptop. And waited. I knew that we were all going to have something to say. And here I am, blogging about her construction porn. Maybe her next video will feature her getting a pap smear in a white tank top. America would hate that.
Specifically the pilot episode “Our Very First Night”.
The plot: Danny, Joey and Jesse each want/have to leave the house one evening. One of them has to wuss out and stay home to supervise the girls. Jesse gets stuck at home and the girls convince him of the following things:
1) If they can’t sleep they are allowed to eat a shit load of premium ice cream.
2) They think that Jesse and the Rippers is the best band in the history of music.
3) They are allowed to order a larger cheese pizza after 11 pm.
Danny eventually comes home and discovers the girls and Joey rocking out with Jesse and his cool bandmates. Mr Tanner is (SPOILER ALERT) pissed. They each have group therapy and recognize the importance of being lame.
I can’t get past the ice cream. How can two little girls convince their adult uncle that they are allowed to eat ice cream after 9pm. That is just fucking ridiculous.
Last weekend something unexpected happened. I lost my wallet. Not just a wallet but the new wallet I stalked on the Kate Spade website for 2 months. Here’s what happened:
I was preparing to head to the seaport. It was a Saturday and a cool 93 degrees. I was meeting my boyfriend and his family to celebrate his mother’s 60th birthday. Feeling highly motivated to head to the waterfront, I carefully packed my handbag with the essentials: chapstick, wallet, keys, phone/earbuds and book (Where’d You Go, Bernadette?). I was ready to go!
Once on the T, I put my CharlieCard in my wallet and took out my book. I haven’t read for pleasure in a while so this was a real treat. It wasn’t long before the train arrived at Government Center and the train emptied. Not thinking too clearly, I jumped on a train to North Station. The heat had melted my brain. Oops. Once I emerged from the underground, I took out my phone and tried to track down my boyfriend. They were on a whale watch and I was to meet them at the dock by the aquarium. I had 2 voicemails. One from a friend and the other from a Boston area code. I put my phone back in my bag. “Voicemails” I thought, “ gross”.
After a few blocks, I took out my phone and called my boyfriend. They were running late. Super. I looked at the voicemails again and figured I should listen to them instead of ignoring them for days (as per usual). The second message (from the Boston area code) was very strange. I could barely understand the woman. Her thick accent and erratic rate of speech left me puzzled. I could only understand three words: Rachel, police, now. “What?!” I yelped stopping dead in my tracks. Police!
No no, this must be a scam. Someone is trying to trick me. Why would the police call me? That’s stupid. I called the number back and the same voice was on the other end. “Hello, Who is this?” I asked. “Is this Rachel Kinkos?” she asked. “No, this is Rachel Kindos K_I_N_D_O_S” I replied (trying not to be a bitch. But really folks, it’s not that hard to sound out.) “Yeah, yeah. I have your wallet. Come to the police station,” she said quickly and hung up. What the fuck lady!? Which station? Where in the station? How do I know you’re not going to kidnap me? No, really. How do I know you’re not a kidnapper? Or an international organ stealer? Or someone who sells woman and children on the back market? After checking my bag and confirming that I did not have my wallet, I called her back and got the address. “Hurry up. I have prisoners” she told me. Umm.. okay…this was going to be interesting.
I hailed a cab and explained the situation. He drove me to 40 Sudbury St and I hopped out. “Don’t run away” said the driver. “I don’t run” I replied as a wattled away. The police station was not what I imagined. Benson and Stabler didn’t greet me on the steps. Dexter Morgan wasn’t on a coffee break at the food cart. Where was Lennie Briscoe? I walked in and found no one. “Hello? Hello?” my voice echoed. I called the number again and the lady answered. Within minutes she appeared with my wallet! “Can you tell me what’s inside the wallet?” she inquired from behind very thick glass. I went on to tell her in ridiculous detail about the contents of my beautiful, blue wallet. She handed it over and remarked at how lucky I was. I asked her how she got my phone number because it was not in the wallet. “I called the number on your AAA card and told them I was with BPD. They had your cell number,” she went on “I’m surprised they didn’t take your money. Cash in a wallet! No way you’d see that again.” I asked if there was contact info to say thank you to the person who turned it in. She said no and I left.
I got back in the cab and headed to the Aquarium. How did this just happen? I got off the T at Government Center at 5:30. Got to North Station at 5:40. Walked for a bit. Listened to the message and went to the police station at 5:50. I lost and retrieved my wallet in 20 minutes, in Boston, on a Saturday!
Lately things have been more on the blah side. I haven’t had many things work out so I was starting to think that the universe was against me. But no! This was an incredible reminder that people will do the right thing. The Wallet story will the perfect anecdote to demonstrate just how fucking fabulous Boston really is.
Something wonderful happened. The NBC gem, The Office, came to an end. The mockumentry that we all loved (and then hated but still watched via Hulu when nothing good was on Bravo) wrapped up. I just watched it and I am sobbing.
I have a hard time with change. Especially with my friends on TV. The final season was not very easy to watch. Pam and Jim were not the Pam and Jim that I fell in love with. It was so uncomfortable when they brought that Brian dude into the mix. That was not cool.
Stupid people think that too much TV is bad for you. They are wrong. Here are five reasons why. Here are five reasons why everything I need to know, I learned from Pam and Jim.
It really is the little things - It’s the smallest modification to consider your weird issue with something silly. It’s saving your favorite flavor sour patch kids. It’s a good night kiss. It’s when someone falls asleep on your shoulder during a meeting in the conference room. It’s a teapot.
Italian Food is pretty amazing. Pam: Jim’s just really passionate about Italian food. Jim: Yeah, I’m very passionate about Italian food. In fact, I’m in love with Italian food.
It is okay to date your coworkers - I can’t recall a time when P and J discussed not dating because they worked in the same office. That would have bored me. I loved watching them find creative ways to flirt. Their little glances that only the cameraman caught. We have all done that. Walked through windsurfing even though the Sherman field is quicker… delayed taking a lunch break… carefully planning your unnecessary trip to the Hawks Nest. Meeting my boyfriend at work was perfect. He is a wonderful teacher. I fell in love with him in an environment that brought out so many of his best qualities.
Other people suck - Roy was the worst. I hated Pam’s hair when they were together. It was all weird and frizzy. Karen sucked. And really, what was the deal with Brian? How could Pam GO TO HIS HOUSE? That is so inappropriate. What were these idiots thinking? You can’t get involved with this web of love! Karen moved to Scranton? Stupid. Go away.
Tell them how you feel - Jim: Hey, uh, can I talk to you about something?
Pam: About when you want to give me more of your money? We can go inside. Feeling kinda good tonight. Jim: It’s just, um, I’m in love with you. I’m really sorry if that’s weird for you to hear, but I just need you to, uh, hear it.
Jim: I just needed you to know. Once.
Watching the final made me nostalgic. Pam’s line about Michael being excited about having a Family Plan killed me. I felt genuine happiness for him. The Office was simple and lovely. Just people going to work, pulling pranks and falling in love.
I normally dislike mass Facebook nonsense. I didn’t change my profile picture for marriage equality not because I’m against it, but because I didn’t want to. I enjoy the picture of 15 year old me sleeping during an LD weekend meeting. I feel weird about other things on Facebook. Sonogram pictures, “we just got engaged!” updates, suggestions for Farmville… these things are not my style. But Monday changed my tune.
I spent my day between mile markers 20 and 23. The Boston Marathon really is just as cool as it sounds. Watching people that have no legs blow past you on a bike is nothing short of marvelous. Men and women in full army gear running with flags and packs. Cancer survivors, war vets, people from all over the world running for something. The crowds that form are full of encouragement. People of all ages cheering for hours for people they don’t even know. Signs and cowbells everywhere. The runners can’t ignore the love.
I was tapped out around 2:50pm. My friends and I got stuck on the inbound side of Beacon st. We walked for hours trying to get across the road. Once there was a break, I froggered myself to the T tracks and marched home. I cut through some side roads and walked past the corner store on Sutherland. A man was on his phone yelling “What What! What the fuck? Are you sure they were bombs?” I had to stop. What bombs? Where? “What’s going on?” I asked. “2 bombs went off at Copley. At the finish line,” he said while texting. “Oh my god, no. Are you sure?” No way. I took out my phone and called my roommate. The call didn’t go through. A swarm of cop cars charged down Comm ave. I could hear sirens and helicopters. What the fuck was happening?
I ran home. None of my calls were going through. The news was making me scared. My roommates and I sat on my bed. Our phones buzzing and beeping. Where were our friends? I opened Facebook and started to scan status updates. One by one, my friends were posting “I’m safe” or “Don’t worry. I am okay”. I kept trying to call my dad. My eyes were bouncing from Buzzfeed to CNN to Facebook. Where were my friends? What is happening? My phone rang. It was my best friend. She was in Florida and couldn’t get a hold of her boyfriend. With their apartment 2 blocks from the finish line, I began to worry. “He’s fine. He’s fine” we told ourselves. She was so far away. It made me sick. After we got off the phone, I updated my status. “I am safe” was all I had to say. Within minutes my phone receiving texts. Between Facebook and text messages, dozens of friends reached out to me. Some people hadn’t seen me in years, but that didn’t seem to matter.
My point is that I don’t usually think that Facebook improves or helps in a meaningful way. It is just surface. With all these “like” quotas and contests, it just seems so cheap. But something changed on Monday. I used it to tell people that I was safe. I typed three words on a website. That action was so simple but so powerful.
I grew up just north of Manhattan. I was in high school when the planes flew into the twin towers. I am used to living in a place that is associate with tragedy and rebuilding. It is weird and sad. Certain things get annoying. Like the constant reminding of the “tragedy” or “aftermath of the ____”. It makes me feel weird. Terrible things happen everywhere, every day. It’s shitty and awkward. When these shitty things happen close by, it’s hard not to feel insecure. Blaguch. But Monday changed that for me. On Monday I used Facebook for good. I felt secure in knowing that my silly friends were okay. I connected with people that care. People that were concerned because they knew that there was a strong possibility that I was crazy enough to hang out at the finish line. Technology is pretty cool. You should try it.
Living in college town USA makes me think about my undergrad experience. There isn’t a single day that goes by where I’m not jealous of all those 19 year old girls and their leggings. While there are countless college memories that make me smile, there are too many that I want to control alt delete from my recollection.
My best friend does a great job at reminding me to take of myself. She makes me feel valuable, which I think is precisely what best friends are for. I have been thinking a lot about things I wish I knew back then. Back when I was a 19 year old college student. Things that I’m certain I called her crying about. This is my list that I wish my best friend would have told me.
1. It is okay to freak out. Really. If my professor is a dick or I misplace my flash drive it is okay to get really upset and cry. Trying to keep it together is tough. Get it all out and move on. People won’t think that I am a pathetic baby. I shouldn’t think of myself that way either.
2. Having a relationship is not part of my coursework. Boyfriend X is not going to hand me my BA at the end. He is also not going to reimburse me for all the money that I spent trying to fix things. It is ridiculous to stay up all night staring at my textbook waiting for a phone call. Being sad about a boy is not an excuse for barely passing a Bio-psych exam. Get a grip. School comes first.
3. Wegman’s is the best.
4. Managing money is a skill. The small amount of money I have now is plenty. Learn how to stretch it. If I want to be a teacher, I’m going to have to learn how to do this FOREVER.
5. Holding on to fading friendships is not worth it. Be nice to others and honest with myself. If someone wants to be my friend, they will by my friend. It shouldn’t be that hard.
6. Say “no” more often. People will get over it.
7. Appreciate the opportunities that you are being offered. College is a privilege you fucking brat. My parents worked very hard to raise me in a community that values education. They have given their blood sweat and tears so that I could go off to school and study whatever I want. My father did not work countless hours to pay for me to be too stoned to go to class in the middle of the day.
8. Embrace the bubble. Shit gets real after graduation.
In the process of navigating my adult life, I really should stop and think more. Most of this list is applicable to my life now. I have also done a considerable amount of thinking about happiness. (I have also started watching Revenge and let me tell you, I am loving all of it. It is like The OC but with better technology and New York references.) Happiness is a fresh manicure. Happiness is a work day without accident/ incident reports. Happiness is standing in Star Market with my best friend and being completely amused by her outrageous shopping list.
Gossip Girl might be over, but don’t fret. It lives forever on the interwebs. And while my interest has dithered, in the last week I’ve fallen for it all over again. No, it’s not SVU (because that is an impossible comparison (that isn’t fair)) or Parenthood (again, not fair); it’s really just delicious, aspiring eye candy. I’ve been hopping around Netflix, and I find myself going, “Oh, B!” and “No, Serena, not again!”
So here we go: 5 reasons why I’m all over Gossip Girl, all over again.
Every episode has so much going on. And by “so much” I mean a ridiculously unbelievable web of ridiculously unbelievable events that snowball in to ridiculously unbelievable series of outcomes. I can never keep track of who is fighting, who is mending and when Jenny will be baby Jenny again? I love this thickening web of nonsense. It is better than sodoku! Now I know gossip is evil and you shouldn’t be talking about anyone, which is where Gossip Girl comes in; they do all the talking for you!
S and B
They are both not the nicest of girls, that’s a given. I love how they capitalize on opportunities to screw each other over. But Serena and Blaire (when they aren’t attacking each other) are so cute. They’re so comfortable with each other when they’re in their ”on” phases. I love their fashion talk woven in with topical insults. No other pair can blend blazer puns with New York City landmarks. It reminds me of the Dawson’s Creek kids and their SAT vernacular. It just flows so nicely.
Nate and Chuck
Not only are their plot lines awesomely ridiculous (who gives a teenager a hotel?), but the guys are so dashing. I mean, their looks just top it off. Chuck is a great diva and Nate… oh, poor Nate. He just wants to love. And yet he can’t seem to get out of his own way. He is not right for Blaire but he doesn’t seem to go for the right girl (oh my god, I hate Vanessa. That was so stupid I want to Men in Black mind erase it from my life). Remember when he was squatting in his parents foreclosed townhouse? That was silly. (I do feel bad for almost everyone in this show though. Their home lives don’t seem very pleasant. All of their parents’ faces are weird.)
Dan is so stupid, he deserves his own reason why I love GG. My relationship with Dan is complicated. I like that he’s down-to-earth, and a writer. But he kind of just annoys me sometimes because he’s a pushover. And so confused all the time! I have never seen someone be so unsure of everything. Same with Serena. It’s like, S, Dan is perfect for you! When will you realize this and stop screwing things up every few episodes?! Ugh. But, it’s okay. Dan’s looks make up for it all. Damn, this cast is just full of good looking people.
Lilly and Rufus
Parents? I’m listing parents? Well, yeah. Rufus is pretty cool. He was in a band, he is raising his kids in Brooklyn, and he wears a sweet choker necklace. So cool. And Lily? When she’s not busy pursuing her lips or planning some social gathering, I like her. I like that her and Rufus have history. It makes things interesting. UES Lilly and BKYN Rufus… so romanical.
Four years ago I was just a silly college kid living a silly college life. I was irresponsible, tired and busy avoiding certain realities. It was great! Somewhere in all of this chaos, I thought it was a great time to become a mother. No no, not like a human baby. My interest was more in the feline form.
“I want a kitten!” and I took to the internet. Naturally, Craigslist was my first stop. I entered “free kitten”. Hundreds of ads popped up. I will take all of them! Kitten Party! With my burst of energy, I started exploring. A few minutes in… my bubble was bursting. I assumed that we, as a people, decided that kitten was a term used to define a BABY cat. I was wrong. My search provided ads that for adult cats. Ew. Most of them were orange. Double ew. Why were people lying to me? Craigslist is no place for deception.
This adventure was fading. I was clicking on ads and looking at the same full grown ginger cats. Right when I was about to thrown in the towel, I clicked on one last ad. The text was brief and included a picture. The author stated that the kitten was healthy and needed a loving home right away. Attached was one, very adorable picture. And it was at that moment that I first laid eyes on my new kitten!
The picture was of a tiny kitten in a man’s hands. His eyes were crossed and his fur was a mess of fuzz. It was love at first sight. I emailed the man and within 24 hours, I was standing in the snow waiting for my kitten to be delivered. This was going to be magical.
A few cigarettes later, a mid-nineties pickup truck pulled into my driveway. A man got out of the passenger side. “Rachel?” he asked. “Yes!” I squealed with a little hop. The man approached me with arms outstretched. He handed me the kitten and got back into the car. Umm… okay. That was weird. Now what?
I brought the tiny kitten into the house and put him on the floor. He stumbled around smelling everything. He was so small next to our winter boots. His new home was full of wonderful smells like stale beer and Daisy by Marc Jacobs. My new found love was slowly turning into fear. It wasn’t long before I realized that I had no idea how to care for this creature.
I herded him into my room and put down a towel. “You can nap here” I told him while pointing to the Batman beach towel, “Go to sleep”. All of this excitement was exhausting. Motherhood was really taking it out of me. I checked on him one last time and climbed into bed.
Sometime later, I awoke to the smell of something odd. I rubbed my eyes and looked around my bedroom. What was that awful smell? Where was it coming from? The kitten was in my laundry basket sound asleep. Oh right, that thing. I tiptoed around on the cold wooden floor as to not disturb my new friend. I’m sure he had a rough day. All that traveling. And moving. I’m sure he’s beat. I noticed my closet door was open a crack. Mmmmm… I opened the door. The stench amplified. I covered my nose and started to inspect my shoes. It wasn’t long before I found it. There, inside my newish tall chocolate brown Uggs was a hot smelly collection of kitty diarrhea. I guess my new friend had an unexpected BM in the middle of investigating my wardrobe. Thanks dude. How did he get in there? He was so tiny but still, that took some commitment.
Four years later, I still won’t let him in my closet. I think that is fair. It’s not like he has a job or puts my laundry away. I have been supporting him with my own paycheck. I know, I know… I should be grateful. But being a single mother can be tough. I know things haven’t been easy for him. We have moved so much. It’s not his fault that I used to make awful choices regarding my romantic life. It’s also not his fault that his girlfriend was taken away to get knocked up by another dude. Sorry buddy. Life can be unfair.
After everything we have endured together… after all the “sick”/sick days… after all the visits to the vet… after his three day adventure on the mean streets of Brighton… after all that, I’m still so happy that I picked my handsome little monster. He’s just lucky he wasn’t a ginger cat. Gross.
Hello world. Sorry for my silence these past few weeks. I’ve been busy watching football and painting my nails. I’m glad to see that you’re still here.
I turned 26 a few weeks ago. That was awful. I felt this deep sense of opposition to getting older. (That sounded silly, but you have to understand, I’ve never felt that way before.) I have a lovely life and a lot to be happy about but the thought of getting old makes me want to hide in my closet. 26 is ten years from my scary age. The fact that I can say things like, “oh my god, I haven’t seen _______ in a decade” makes me sick to my core. I just want to be 17 and float around my little world. I never thought I would be the kind of lady who thought about eye cream and droopy neck skin. But now I’m pretty sure I’m going to be that woman with too much jewelry at the Clinique counter. Aging, blaugch. It must be stopped.
I bought a pair of Frye boots. I figured it was a good investment. I also figured I deserved them for quitting smoking. (And since I operate on my own, slightly skewed reward system, I think I deserve a new record player. And an iPad.) I understand why people love their boots so much. They make you feel sassy and anything that emphasizes your feisty side should be embraced. Like tequila or Missy Elliot.
Grey nail polish is awesome. I’d like to thank my best friend for gifting me a few shades. You did good.
I’ve been listening to my iPod again. It is from 2005 and hasn’t been updated in over a year. Some of it is terrible. It should be lumped together and deleted. Most of it is okay. I definitely made sure I had a variety of mediocre albums. The rest of it is wonderful. You know, the songs that you haven’t heard in ten years but can still sing every word at the top of your longs. I’m proud of myself for still having the same iPod from 2005. If I were ever to lose it, some lucky person might think it belonged to a very hip 60 year old man. The amount of Bob Dylan is obnoxious. I don’t really love BD, like my iPod will make you believe. I’m not sure how it happened. Then there is the seemingly endless amount of Phish. Always a great idea! And then there is M.I.A, Best Coast, Roxy Music. Every 60 year olds guilty pleasure. The real humor is in the theme songs. I have quite the collection. The fact that I have 4 different versions of “Fraggle Rock” makes me feel like a pop culture champion.
I need a new television show to obsess about. I have rewatched most of Lost (but season 5 is where I must stop (because it’s an atrocity)). I watch so much Law and Order SVU it’s concerning. I watch so much Law and Order SVU Netflix should have a prompt asking me if I’m alive or clinically depressed. I watch so much Law and Order SVU my cat hides his face when it comes on. I watch so much Law and Order SVU Dr Wong plays a minor character in my dreams. So… yeah. Suggestions please.
Earlier this week, my friend and I were discussing Halloween. We were thinking about work appropriate costumes. We decided to be a cat and mouse. It was easy because we based our options around yoga pants/leggings. And, like most girls, we needed to select outfits that can go from day (scoop neck with flats) to night (slutty v-neck and pumps). I can still be a sexy cat at 25, right?
Halloween has always been my favorite. The candy and shenanigans are a troublemaker’s wet dream. When I was a youngster, I drove my mother crazy. I always insisted that we go to the overpriced costume store so I could get the same “cool” costumes as my friends. Every year it was a fight. And every year my mother tried to concoct a reason as to why I wasn’t allowed to go out with my friends. I would put up such a fight that she would cave and make me a costume. That’s right. Make me a costume. How uncool. When I was 6, I wanted to be a genie. (I must have been really into Aladdin.) My mother made me genie pants and a genie belly shirt. She even made me a cool half veil. When I was 8, I was very into Grease. My mother made me a pink poodle skirt with records and glittery fabric paint. I’m sure I hated it at the time. I’m sure I was mortified. But now, when I think DYI is pretty cool, I totally appreciate my mother’s efforts.
When I got to high school, things didn’t change. My mom still hated Halloween. This made me love it even more. I wanted to stay out late, drink cheap beer and throw eggs at people’s cars. I wanted to run around town with boys and eat tiny candy. I wanted to enjoy all the silliness of Halloween without dressing up. Because dressing up is uncool when you’re 16.
College was outrageous. It seemed that the 4 days surrounding the 31st were dedicated to sloppy party time. I was a cop, Dorothy, Tonya Harding, a ninja, a custodian… it was all very exciting. My favorite Halloween was spent in Athens Ohio. It was magical. I was a freshman at Kent State and my friend decided that we had to head to Athens. I wasn’t sure what I had signed up for but I loved Halloween madness, so it had to be a great idea. We threw together costumes from the thrift store (I was Tonya Harding and she was the Fresh Prince) and jumped in her early ‘90s minivan. Our three and a half our drive was spent snacking and singing Shin’s songs at the top of our lungs. Once we made it to Athens, we met up with friends and started drinking. The streets filled with people and before we knew it we found a deck overlooking Court St. Everything was outrageous… the costumes, the people, the cops trying to control the drunken hooligans. The city of Athens was super fun party time! The next morning we woke up to discover that the minivan had been towed. Of course. Neither of us had any money, or a change of clothes. So the Fresh Prince and Tonya Harding walked to the tow yard and attempted to sweet talk the attendant. We thought that they would love the duo, everyone’s favorite cousin and the most hated ice dancer of the 90’s. The tow yard person was not amused. We were not as adorable as we thought. We called my friend’s father and he bailed the car out. We hit the road and arrived back at school. Smelly and cranky.
After my freshman year, the rest of college Halloweens blend together. My costumes were store bought and lacked character. I wish my mother could make me something now. I don’t want to spend sixty bucks for a napkin-sized fabric swatch that transforms me into a sexy truck driver. I would rather her sew together a giant bunny costume. At least that way I would be warm. Maybe this year I will be a practical feline. I bought a fanny pack this summer. I should break it in. It will go great with my leggings and black thermal top. It will be the opposite of sexy. Purrfect.
On another note, I bought a car this weekend. I took out a loan in my name and financed myself a 2004 Corolla. I am two steps away from having the keys in my hand. One of those steps involves paying the state of Rhode Island 189 bucks for a ticket from 2005. Apparently Massachusetts keeps tabs on the Ocean State. Like some kind of obnoxious big brother. I cannot obtain a MA driver’s license until I pay for my stupidity. I think I have learned my lesson this time. The lesson is tickets don’t disappear if you ignore them… the lesson is also don’t speed on route 1 through Narragansett.
So I have just returned from an outing with my best friend. We decided to try and go to the movies. Like normal people.
Our track record with the cinema is pretty inconsistent. We decided to see Eat Pray Love after exiting relationships (I sobbed the entire 135 minutes). The Help was next (great idea! Big success). Bridesmaids was good (not Babe good, but good). A documentary about Lions followed (the climax really got me). We might have seen an awful holiday themed film at the beginning of the new year (and walked out within 25 minutes).This time we saw Pitch Perfect. And it was awful.
My recent cable situation has prevented me from the outside world. So agreeing to see Pitch Perfect was taking a leap into the unknown.
I would like to address the obvious parallels between Pitch Perfect and teen movies I enjoy. There were moments where I wanted it to become Mean Girls. Sure, casting twenty somethings to play college students isn’t such a stretch but reeks of desperation (Anna Kendrick, you’re 27). The dialogue had some good quips. I enjoy when people say random things (the Asian Winnie Cooper had some ridiculous one-liners). They even did a decent job casting an Indian fellow to be in the a cappella group (think Kevin Gnapoor but with bigger hair). There was a scene where they were all confessing secrets and I wanted to yell “She doesn’t even go here!” That was hilarious (in my head).
There were some moments where I wanted it to become Bring It On. All the cheesy expressions that had “aca” woven into them (think cheerocracy, or cheertastic). There were some comparable montages of them training. It was necessary to get the story moving along. They also had some kind of singing battle in an empty swimming pool. That was weird. Is that what kids are doing in college now? Having singing battles in empty swimming pools…Why are there no movies about students who go to Wegmans at 3 am or try to have a pizza delivered to Capen Library. Why don’t these college movies include scenes were the girl gets her parking pass revoked for triple parking in the bookstore lot? Pitch Perfect forgot to include the scene where the main character can’t get to her midterm because her car is covered in five feet of snow. That is college. That, and using the “current location” on Google Maps to help you get home on a Sunday morning.
I’m still not sold on this Rebel Wilson chick. Everyone seems to love her. Like she is the second coming of Chris Farley. I need some more time to assess my feelings. I don’t think that Pitch Perfect was a good place for me to judge her. Maybe I should watch her stand up. I’m not good with accents, so it might take a while.
Overall, Pitch Perfect was bad. It could have been great. Adam DeVine from Workaholics was typecast as rival a cappella singer. It was nice to see him though. Good try. My best friend enjoyed it. So that’s a plus. I didn’t cry, or walk out. Win/win?
To add salt to my fresh wound, I waited at Kenmore for an eternity. I was filled with critical thoughts from the film and anxiety about riding the last train sober. Once the T arrived, I filed in and leaned against pole. It took me 2 stops to realize that everyone on my train appeared to have been at the Dispatch show. They smelled awful and seemed full of joy. Damn them.
Instagram has become so uncool. I don’t understand the comment wars that have been popping up. A super awkward/age-inappropriate photo from Ramona Singer is followed by a slew of comments about how the previous commenter is a “lazy slut”. Are these the same people that leave comments on Youtube videos? Are these the same people who have blogs? Probably. It seems like all my friends have enrolled in Culinary school or have just discovered their shadows. And we really like our feet. Feet on the subway, feet at the beach. We are taking our feet all over the world and we are pumped! Intsagram has turned us all into Annie Leibovitz and we love it.
Fall is awesome. I have been loving the rain and the cold nights. Boston has been gloomy these past couple of days. This has brought me to seriously consider buying a pair of Hunter wellies. I like to think that they will allow me to dance in the rain while looking somewhat put together. My floral wellies from Target Kids give the impression that I jumped a ten year old. I’m sure 135 bucks is worth it… you know… to not look like a child.
Ally McBeal is a really good show. I remember watching it with my mom when I was 12. She would laugh, I would laugh. She would cry, I would cry. I’m sure my mother recognized my emotional maturity. I could identify with Ally’s search for love. Georgia’s jealousy really bothered me. And it was Elaine and her pungent desperation made me love to hate her. All those sexual puns and quick banter… pshhhh… I caught it all. My recent rediscovery of the show has caused some concern. What was my mother thinking? Ally and her friends were so inappropriate. Yikes. A 12 year old has no business staying up late watching a program about sex and the single lady. I’m sure I will force my daughter/corgi to watch Law and Order SVU episodes. Because it is suitable for a kid. And then I will explain to that her namesake derives from a sex cop who ran around Manhattan kicking ass and being awesome. That will be a great day.
I really want a Corgi. I think about it all the time. I have this fantasy where I drive around in a brown Mini Cooper with a tri-colored Corgi. It is perfection.
Weeds finally ended. It was the worst thing I had ever seen. Each scene was worse than the one before. I didn’t like how they were in the future with their future phones. I didn’t like how everyone reunited for the Bar Mitzvah. I especially did not like Nancy’s hair. It was awful and I could not get past it. The best part of the finale was the scene at the end where they all sit on the steps and we get to listen to “With Arms Outstretched” in its entirety. I enjoyed singing to my boyfriend. He loved it.
Colored blazers are all the rage. I would like a teal one. With gold/copper buttons. There is a chance that it will make me look like a cross gender bellhop but my skinny mirror will lie to me. It will tell me that I look just like the girl from Cupcakes and Cashmere. Oh to be young and delusional.
Lastly, I really want a Tory Burch Amanda cross body bag in Wildberry. It would make for a fabulous birthday present. Just sayin’.
I have made a new friend. Her name is Sarah and she is my new roommate. She moved in the latter half of July and she might be the nicest person I have ever met.
A few months ago I was shopping for new roommates. I was setting up appointments and making myself presentable for company. I was trying my hardest to be part of society. I was getting endless responses on Craigslist regarding the open rooms. Then Sarah responded. She was in Seattle and wanted to send her friend, Hannah, over to check out the place. Weird… I thought… but I was starting to get emails of dick pics and inquiries from men in their mid-forties… so I was desperate. I emailed with Sarah and decided that Hannah should come by and check the place out/ rob me. So she did. It was a cool 102 degrees and Hannah waltzed into my apartment. She was wearing next to nothing and I felt like a lethargic sea lion gasping for oxygen. We had a natural exchange of blunt comments and banter. I liked her. I thought… “if this is the company Sarah keeps… well Sarah can’t be that bad…” I tried so hard to be normal while my under boob sweat increased. Hannah and I had some more banter and then she left. I stripped and then took a nap.
Flash forward to July… and Sarah moves in. Let me tell you… she is the nicest person. I don’t know how this is possible. (She says “frick” instead of “fuck”. My spell check doesn’t recognize “frick”.) She doesn’t drink caffeine. She recycles. She has a sexy boyfriend. She likes my cat. She enjoys wine. She doesn’t like Seinfeld. I’m so confused. How can she be so different but so wonderful at the same time? I don’t really care to know why. I adore this lady and that is that.
I think my other roommate might be (slightly) jealous. We have lived together for two years. We have survived hell on earth and still stand side by side. She is one of the few people I would give an organ to or help move. I would even drive her to the Logan airport on September 1st. She is one of the most consistently wonderful people in my life and I consider it an honor that she is my emergency contact in case I die at work. She is a ridiculous character. She brings home cat food and gets in my bed for “TV time”. I would not have survived September – December 2010 without her. She is the best. And our cats are in love so…
On a side note, I just cleaned my apartment in a Muumuu. It has red and white hibiscus flowers and tie thing around the neck. Like that gives it some kind of pizazz. The label says “Basic Edition: Intimates”. Right. This ensemble screams “do me!” I bet my newly popped blackheads and smudged eyeliner are the panicle of seduction. If I ever think about just letting myself go, I should do so in this muumuu. And then make a Craigslist ad. I could be a cleaning person or lady jester. The options are endless.
On a side, side note, there is a Hills marathon on. I have been drinking in my bedroom with my cat watching episode after episode. I must say, now being a semi-real adult, that Lauren Conrad and company are lame as shit. MTV you really did us all a disservice by cutting out all the good stuff. Why is there no scene where Audrina flat lines from a coke binge? Or Lauren dies from being the most boring person on earth? Why is there no episode where Spencer straps a tracking device in Heidi’s ankle? I am watching each episode completely surprised that I haven’t blacked out from tedium. It is like visual Ambien. Of course Lauren didn’t hook up with Justin Bobby! Really?! Audrina, come on. Wake up! Justin is that sexy/mysterious/annoying dude that will make you hate yourself until you get smacked back into reality. I just Googled her tattoo (on the back of her neck) and the answer was pretty ridiculous. I thought it was a strawberry. Nope. According to her it is “the four chambers of the heart that turns into the apple with a snake around it. It symbolizes Adam and Eve… and also temptation and destiny.” … okay… but it still looks like a strawberry… I have made a point to examine it… strawberry. She really needs to get away from Justin Bobby. He might seem like a good idea, but so did that brief reality show your family did on E(exclamation point). I just find her to be so… so… in need of help. I’m not into car accidents but she might be the television equivalent. (Spencer’s Nana just told Stephanie that “life is like a bucket of worms and sometimes you don’t know what to do with it”. I’m going to use that.)
I just sat in 26 minutes of traffic. Within the span of 1.4 miles. At noon. On a Friday. This would be appalling if it wasn’t August 31st. I should have planned better. I should have left my boyfriend’s house much earlier. It was just so hard to leave when he downloaded The Critic and put the air on a cool 60 degrees. That is love. It is also hard to leave because that would mean I have to put on pants. Vacation Rachel hates pants.
Over the next two days Boston will be flooded with moving trucks, angry parents and sweaty people. My street currently has nine Uhaul trucks on it. It is only one block. I can hear parents yelling… early 20-somethings bickering… and movers strategizing. All this noise is ruining my Hills marathon. You would think that there would be some way to avoid moving on the 31st/1st. There has got to be a way for people to set up a different kind of lease agreement. Did all the landlords get together and decide that they wanted hell to break loose? Are they in cahoots with Uhaul? There has got to be some crazy master plan. I bet Walmart is behind it. With this much chaos, you might think that the apocalypse is near.
Everyone is so political lately. It is entertaining. I think that it is great that people are expressing their interests/opinions about Mittens and Obamamamama. I think it is important for my generation to get involved by posting bias articles and unresearched facts. It reminds me how important it is to make blanket statements that are sexist. Facebook is a great place to say how you feel. I like my cat/vacation pictures paired with articles about healthcare and unemployment. It is lovely to that there are people who can decide if rape is legit and when a lady is officially considered prego. I do not care for politics. I don’t seem to see the connection between the Whitehouse and my life. I’m just a little girl roaming the world in search of a cat sweater and the perfect zero- calorie cocktail. I’m just trying to get from A to B without tripping over my own feet. I would like to make some changes, but I don’t think that Mittens/Obamamamama care about the T. or Froyo.
I don’t actually think that the world is ending. I’m not one of those people. It might end one day. But I don’t think that there is a set date. It might end in December of this year… or July in 70 years. Either way, I’m not too concerned. As long as I finish Cheers before the Zombie/ Furby invasion, there shouldn’t be any sort of conflict.
My last post was very different. I apologize. I told my best friend that she inspired me to be more positive. Her response was silly. She thought it sounded like someone else wrote it. My bad. I really shouldn’t try to write in any particular fashion. I guess I wrote it on one of the few days out of the month that I’m not a total bitch/monster (bitch-monster?).
I am currently at my parent’s house in New York. It is in suburbia. Where you can hear bugs. And nature. Ew. This visit is to see my Grams. She is up from Florida for two weeks. I haven’t seen her since spring 2011 and I think she is even smaller than I remember. How does that happen? How is it that Grandmas shrink and shrink to tiny ladies? She complains about her clothing being too big. I would be jumping for joy. I wish that was my “problem”. Instead I have my Monday morning nightmare of putting on jeans. Structured waistlines! Oh no! I really need to find a school that puts yoga pants and leggings within the parameters of “acceptable” attire. I think I would do a better job if I wasn’t so restricted in my jeans. I could pick my wedgies with ease.
So my Grams and I went through about 400 pictures. It was great. At 88 years old, she remembers everything. Birthdays, weddings, vacations…everything. She is way more reliable than my parents. I was very amused by the variety of fashion mishaps that my family fell victim to. It was evident that my brother and I dressed ourselves. I really had a thing for mixing patterns. My brother had a TNMT shirt for everyday of the week. We had similar haircuts and homemade Halloween costumes. I’m sure we were mortified that our clothes were mostly homemade, but now… flash forward 15…20 years… it is pretty cool. We didn’t look like anyone else. I wore hoodless Hanes sweatshirts with ironed-on cat pictures with puff paint and floral pants. My mother let me wear red corduroy overalls with the same stripped shirt like every day for months. Maybe this was how my mother taught me that being like everyone else sucks. I didn’t realize the value of that information until I was a freshman in college. My wardrobe wasn’t very different then. Not much changed from 4 to 17. The cat sweatshirts were replaced with various youth soccer t-shirts and Goodwill/Savers sweaters. I never let go of the corduroy. It just evolved from overalls to (more flattering?) pants. My hair was still bad. It was apparent I had dabbled with SunIn and didn’t understand my curls. I was a hot mess of a child but I was unique. Flash forward to 2012 Brighton/Allston… cat shirts are totally in!
I long for the perfect cat sweater. I am hooked on any Tumblr that addresses cat sweaters. I tried to explain to my Grams what I want and she thought that I was teasing her. “Oh stop” she replied “you wouldn’t wear that”. How does she know? I had to prove to her that I own a floral romper. “Oh my” was her remark. I explained to her that it is perfect for going to Phish shows and dance-cleaning the apartment. This interaction leads me to believe that I will be getting a slew of packages from Florida. Each containing muumuus and cat accented tops. I’m not expecting the perfect cat sweater. That will be my own white whale.
After we put the pictures away, I had a sizable pile of photographs to take home. I enjoy looking at pictures of my parents before they got married… before I sucked the life out of my mother and the money out of my father. I love looking at how thin my aunts were and how ridiculous my uncles mustaches used to be. My childhood pets are long gone, but I can see them in these pictures. Every single first day of school was captured. Every volleyball game. Every birthday party with my mother’s signature chocolate mousse cake. My entire 6 years of awkward are all in those pictures.
But we need to these pictures… right? We need to be reminded that shoulder pads are awful and perms are silly… chunky high lights never made anyone look better… and hot pink lipstick is always a no. I need these pictures to realize that I have not changed. I still make the same face when I wake up. I still don’t work well with others. I still want to be first. And I still, after all these years, remember that the Christmas of 1991 was the best day of my life. Because we got Nintendo.
My students were well behaved. My cat ran away. I went to a Springsteen concert at Fenway with my boyfriend’s mother. People were nice to me. I was having trouble finding a blogable thread until this morning.
One of my students will be moving on to a new school. I have a thin skin about this kind of a change. Especially with this student. He is a special kid and I will miss him. This past week was tough with Friday looming on our horizon. I typically love Fridays but not when I know it is going to be my student’s final day. This sad event was met with a lot of support from my coworkers. My team was sympathetic to the fact that my head teacher and I are giant babies and can’t deal with losing one of our nuggets. I am grateful for their support and acknowledge that I work with some wonderful people. The field of special education attracts a unique range of people. Some of us are nutty. Some of us are customary. But all of us are compassionate. We knowingly work with an unconventional population and that can make most of our days very unusual. Typical or not, we still have “normal” feelings. Some days I laugh uncontrollably in the closet other days I cry in my car on 95 north. A teacher’s life is met with a spectrum of emotion. I’m so glad I have a great team of people around me to reassure me that I am, in fact, doing something right (for a change). Hip hip - hoo-ray!
My cat got out on Sunday. I have no idea how it happened. I knew something wasn’t right Monday morning when he did not try to break the door down to wake me up. I searched high and low for three days. I even put up hot pink flyers around the neighborhood. This was the worst thing that could happen. How can I be a cat lady without Mister Cosmo? And then something wonderful happened… people helped me. Friends… strangers… everyone wanted to help find Cosmo! I was initially hesitant about posting my phone number around the block. I thought I would be getting calls from all the crazies. But people genuinely wanted to help out. My friends and I were running around like maniacs. I was getting calls from people reporting that they spotted my kitty. I could not believe that there were people out there that were actually useful. Are these the same people who cut me off and take up two parking spots? Are they the same folks who clip their nails on the T? I was confused. Brighton is big. I just assumed it was full of ass hats. Maybe all the pet owners are part of some alliance. The Animal Rescuers… the Pet Protectors… the Ghost Busters… Fun fact, there is such a profession as a pet detective? Truth. I searched the Google. My point is that people surprised me. I am glad I live in a neighborhood where people want to help… even if I am wearing a Colts shirt.
Tuesday night was funny. My boyfriend’s mother got Springsteen tickets for all of us. I enjoy early Bruce so it was a nice surprise. It was a great show. I couldn’t help but giggle… I’m used to going to see Phish with my boyfriend and his sister. I’m used to being a bit more uninhibited. I’m used to dancing like a crazy person. This was a different kind of show. I had two drinks and danced like my mom. My boyfriend’s mother had the time of her life. She was singing and “dancing” and being the woman that I adore. Watching her rock out reminded me that I was at a show with 50 year old women who were re-living their glory days. It was wonderful. I am very grateful that my boyfriend’s family includes me. Especially when it involves The Boss.
So this is my attempt to be positive. I think I did a good job. I think it is nice to share appreciation with those around me. So thanks friends, co-workers and random strangers. And a big thanks to Monica. Rock on, Mama!
As we grow up, things begin to change. We get savings accounts… remember to get oil changes… wear Bermuda shorts… and watch weird TV. My summers are not what they used to be. Three years ago I was running around Buffalo trying not to fail Intro to Spanish. Four years ago I was a bronze goddess with an impressive lifejacket tan. Today I am… well… to be honest… I am watching Twin Peaks in air-conditioning and eating raw tortellini.
Twin Peaks is peculiar. I’m really trying here. The cast was well selected. Sherilyn Fenn is one of my favorites. I enjoyed her on Gilmore Girls (as Anna Nardini and Sasha). Audrey Horne is a troublemaker and I can totally dig that. I was skeptical of Laura Palmer from the beginning. She had on way too much make up for a dead girl. Seriously. Look at her face in the pilot. Her body was found on the shore…wrapped in plastic… with a full face of bad make up. I know it was 1990, but jeeze. Special Agent Dale Cooper is pretty awesome. I’m not a Kyle MacLachlan fan. Trey MacDougal was the worst. (He was kind of awesome as the Mayor of Portlandia). But I’m interested in these recordings on his microcassettes. And I want to know all about the Diane person he is speaking to. I can’t decide if I’m going to commit to Twin Peaks. People seem to be polarized. We’ll see.
I have also started watching Louie. It’s good. I enjoy it. Nothing too creative happening with this one. I enjoy Curb Your Enthusiasm, so Louie isn’t really a stretch. I like that the episodes don’t come together at the end. There is no moment at the end where the opening scene’s focus comes back to make people chuckle. It just ends. Awkwardly.
I have mentioned Cheers already. But I must reiteration my enthusiasm. It is genius. It makes me laugh. It makes me cry. It makes me want to wear mid-eighties clothing and speak in puns and PG-13 sexual innuendos. Sounds like heaven.
Weeds has gotten weird. I’m still watching because I made a commitment. It has been this long, so what’s one last season? The weird/awfulness stems from the fact that I have never gotten over Nancy being such a dick to Andy. And Andy’s complete lack of self-respect. Having so much disappointment for such shallow characters is doleful. After eight seasons, Andy is still pathetic and Nancy keeps making the worst decisions possible. Hasn’t she seen ”The Opposite”? (Seinfeld s5 ep22). Get it together, girl. You should have been dead 4 seasons ago.
Antiques Roadshow has been up and down this summer. I don’t think that they are connecting with the viewers anymore. The entire first half of the Tucson episode sucked. There wasn’t a single piece that had that epic surprise appraisal. All the items were just okay. They need to spice it up. Maybe all of the appraisers should look like Bradley Cooper. Mmmm. Bradley Cooper.
My new Sony Media Streaming box machine has greatly improved my television options. I now have access to (almost) everything I could ever want. In the past 2 weeks, I have watched Reality Bites five times, 2 seasons of Nip/Tuck, the first 20 minutes of countless random indie films and 4 episodes of Felicity. This summer is not making me into an adult. I wore yoga pants to work on Friday. I still haven’t put my suitcase away from the 5th of July. I just put polka dots on my thumbnails. Is this what regression looks like?
I just switched on the closing ceremony of the Olympics. There is no way I am missing a Spice Girls reunion. My inner 5th grader is pumped. These recaps are pretty cool. I didn’t watch several of the events. (Beach volleyball is basically all that matters). All of these montages are making me slightly emotional. Oh dear. I should get some fresh air… and wash my face. It’s almost time for bed!
29 – the number of days until the 2012 football season begins. Sunday is the new Friday, or something.
112, 284 – the number of miles on my car. I bought her with 50, 000 miles in July of 2009. Doris has taken me to lots of interesting places. Some weird, some fantastic. Although every trip feels slightly like an episode of Survivor, I can count on her to get where I need to go… eventually. She helped me flee my past life and move into my current apartment. She is a mobile closet, and at times a bed. She guzzles gas and forces me to hold my breath when I turn the ignition. Thanks Doris, you are terrifying.
30.55 – the amount of my recent Amazon purchase. Every girl needs an outrageous selection of nail polish, right?
9 – the number of strange bruises on my body. After only 10 hours at camp, I am covered in black and blues. I would have never survived the summer. It’s been four years since I spent 9 weeks dancing on bow decks and falling into rescue boats. It makes me sad to learn that my body gets upset when I decide to drink a gallon of Titos and dive into shallow water. Oops.
0 – the current balance on my student loan. Bam!
730 – the number of days I have been at my job. Aside from being a professional super nanny, I have always found it tough to stay put. I’m pretty proud of myself for actually having a job that I enjoy. Go me!
49 – the number of Cheers episodes I have watched this summer. Diane Chambers has become my favorite lady. Her wit and charm are refreshing. Despite the 80’s back drop, there is nothing stale about Cheers. Sam, Cliff, Coach… I can’t think of a better group of people to obsess about. My only complaint is that it tends to get heavy right has my herbal refreshment kicks in. Yikes.
22 – the number of posts I have written. Pretty groovy considering I didn’t think I would enjoy this after a while. I’m unsure how many people actually read my nonsense. But thanks. It’s been sufficiently awkward.
1. Dexter. I wasn’t into the possibility that there was going to be a bizarre incest plotline. Ick. But Colin Hanks was a great addition to the ensemble. Last season was super creepy with the religious icons and plotlines. Deb was driving me crazy after I noticed her weird eye (thanks boyfriend. (glass shatter…HIMYM: Spoiler Alert s3 ep8)) Quinn has finally grown on me (keep a look out for his cameo in The Dark Knight Rises). I have so many unanswered questions… September 30th can’t come fast enough.
2. Football. The season kicks off in 45 days. I am unsure how 2012-2013 is going to play out. My favorites are spread out and I refuse to wear a Tampa Bay jersey. With P. Manning moving to Denver, D. Clark choosing the Bucks and D. Freeney still wearing blue and white I am going to have my eyes on several screens. The Colts were sufficiently underwhelming last season. I think I got more excited about the Jets. I just hope that everyone clears up their criminal charges so that they can suit up in their jerseys… instead of orange jump suits.
3. SOAPnet. Comcast really made a huge mistake when they booted my guilty pleasure. 4 hours of BH 90210 and 3 hours of Gilmore Girls was my perfect hangover cure. I feel lost without Kelly and Donna. Rory and Paris fill a void in my life. Now I’m empty on Sundays. I can’t take another Million Dollar Listings marathon. Yuck. My life will never be the same.
4. Elliot Stabler. I am still watching Law and Order SVU but it is sad. Stabler’s absence is felt in every episode. While Olivia is the most badass lady on the small screen, she needs her main man. Her new partner, what’s his face, is handsome but meh. He is more of a people pleaser. I loved Elliot’s rough exterior and brazen attitude. His inability to balance family life and work made him real. After his 12 season run, I can’t deny that he stole my heart.
5. Buffalo, NY. If you drive all the way across the state of New York, you will hit the Queen City of the Great Lakes. It is a marvelous place in the summer. Between the Allentown Art Festival, Thursdays in the Square, Elmwood street Fairs… here is unlimited food, music and craziness. I miss everything about Buffalo. It is a magical place. Like a snow globe or Pinkberry.
6. My Grams. She is pretty awesome. I wish she lived in Boston so I could see her all the time. She is 88 and sharp as a tack. We speak a few times a week. Our conversations are predictable and lovely. It is so great to have someone constantly remind you that you are awesome. It is also nice to have someone send you mail every week. Thanks Grams. I know you will never see this but the expired regional coupons you send me make great confetti for my Sunday cat parties. And the “Jesus loves you” planner was regifted to my landlord. I’m sure he uses it daily. When I’m having a shitty day, I find myself wishing she was my roommate. Grapefruit for everyone!
7. Summer vacation. 3 weeks does not equal a summer vacation. Just sayin’.
I am currently riding the train for the first time. At the tender age of 25. I am riding the train alone at 10:30 pm. I’ve made a huge mistake.
After an epic week of a wedding and 2 phish shows, I should not be operating a vehicle. I shouldn’t even be using a computer. My nails are too long for typing and my motor skills are limited. But it was all worth it.
So this whole train thing… what was I thinking 3 months ago? “Sure, I will ride the train. It is old fashioned and romantic. How could I pass it up?” I told myself as I booked the ticket. This is easily one of the dumbest ideas I have had in years. And I did my freshman year in Ohio.
It was pretty comical at first. I didn’t do a good job packing so I am wearing my outfit from the 3rd. I smell like a Phish show. 2 showers and 48 hours later… I have somehow managed to maintain the lovely aroma of armpit and heady weed. That’s right, I just said heady. This delightful odor is my merit badge of some kind. What better way to tell the world (train people) “I just spent 2 nights dancing and ignoring hygiene!” It doesn’t help that I still have “meatstick” written on my right forearm. Or does it?
I am in good company tonight. The man sitting next to me is eating Indian food, the couple in front of me are dry humping, the baby a few rows back is crying… I should have just gotten off at the Westerly station and walked to camp. Mmmmm…. Camp. The sweet fragrance of OD fire and wet grass makes me smile. I would kill to be 17 again. Running off to concerts, kissing boys in trees, spending money I should be saving, staying up all night just because… I wish I had known that was going to be the best summer of my life. I wouldn’t have cried over a boy or worried about being covered in poison ivy or stressed about leaving for college. Everything worked out. I still run off to concerts, but I can afford floor tickets now. I still kiss boys but now it’s one boy and it is on a stoop in Allston. I still spend money but now it is money I save for fun things like cat toys or SPAC Sunday tickets (someone help me out!).
The staying up late part is fading. I wish I could still do that. I wish I didn’t think about going to bed at 6:30. My daily goal is to eat something and fall asleep. 12 hours of sleep is healthy? Right? I mean cats do it. They are mammals. I’m a mammal. It makes sense. I want to store my energy for tv watching and dancing. (The internet just told me that 12 hours of sleep is “not recommended” for humans. It suggested that “one might be depressed” or “or be suffering from a deficiency”). Why? I’m a growing girl, internet. I need my sleep. It is like watching brain tv and brain tv is fucking trippy. There is no television show that has my 2nd grade teacher and my Grams are making me Thanksgiving dinner in my boyfriend’s kitchen. And there is no episode of any program where my cat drives me to the airport with LeVar Burton.
Almost home. Good. I’m the only person in this particular car. I’m a pink pillbox hat away from staring in a Hitchcock film. I guess this wasn’t so bad. I made pretty good time. I just didn’t get to car dance or sing at the top of my lungs. I did get to watch two episodes of 7th Heaven. Let’s call it even.
Almost home. Almost time to crash in my princess bed. Almost time to have my cat glare at me from across the room. Almost time to hunt for a SPAC ticket for Sunday. Almost time to Moma Dance.
My best friend has been feeling a bit off kilter. She has taken on more responsibility at work, balancing her love and social life, new job in September… these are all important things. So why are they pulling her every which way?
The work role was involuntary. There was no conversation. Sometimes that is good (example: Everyone gets a pocket sized pig! No excuses!)(good, no, FUCKING AWESOME!). Sometimes that is not so good (example: Everyone must wear Hawaiian shirts and Tevas with socks. No excuses.) And sometimes that is awful (example: everyone must slam their heads against the wall for 7 hours. No excuses.) It is hard to say no, especially at work. It is difficult to advocate for yourself and be candid when your employer has the power to kick your pancake butt to the curb. Being a 20 something in the work place isn’t that easy. Sure we have the energy and naiveté that make us perfect pawns for some big picture. But we have feelings, too. We do have a tiny clue as to what is fair and what is ridiculous. My best friend’s new role will only be for 5 weeks. So that is a plus. But can you imagine slamming your head against a wall for 7 hours a day for 5 days a week? Ouch.
The see-saw of love and social life is tough. It is even tougher when you have a kickass man friend. My best friend expressed that she feels like we haven’t been doing stuff together. It makes her feel badly for not making it all work. We are present in tough times (which is awesome, because everybody needs a rock) but what about the good times? What about forming new memories? She seemed to have forgotten that we recently went to Brooklyn to have a fabulous weekend with our other lady friends. And that we just spent time together in the lot of the DCU center before Phish. You would think that we would be attached at the hip… living 1.7 miles apart, working in the same school… but we are not. And that is good. We are growing up. We need each other differently. 2 years ago I was a mess. I was exiting a relationship. When it was finally over, I really needed my best friend. Kettle One. I mean, my hetero-life mate. And she was there. She was there on the phone. And she was there, in her living room trying not to judge me for being a hot mess of disaster. She knew how to coddle me and kick my ass at the same time. That entire episode of my life reminds me how thankful I am to have her around. As for the balancing… how do you do it? And how do you still factor in the most important person, me?! I love me-time. So we have friend time, man friend time and me time… that sounds weird, but you understand. Normally I say, fuck it, go with the flow. But that is how people get neglected. I hate that I had to use Google calendar to plan out my vacation (my iPhone makes me seem organized and efficient so I’m keeping that illusion alive). But I woke up to a reminder saying: “Hetero Life Mate play date tomorrow”. And that made me smile. Sure we haven’t lived together, or driven across the country or slept with twin brothers… but that’s okay.
My best friend has done a lot this past year. She should feel invincible. She defeated the MTELs, got her Masters, created a classroom from scratch and survived two Phish shows. Oh, and she also landed her dream job in a public school. She has worked so hard to make all of these things happen and I could not be prouder. I’m not that upset by our lack of cross country driving because she was working so hard to achieve her goals. The new additions to her plate are from accomplishments, not defeat. She refused to give up, even when that math MTEL was being a stubborn bitch. I admire her tenacity in kicking its ass.
I wish I had some wise words about balance. I bet there are a million quotes on the interwebs that could tie this altogether. Or a good Liz Lemon gif. I think friendships are fluid. We want things to stay the same but that just means you aren’t growing. If you aren’t growing than you aren’t learning. (And I was really stupid at 18/19). Mistakes are good. And exploring who you are is fun. You have to try on different hats to realize that you don’t look good in hats at all and you’re really more of a headscarf person.
Balance is… challenging? Balance is… umm…I can worry about balance when I am 80 and I’m trying not fall on my face at Narragansett Beach after happy hour. It’s a good thing I will have my best friend there to laugh at me when I tumble into sand dune.
While I was hobbling around Coolidge Corner today I noticed something magnificent. There are a lot of hot dads out there. Hot young dads strolling around… enjoying the weather… being awesome.
There is something very sexy about a man with small child. Not in a “To Catch a Predator” kind of way, but in a sweet, non pervy way. I noticed some dads pushing strollers with babies… some dads using those baby backpacks… they seemed so happy. I wonder if they ever envisioned themselves lugging another human around outside of a helping their friend home after dollar pitcher night. Don’t you think it’s weird that we carry other people? Or that we grow people inside of us? Or that people still are watching The Office? (I really miss Michael.) Just think about it… get the image… people carrying people. It isn’t that weird when the larger person is doing the carrying. But the reverse cracks me up. Imagine a toddler carrying a grown man… or Cee Lo carrying Oprah. Hilarious!
Although I hate to admit it, I am my father’s favorite. He thinks I am fabulous and I don’t dare correct him. I am very lucky to have been raised by such a wonderful man. My Yia Yia did a good job. I wonder if my dad had any idea what he was getting in to. One day I’m being adorable eating Cheerios in my high chair and the next he is coming to pick me up at Bellevue Hospital after a dangerous affair with Bacardi. He taught me how to drive, make martinis and push to the front of the line. I accredit him for my sense of humor and preference for vodka. I am so grateful for all these survival skills.
Seeing these hot dads with their offspring was a great boost. It was a nice reminder that not all interactions are awkward or weird. Sometimes things are genuine and sweet.
I recently revisited my Pandora app. It’s been a while. I wasn’t sure what I was going to uncover. And I was very surprised to be thrown onto an emotional rollercoaster. 80 minutes of memories tied to music… someone get me a Xanax.
I am an emotional person. I jump for joy for Red Vines and sob over Google Chrome commercials. Listening to my Pandora stations reminded me just how melodramatic my life used to be. Between camp and college, my pre-Boston life can be cataloged through my Pandora playlists. I was surprised how much I had forgotten.
The first station I revisited was named “Driving”. Riveting, I know. I figured that was a good place to start seeing how I was driving. The Black Keys came on. Then some Phish, followed by The Shins. This was great. This station was created in 2005. I could tell based on the memories that came to mind. I recalled driving in my friend Beth’s minivan blasting “New Slang” and singing at the top of our lungs. I thought about dancing to Rubber Factory while attempting to clean my dorm before my parents came to visit. I found myself thinking about trudging to class in 4 feet of Ohio snow with the help of “Run like an Antelope”. I skipped a few songs but enjoyed most of what I heard. These were great memories that I hadn’t accessed in years. I felt good. I decided to explore another station.
I selected “Super Fun Party Time”. That sounded great! I felt the buildup of excitement as the station loaded. Arcade Fire was first. “No Cars Go” kicked off the party. I turned up the volume and rocked out. Next was Coconut Records “West Coast”. I enjoy this one as well. Then Bon Iver, “Blood Bank”. A bit depressing, but still great. Next was Fiona Apple “Paper bag”. This was taking a turn for the worst. Fiona is great. When the Pawn is in my top 10. But I wouldn’t throw it on at a party, unless I wanted to recreate her video for “Criminal” with thirty of my closest anorexic friends. I had to draw the line at “Kid A”. What kind of Super Fun Party was I attending? Was I trying to be ironic? Did I think I was staring in an independent film directed by Sophia Coppola? This must have been from 2008 to 2010. That would explain the heavy representation of Fiona. These songs made me feel not good. I did not like this trip down memory lane. Staying up all night waiting for a boy to call paired with “Love Ridden” is something no one should remember. Being stuck in a snow bank on the side of the NYS thruway while listening to PJ Harvey’s “Uh Hu Her” should be deleted from my brain. These memories were making me really sad. I did not like this version of Rachel. She was kind of shitty.
Maybe another station would cheer me up. I picked “Mellow Gold” from the list and held my breath. Please be Beck, please be Beck….. “Paper Tiger” came on. Thank you Pandora universe! “This one will work out”, I told myself. Then Cake’s “Never There” began to play. I typically love Cake. They are a solid go to if you are ever playing DJ at a party. They make people sing loudly and bop their heads. I was happy until I started remembering. I started remembering driving around in my ex-boyfriend’s 1996 Toyota Celica. The car was a mobile death trap but this was before I was concerned with personal safety. I was 18 and living in the delusion of first love. Then “Nightmare Hippy Girl” came on. I thought about sitting in a parking garage in Cleveland after a Pearl Jam show. We had lost the car keys and were waiting for AAA to come and rescue us. It was a good memory, at first, but then turned sour. Next song please…I few more tracks and I was done with “Mellow Gold”. I was starting to get upset.
With about 25 miles to go, I needed a pick me up. Day drinking plus sunshine equals cranky Rachel. If you add the emotional exponent, I was on the verge of a mini breakdown.
What makes me happy? Kittens… froyo… pocket sized pigs… payday… music Rachel, think music… I hit the search bar and typed in “Like a Prayer”. As soon as I heard the sweet, sweet music fill my car speakers, I was happy. Madonna makes me think of camp. Camp makes me smile. I enjoyed thinking about the awkward dances each session. As a camper, I loved every minute of them. It was so exciting to have a sweaty 13 year old boy rub up on you for 60 minutes. It was a magical even filled with inappropriate music, “dancing” and group trips to the bathroom. As I got older, dances were annoying. I planned my days off so I would not have to be there. It became a night of inappropriate music, “supervision” and trying to pretend I didn’t have a .08 BAC. I like these memories. I was thin(ner) and very tan. I had no money and very little responsibility. I didn’t worry about student loans and grad school applications. I found so much joy sitting on the steps of the boathouse watching advanced sailing launch 420’s into the water.
I could hear My Morning Jacket blasting from the 10 year old speakers. I thought about sitting on Sugaree in the middle of the salt pond basking in the sun… WJZS playing the background. I can still remember most of the set list from that summer… The Moody Blues “In Your Wildest Dreams”, Simon and Garfunkel’s “Cecelia”… These songs make me very happy today. I love that I can connect them to that time in my life.
Although I hate surprises, I enjoyed most of my trip down memory lane. I made these Pandora stations for a reason. Some good, some not so good. But they pulled from different parts of life. I’m sure if I was to make one now it would have lots of New Master Sounds and Stevie Wonder. I’m trying to pack in as much cardio as possible. Even if it is booty shaking.
"and my buns... they dont feel nothin' like steel."
Over the past couple of months, I have been obsessing about a dress. This particular dress has been living in my closet for 2 years and would like some action. It is perfect in every way, but one. It doesn’t fit.
I few months ago, my boyfriend and I were invited to a wedding. Late June…waterfront… yes please. I, like most ladies, read the invite and immediately did a mental run through of my closet. No, no, no, maybe, no, maybe, ew, no…YES! Graduation dress! It is just lovely. Strapless, structured top, bright blue- green color, above the knee, POCKETS! It has pockets! The perfect dress lives in my closet and it ready to party. Too bad the perfect dress fit 23 year old Rachel.
This realization sucked. Big time. I was not pleased to discover that I could not get the dress to zip over my ta-tas. “I hate you” I told my boobies, “both of you”. I laid down. I bunched it around my waist, zipped it and tried to pull it up. I even put on lotion to try and slide it up. None of this worked. I even Googled breast reductions. I was defeated and sad. There was nothing I could do. This was rock bottom. Being sad makes me sleepy. So I took a nap in my closet.
Once I awoke from my nap, I had a new idea. Gym + healthy food = perfect dress! I’m so smart. I was going to make this happen.
And I did. I was a very dedicated gym goer. I loved it. I hated it. I laughed. I cried. I had several awkward moments with strangers (that I found amusing) and even fell off a machine. I couldn’t have asked for more.
False. I could have asked to lose some inches. What the fuck, gym? I thought we had a deal. I visit you 4-5 times a week, and you suck the fat out of my dough-like body. Why do I still look like an awkward 12 year old who is waiting to get her period? I thought we agreed that I would look like Sophia Vergara by June 1st. I am not pleased.
This dose of reality made me sad. I feel into a deep depression filled with froyo and Law and Order SVU re-runs. (No one gets me more than Benson and Stabler.) Why doesn’t this goddamn dress fit me!? I said “no” to guacamole! Do you know how hard that is? I should have just shoveled that shit right into my mouth. (Who has time for chips when you can scoop more with your hands?)
I started to think about 23 year old Rachel. The version of me that could fit into the perfect dress. She was a senior in college. She lived in Capen Library. She survived on a steady diet of time released Adderall, Arnold Palmers and Camel Lights. And Wegman’s sushi. She loved Wegman’s sushi. 23 year old Rachel was in a dysfunctional long distance relationship and didn’t sleep. She stayed up all night and made bad decisions. 23 year old Rachel was a hot mess of an undergrad. Yikes.
Keeping this in mind, I have to cut myself some slack. I am 25 now. My body is changing. I eat food, not drugs (most of the time). I get plenty of sleep and am in a healthy relationship with a man who doesn’t make me feel like Shelley Duvall in the Shining.
But why does it have to be a trade off? Why am I thin(ner) and crazy or chunky and happy? I want to live in a world where froyo has zero calories and I can wear white without spilling coffee on it… where I always find a primo parking space and white cheddar Cheeze It’s don’t taste like heaven… where I can fit into the perfect dress…
Earlier today I was riding the T with my parents. (They are visiting for the weekend and I wasn’t sure what to do with them. I thought a nice 3 mile walk around the seaport/Faneuil Hall area would exhaust them. I was wrong. They proved to be more resilient). We happened to be on the T with all of the folks who were fighting hunger. These hunger fighters were from all walks of life… the yummie mommies with their flashy babies, the sporty couple, the nerdy Indian brothers, the unpopular sorority sisters and the ridiculous high school students.
I was in high school once. It wasn’t too long ago. I did a lot of stupid shit purely because my friends were doing it. I wanted to be effortlessly cool. I wanted people to see me wearing army pants and flip flops, so they would wear army pants and flip flops. It was a weird cycle of needing to be accepted but not wanting to be like everyone else. I wore the same clothes as my friends and (apparently) didn’t realize how awful they looked on me.
So back to the T. There was a group of early high school-age girls standing in the center. They were each complaining about how tired they were and how much their feet hurt. I couldn’t help but notice what they were wearing… skin tight “Walk for Hunger” t shirts, tiny denim shorts (with the pockets sticking out the bottom) and chuck taylors. They all had straight, flat ironed hair and virtually identical iPhone cases. They looked like clones. Not in a “let’s be cute and match for the Walk” but more in a “we can’t think for ourselves” kind of way. I tried to pick out the Regina George of the group. I looked for the tells… too much eyeliner, expensive (but still somehow badly done) high/low lights, a “pffht” too cool arrogance… I listened to their conversation. Nothing unusual. Boys… being hungry/thirsty…boys…who was where last night…someone’s getting a car… I wanted more. I wanted them to dish about birth control or who was talking to _______’s boyfriend. They sucked.
I started to think about myself. High-school Rachel circa 2002. When did I stop trying to be like my friends? When did I go from tiny denim shorts to practical Puma exercise clothes? There has to have been a day that I decided to put comfort over “cute”. (And there is nothing cute about shorts so small that the pockets hang out the bottom.) I wonder when I crossed over from uncomfortably “fashionable” to crazy looking mid forties housewife? The small tshirts and tiny shorts have been replaced with flowing red sox tees and leggings. Because leggings never make you feel fat and they give the false impression that you have every intention of working out.
I shouldn’t say that I don’t care. That is not entirely true. My best friend is very fashionable, so I use her as my yard stick. She tries to steer me away from unflattering patterns and misplaced stripes. She appreciates the charming confusion that is my “style” and attempts to keep me from looking like I escaped from McLean hospital. She wants me to dress like me. Super awesome!
Riding the T with these girls made me do a lot of thinking. Once we got off, I turned to my mother and before I opened my mouth she started talking about what the girls were wearing. It was like she could read my thoughts. Their shorts and impractical footwear sent her into a rant. This was terrible. This was one of those moments that smacks me in the face… I am just like my mother. Super.
You know when you’re driving on 95 south at 7am and everything just seems terrible? You are trying to merge out of the on ramp but some douche in a semi won’t let you over… the sun is perfectly placed on the horizon so that its rays are trying to blind you (sunglasses or no sunglasses (I call this “super-sun”))… and your coffee is still too hot to drink but you tried and now have a burnt tongue… everything sucks. Right has your about to turn up the volume so you can hear Billy’s News, some asshole in a minivan cuts you off.
Now I’m not saying that everyone who drives a minivan is an asshole. I drive a 12 year old station wagon, so that is basically the same thing. But there is a new breed of minivan that is emerging. This particular kind of minivan has been taking the roads by storm. This new minivan has those ridiculous family stickers and we need to put an end to this.
Bumper stickers are great. They are like buttons but for the ass of your car. They are a way for people to know what you like/care about. Small town politics, world peace, breaking for turtles, dolphin abortions… anything goes. But there is something about the family stickers that make me want to scream.
Upon conceptualizing this entry, I did a little research. I went on The Google and searched for these stickers. 22,100,000 results. You have got to be kidding me. How many companies are making these stickers? And there are hundreds of varieties. Stick figures, mom and dad rocking their alumni garb, kicks playing their sport, different sized flip flops, pets… this is ridiculous. These stickers are the 2011 version of those ”Baby on Board” signs. Those still make me angry. They are supposed to let others know that you are driving like Betty White because you are transporting a newborn. Oh, sorry, I was going to slam into the back of your car but I won’t because you have a baby in your car.
The minivan that recently cut me off had an obnoxious family sticker. It was the mother, father, two boys and a girl. Not too bad? Wait for it… mom and dad were in a motorboat and the children were WATERSKIING. What the what? How did they settle on this design? “This one! I like this one!” says the mother. “Yes! I think is represents us well” says father. “We are fun and adventurous and don’t give a shit about our kids’ safety because we have a boat. Hell yeah boats!” says mother and then they high five.
I have even seen family stickers where each members name is below their character. Haven’t these people seen Dexter? Trinity, I mean Arthur Mitchell, knew the boy’s name because he saw the sticker on the back of his parents minivan (s4 ep10). This is just asking someone to abduct your child/pet. Providing the names also give people like me a more personal way to yell at you for driving like a dick. “Fuck you, Arnold!” “Move over, Patty!” Adding someone’s name really gives it that extra punch. There was this woman who used to park on my street. She drove a small sedan, a Ford or something, and on her rear windshield she had a lady holding a glass and three cats. Three. She has no shame. This lady does not drive a minivan for obvious reasons. She was probably on her second bottle of chardonnay when she had this stroke of genius. What better way to tell the world that you love being single?
I’m sure you are probably thinking that I’m a bitch. And that’s okay with me. Maybe someone you know has these stickers. Please ask them why. Please help me put an end to this epidemic. Me must work together to stop family stickers. One Dodge Caravan at a time.
It is Sunday… around 10:25am. Some ungodly disturbing nose (your roommate’s sneeze, the toilet’s flush, the B line) awakes you from your beauty sleep. You toss and turn only to realize that it is not 7pm as you had hoped. It isn’t long before your vodka induced headache has started to ruin everything. You can’t remember if you have Aleve in your (fun) night stand or in your car… or maybe those are empty bottles that you were saving to remind yourself to buy more. Like that ever works.
You bury your face in the pillows. You can feel the hair sticking to the back of your neck and your crusty eye makeup causes your lashes to weld together. “I’m sure I don’t look that bad” you tell yourself. Without lifting your head, you pat the comforter around you in search of the remote. Fuckkkkkk… it’s on the floor. It takes a few minutes but you eventually muster up the energy to fling your body around. Your hand haphazardly feels around the area alongside your bed… a shoe… wallet…WATER!… nope, empty bottle…remote! Bingo! Because of your top notch abdominal muscles, you are able to gracefully maneuver your body back up onto the bed. Your cat/dog watches in amusement…wondering how a small whale managed to beach itself so far from the ocean. After some rearranging, the pillows are perfectly placed to prop your big fat head up. It’s TV time.
You scan the guide with your squinty eyes. Everything hurts. Water. You need water. This is awful. Your eyes are getting heavy… right before you doze off you remember…Phantom Gourmet is on! Yes! This tiny burst of energy peps you right up. The Andelman brothers are the perfect hangover cure. This is going to be great! Pizza and chicken and dumplings all dance across the screen. “I want that, and that, and that…” you tell yourself as you make mental notes. With each review your body creeps up in the bed. “Kobe sliders in a cloud of cheese! Hot dogs made by ex cons! FRENCH FRIES!!!!!!!!”… your inner monologue is freaking out. “I would kill for tater tots” you utter to your cat/dog. You grab your phone and open Yelp. Each restaurant is fair game.
At this point you are close to eating your cell phone. Or chapstick. You need chapstick. And mouthwash. Woof. Every restaurant is too far away, isn’t open or worse… they don’t deliver. You can’t decide. Hunger is turning into nauseous. Nauseous is turning into anger. Anger is turning into defeat. “I can’t deal” you tell your cat/dog. You throw in the towel and bury your head. Life is just too overwhelming. “Now I know how Lindsay feels,” you tell yourself. Your eyes close. You begin to drift…
I know I’m like 2 years behind with this whole thing, but I am pissed. Does JJ Abrams hate the American public? Does he think that it is funny to drag us along for 6 goddamn seasons and then leave us two humps shy of a climax? You have got to be kidding me.
I am still processing the whole thing. The first two seasons were great. I blew through them disregarding hygiene and personal relationships (Portlandia s2 ep2). I looked forward to snow days, weekends, making up excuses to not leave my boyfriend’s apartment. I had started a relationship with a show and it was magical.
But like most relationships (we have all had) this one ended pretty badly.
Here is the break down… the way we were…
Season 1- Hot and heavy.
I couldn’t get enough. Polar bears, the Others, Rousseau… even the Black Smoke monster was okay with me. I loved the mystery of the hatch. They did a great job at dragging it out just enough that you didn’t want to smack someone. And that sad raft. Oh dear, that was a pipedream. I loved making very judgmental decisions about which characters I loved and which ones I wanted dead (and which ones I wanted to get naked with). I was particularly captivated by the flashbacks. I was so excited to learn more about all my new friends. After the finale I knew this was going to become a full-fledged relationship! I was pumped!
Season 2 – Relationship Material
This was about the time I knew I had to get serious. I was ready for a commitment. The conflict between Jack and the crew versus the Others was great. Even the internal struggle between Jack and Locke was splendid. Faith v Science is always a good one. And Sawyer rises up as a power player. I loved learning more and more about the Dharma Initiative and Desmond. We had entered the phase in the relationship when you start meeting the friends. Some of those friends are fabulous (Desmond s2 ep1) and some of them suck at life (Anna Lucia s2 ep7). Shit was starting to settle down and get real. I was enjoying where this was going. I started to tell my friends about my new love! Hooray for me.
Season 3 – Routine
I wasn’t rushing through these episodes. I started watching just to get some answers. But the more I watched, the more questions I had and the less answers I found. Richard was introduced (s3 ep7) and he really started to creep me out (with his agelessness and eye makeup). We also learned more about Juliet and how much she sucks at life. Oh and the freighter happened. Meh. This was the part in the relationship where I started putting on zit cream and eating Cheetos in bed.
Season 4 – “what did you say? I wasn’t listening…”
Where are all these fucking people coming from? Miles and Daniel and the red head… oh and Michael is on the Freighter (what?). We don’t really need him anymore. The flash-forwards were very interesting. I felt a deep sadness watching Dr Sexy, I mean Shepard, stumbling around looking like Eddie Vedder circa 1999. I was not pleased with the concept of moving the island. I know it ties into the time travel stuff, but, jeeze… too many layers. At this point in the relationship I was starting to plan an exit strategy. “I’m too tired…I have to go to the gym… What about Mad Men?” anything to avoid the obvious issue: this wasn’t going to work out.
Season 5- Avoiding texts and calls
The duel timelines were overwhelming. All that jumping around just to get stuck in 1974? I just wanted to poke that Horace guy in the eyeballs (s5 ep10). And we are supposed to believe that Sawyer had conformed to the DARHMA Initiative? And that he is playing house with Juilet?!?! (I hate her). This was also about the time that I was yelling and shaking my fist at the television. We have the past and the present uniting and everybody is shooting everybody else. Their ideas were half assed and poorly executed. Issues that took nine episodes in season 1 or 2 to unfold were now taking half an episode. And stupid Ben lies to everyone to get them back together (s5 e4). And not-Locke is running around being an asshat. I started to fall asleep during episodes… catch up on text messages… I even checked my email… I was searching for any excuse to divert my attention elsewhere. ( I did enjoy the season finale (s5 ep16/17) with Jacob crossing paths with everyone at some point in their fucked up lives. That didn’t make me want to slam my head against the coffee table.) I just wanted it to end, but there is no easy way to break up with something after you have invested all that time. I couldn’t just sneak out the window…
Season 6 – Get away from me
The Man in Black was very annoying. I’m glad it took out Ilana’s crew (s6 ep1) but it just became another ridiculous layer. And the temple and the temple people and all their issues. No thank you. Then Hurley leads Jack to the lighthouse to show him a mirror and a dial and blah blah blah… but we get a nice flash-sideways of sexy Doctor Shepard trying to be a normal person with his son whom he knows nothing about. For me, the entire season was all about Jin and Sun reuniting. Their storyline makes me ugly cry. I stopped caring about everybody else. Can someone explain to me why Charles Widmore’s death was not made into a big deal? This guy negatively impacted every single character. I wanted them to send his body out to sea- Viking style. Now that would have been awesome. But no. Bang bang. He’s dead. All done. The finale was horrific. I can’t select one part that didn’t make me angry. This is the part of the relationship when I generally become overly fault finding and hate everything about the other person. I just wanted it to end and leave my life forever.
Here I am… two and a half days post- finale. Going over each season makes me remember the good times… shirtless Sawyer… Ben getting shot… Vincent…Jack crying… It wasn’t all bad. It is just unfortunate that we ended on such bad terms. Maybe if there weren’t so many mixed messages I wouldn’t have been so confused. Maybe if there weren’t so many fucking characters I would have been able to follow a storyline. And maybe… just maybe if Jack wasn’t such a disappointment (protecting the island, pfft) we could have made it work.
Time to move on… I hear everyone is shitting their pants about Mad Men…
(As I have mentioned in my previous post) I am looking for an apartment. Between Draw Something and watching tv, my vacation has been pretty busy. The apartments that I see on my programs have gotten my practical underpants in a bunch.
Friends: Monica and the gang all took turns living at the corner of Bedford and Grove in the West Village. I did some research and discovered that 90 Bedford St has an estimated value of $6,418,100 or a rental estimate of $22,000 and change. The real property has 5 bedroom and 4.5 bathrooms. If you were to break that down, the rent for a 2 bedroom in that building would be outrageous. A 2 bedroom on the same street will run you $8,820 a month. This is 2012 money, and I know nothing about real estate, but I have to imagine that the value of the apartment hasn’t grown disproportionally. Now Monica claims that she is illegally subleasing the place from her Nana. That makes sense if subleasing means blowing her landlord. Even so, I’m not buying it. Monica is a chef that seems to have a lot of free time on her hands… Hanging out at the Central Perk (every episode), going on dates with Tom Selleck (s3 ep2), planning Thanksgiving (s1 ep9) and going to Vegas (s5 ep22). She does seem to be working enough to pay rent. As a Top Chef addict, I consider myself a chef expert (chefspert). I don’t think that Tom Colicchio is sipping venti soy lattes with Rocco DiSpirito at Starbucks in the middle of the day. (I can think of much better things to do with Mr DiSpirito in the middle of the day). Also, I’d like to know how come there is a balcony when we are in the apartment, but not when we have a street view. Just sayin’.
Seinfeld: It’s not Jerry’s place, but Newman’s apt that makes me want to cry. Particularly in the Andrea Doria episode (George is trying to win over an apartment board with the sob story of his life/Kramer finds Smuckers the dog/Elaine gets set up/ Jerry takes over Newman’s route (s8 ep10)). Jerry, Newman and Kramer all live in the same building at 129 West 81st Street. Other apartments in the area with 1 bedroom/1 bathroom are currently going for $6,500 a month. I wonder what it cost in 1989? The average earning of a postman in 2005 was $2,638 a month. If you do that math, I highly doubt that Newman could afford a one bedroom on the upper west side. And what about Kramer? The man with no steady job manages to not get evicted. He claims to have received an inheritance (s4 ep16) but we never learn more beyond that episode. I think George makes the best comment regarding Kramer wanting to go to fantasy camp (s4 ep15), “His whole life is a fantasy camp. People should plunk down two thousand dollars to live like him for a week. Do nothing, fall ass-backwards into money, mooch food off your neighbors, and have sex without dating. That’s a fantasy camp.”
I also really like the episode where Elaine pretends to live in a janitors closet so the Chinese restaurant will deliver the supreme flounder to her (s8 ep16). “Oh the humanity!”
30 Rock: What about everybody’s favorite NBC Page? I adore Kenneth. He bends over backwards for the cast and crew of TGS. He just might be the poster child of above and beyond in terms of work ethic (and weirdness). The poor guy lives in a shit hole of an apartment and can’t afford cable. Kenneth worships television and works for a network! How ironic. Maybe Kenneth and I could live together in Lower Allston. It wouldn’t be a stretch from what he is used to. We could watch endless amounts of shitty tv together. And he would let me control the clicker. He would tell me all the TGS gossip. I would be one step closer to my idol. Liz Lemon, here I come!
The Nanny: Val’s Apartment (s3 ep5). This episode is classic Nanny. One reason why I love this episode is because it is one of the first real times that Max realizes just how terrible life is without Fran. He begins to appreciate her the way we have been begging him to for years. Fran, however, does not get off so easy. She realizes how plush life was in the Sheffield home. Through all of this, hilarity reigns. Val gets her to move into this apartment building full of gay men. It is 22 minutes of awesome. I’m sure she could make ends meet with the salary she earns from Max, but I doubt budgeting is one of her strengths.
How I Met Your Mother: I’m relatively new to HIMYM. I fucking hate Ted, but everyone else is really growing on me. Kind of like when you first move into your dorm freshman year… you realize that the person you befriended first is actually the most nauseating person in the state of Ohio (who goes to college in Ohio?) But the apartment episode I’m thinking of is World’s Greatest Couple (s2 ep5). Ted and Robin go to Lily’s new apartment and it is horrendous. Lily is a teacher and lives in Manhattan. There is no possible way that she would be able to afford anything larger than my station wagon. The tub, toilet, stove, sink and bed are all in one, small room. The bed even folds out. Yikes.
Boy Meets World: BMW is pretty stupid. I was a big fan of TGIF and all the lineup had to offer, but it is hard to stay invested when the characters are aging and I hadn’t discovered the wonders smoking pot. In the episode Picket Fences (s7 ep10) we clearly see why designing is left up to the ladies. When Topanga leaves Cory to spruce the place up, she returns to find out that he typically fucked it up even more. The worst offense: yellow paint. Woof, that’s even uglier than the name Topanga.
The Cosby Show: You had to know I was going to end it on this one. Move it (s5 ep4) is hands down, one of the funniest episodes of the Cosby show. Cliff and Clair go to Sondra and Elvin’s apartment for dinner. They are disgusted by the nasty water, jammed windows, and major plumbing/electrical problems. Sondra and Elvin, however, cheerfully announce their plans to make a “room” for the baby by putting up a screen in the corner. The entire episode is so ridiculously accurate. I think every post graduate does that awkward charade when they are trying to convince their parents that their new apartment isn’t a death trap… or the group of men at corner is a do-op group and not a drug ring…Cliff is such a ball buster that he can’t resist giving Elvin a hard time (and Elvin is such a wimp, he is practically begging to be kicked in the balls).
I’m also bothered by Carrie Bradshaw’s apartment on Sex and the City but I don’t feel like typing anymore. My vacation is in full swing and today is Marathon Monday. I enjoy pairing alcohol with other people’s activeness (so today is kind of a big deal).
I am currently in the early stages of looking for an apartment. To begin this adventure, I started with Craigslist because that is where all the respectable members of our society go to post their listings. So far it has been a real pleasure. I already feel this deep sadness brewing inside me. Why is it so hard? (That’s what she said)
My current roommate and I are looking to move with our two cats. Just a couple of girls and their cats. 2 bed rooms in the Boston area are way out of our price range… so a 3 bedroom will have to work. And since our cats refuse to get jobs (freeloaders) we have to also look for a roommate. The real gems on Craigslist are any posting where people have to describe themselves. And I have to tell you, it is pretty comical.
People like to use the expression “I’m down to earth”. I’m not really sure what to make of this because I have seen a lot of people use it and it comes in all shapes and sizes. What does that mean exactly? You don’t live in space? You live in the woods? I’ve concluded that it is something people say to make themself sound appealing (similar to “I’m easy going”). Does down to earth mean that you are not materialistic? Or have a rock collection? It is too general of a statement to be applicable to all. I’m not buying it.
I have also encountered a whole slew of “young professionals”. I am young, but I am nowhere near professional. I don’t think “young professionals” wear jeans to work and get expo markers all over their face. I don’t think “young professionals” blast My Morning Jacket and dance to Oliver and Company once their students have left for the day. When I hear the expression “young professionals” I think of babies in suits. Or toddlers playing with their dad’s briefcase. Who are these young professionals and why do they seem to be desperately seeking a roommate?
What about the “I don’t smoke/drink/or do any drugs” person. They sound like fun. I bet their hobbies include watching paint dry and laundry. This one guy even stated that he loves to stay up late discussing religion and politics. How do you do that without being drunk? He sounds like the kind of guy that will judge me for eating a pound of bacon or using a microwave. No thanks.
I thought the postings of apartments with images would be better. I was so wrong.
The bedroom is a big concern of mine. I would like enough room for my princess bed, dresser, shelves, (fun)night stand(!)… nothing too crazy. The pictures of these bedrooms should give me a good idea what the dimensions of the room are. (You know, since the dimensions are NOT LISTED. Spacious is not 9x10. Fuck you. ) After looking at hundreds of ads, I have concluded that people have just stopped making their beds all together. Why bother making your room look remotely presentable. Please throw your shit everywhere. Make it look like your closet threw up all over the floor. And don’t bother to take pictures of the room as a whole. I’m just interested in looking at your unmade bed and generic Pink Floyd/ Animal House/ Goonies posters that you got the first week of freshman year. I’m sure you’re very cool and have lots of internet friends.
Some of these kitchens are pretty sad. I know it’s Brighton/Allston/JP and space it tight, but….wow. There are moments when I think I am looking at the cabin of a midsized sailboat. How am I supposed to practice my crazy dance moves if I can’t open the dishwasher all the way? It has been a real pleasure looking at everyone’s dirty dishes. Piles upon piles of unwashed pots and pans spilling every which way… how romantic. I’m sure they would have loved to use the dishwasher if they were able to open it. I was lucky enough to stumble across a posting that looked as though a frat party and several barnyard animals had traveled through. Woof.
The bathrooms have been pretty meh. I am not looking for a top of the line spa, but a girl needs a little counter space. What am I supposed to sit on to pop my blackheads in the mirror? (You know you do it too. Oh you don’t? Liar.) I would like to avoid the feeling of being aboard a Boeing 787 every time I pee. I am loving that people have some really silly shower curtains. I’ve seen PeeWee Herman on his bicycle, Charles Manson’s mug shot, Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie’s Simple Life title card, the Wizard of Oz cast, and, my personal favorite, the silhouette of a man being chased by an elephant. Isn’t that great! Where would you even find such a thing? I would like one.
I’m not sure how much more hunting I can endure. Maybe when teachers are paid like third string NFL players I can move into my dream apartment in Cambridge. But for now I will have to shuttle my shit from slumlord to slumlord.
I dislike a majority of things. Black licorice, waiting, gin, children dancing at weddings… That list would even bore me. But the cast of characters that I encounter at the brighton/brookline whole foods really gets me all bent out of shape.
I usually practice a solid method of navigating star market/stop n shop but something seems to go terribly wrong when I enter WF. I enter the store not with the mentality of a teacher on a teacher’s paycheck but rather a high powered yoga instructor or a savvy bed tester. I haphazardly roam the isles forgetting what I came for. I lose sense of time. I forget how much I can spend. I become an old lady.
Let’s talk about the old ladies. This particular WF is frequented by a lot of old ladies. You can see them pushing their old lady carts wearing there generic old lady shoes and their mauve old lady coats that I never seem to see in actual stores (is there a catalog?). I normally don’t mind old ladies. Sure they drive slowly and scold my students in the community but they usually have purse candy. And cats. These are not the nice grannies. They are mean. And they are cheap! Yes lady, the organic pineapple is $5.99. Get over it. These are the ladies that clog the express lane and seem to think 15 cans of tomato sauce is equivalent to one item. Move over grandma, I’ve got soymilk to buy.
What about Yummy mommies. You know the yummy mommies. You can see them in their lululemon yoga pants and fitted Patagonia/ northface tops pushing around their demon child. Some of them have two nuggets…one in the cart and the other roaming a borderline dangerous distance. These are the women who transport their reusable bags and containers in their 2007 land rover. These are the women who are afraid of corn syrup. These are the women who give their children cardboard snacks at home unaware that their school’s budget only allots for straight gluten and sugar cubes at snack time. These are the women who park their carts in the middle of the isle while on the phone and juggling their 1.5 children. Shoo.
How about the twenty something hipsters? Since I live in the epicenter of awkwardly cool and slightly smelly, it seems fitting that WF would attract the twenty something hipster. They care about the environment (and drive a late 90’s Japanese car), the 99 percent (do people still talk about that?) and insisting that they’ve known/followed Bon Iver/Sleigh Bells/ Pavement for years and are upset about hearing them on the radio (do people still listen to Pavement? What about The Velvet Underground? Fun fact, I used to imagine that Lou Reed and Diane Keaton were my parents and we were a traveling band. This made so much sense in my 10 year old brain). These are the people that glare at me when I use a produce bag for my half pound of loose oyster mushrooms. These are the people who try to educate me on the dangers of consuming meat and consumerism in general. These are the people who put The Stranger in the mesh part of their backpack so others know they are (pretending to be ) reading it. The twenty something hipster is the perfect blend of overpriced vintage clothing, high end accessories, mac products and pitchfork approved music on their super-duper ipod. The twenty something hipster is the person who stands in front of me at concerts and ashes on my foot. Merrrrrrr.
The very important businessman. I used to like the VIB. I was so wrong. The VIB is a hot mess in a suit… zipping around the store on his Bluetooth. He has to yell in order to assert his significance. He is very important so he must he helped first at the sushi counter (VIB love spicy tuna rolls). VIB does not use a cart. Oh no. VIB uses a basket that he gracefully swings into your funny bone (sending shooting plains to your hand causing you to spill your room temperature organic coffee on your white shirt reinforcing the face that you should never wear white). Thanks buddy.
And then there is Mister Environment. I fancy Mister Environment is a grown up hipster. He does not drive a car but a basic bike with some kind of duel basket action. He works for a local non-profit and brings his own reusable bags that he won at a festival/picnic at the central square famers market. Mister Environment wears washed out earth toned clothing (mostly faded by his 200% organic detergent composed of angel tears and unicorn semen) and loves to rock his pants that magically zip into shorts. Mister E smells like a Phish show and desperately needs a haircut. I don’t have beef with Mister Environment but I have a strong suspicion that he is the one buying all of golden sesame tofu. Bastard!
I’m not sure where I fit in to all this. Is there a twenty something catlady subcategory? I do rock cat hair on everything I own. What about the girl who doesn’t take off her sunglasses? Perhaps there is someone out there blogging about my kind. The 25 year old catlady who doesn’t take off her sunglasses indoors. I could be the epitome of someone’s frustration with the world today. Hey, a girl can only dream…
in the process of planning my solar system lesson, i found myself researching girl scout cookies. (somehow venus led me to tagalongs. (mmmmm… tagalongs)) this website is quite a gem.
i was not a girl scout as a youngster. i dont know why. i love to wear green and brown. those badges make it competitive. i think there gets to be a boss. perhaps i missed out. maybe adding the girl scouts of america to my resume would have helped me to get into grad school. i wish i had insider information on this scam they call “cookie season”. it’s a shake down. just ask Toby and Darrly (the office s8 ep18).
here are some fun facts about girl scout cookies:
there is a “cookie finder” app for your iPhone. (what? really? it says that it will help me find my cookie personality. i hope they make a salty, abrasive and busty treat. the dont let you buy cookies over the interweb. you actually have to talk to someone. face to face. ew)
the prices are not the same everywhere. they have a bogus council that “has the right to set its own price based on its needs and knowledge of the local market”. who have they hired to follow these economic winds in our ever changing cookie market? last spring i was told that the box of tagalongs i was drooling over was 9 bucks. i only had change and half a pack of camels. i couldnt part with either. but 9 bucks? come on you miniature con-artist.)
the name of the cookie is pending on the baker.
only three of the cookie names will never change: thin mints, do-si-dos and trefoils. (they are kind of fair weather bitches about the other names)
all the cookies are kosher!
thin mints are the best selling GS cookie.
this is an actual FAQ: Q: Does the chocolate used in Girl Scout Cookies come from cacao beans picked by children? (cacao… ha! (portlandia s1 ep2) how many people have asked them this question that it made it to the FAQ page? love it)
another gem: Q: Don’t Girl Scout Cookies contribute to the childhood obesity problem? (yes, fatty. and a sleeve of frozen thin mints is not a healthy breakfast)
the website is making me jealous. these girls are all so happy and diverse. the site looks like a benetton ad. except for the part under the “research/ facts and findings” button. sexual activity and pregnancy. umm… okay. the list of facts about teens humping each other is enough to make any mother shit her pants. maybe if my mother had read the “facts and findings” she would have made me be a girl scout instead of sending me to sex camp in the ocean state. she would have gotten a sweet deal on cookies. i might have even knocked a few boxes off the truck for her. i could have been the cookie kingpin. thanks mom. thanks for denying me my opportunity to shine as a pint sized cookie pusher.
my gym hates me. they see nothing wrong with putting bravo and the food network side by side. i’m pretty sure that i am not that special. there has to be hundreds, or thousands… or maybe tens or girls who enjoy both bethenny and the barefoot contessa. this pairing is fine in every other setting in the universe. just not the gym.
i enjoy using bravo’s programs as part of my twisted motivation. this side by side action is going to cause a serious safety issue. how any i supposed to bust my ass on the precor amt and not drool over slow roasted lamb chops? it is hard to not half watch each screen. i wish i could split the volume.
there is something wonderful about Ina Garten. she is pure magic. she is also quite interesting. did you know that she has her pilots license? and that she worked in the white house? and that she is friends with my favorite lady, Olivia Benson… i mean Mariska Hargitay? and she’s jewish! she is the neighbor i wish i had.
it would be like heaven to live next to Ina. i could walk out of my east hampton home… stroll barefoot across the perfectly manicured lawn… hop over the stone wall… and follow the path to her her porch door. “Ina, it’s me!” i would yell through the screen. “it’s open!” she would reply. i would walk into the kitchen…the cold wooden floor would soothe my sunburned soles. the summer breeze would tickle my shoulders as it blew through the open bay windows… the transparent linen cutrins whipping around. Ina would gesture for me to sit at the counter. i would hop up onto the stool… my stumpy legs dangling just shy of the foot rest. she would hand me an ice cold moscow mule. we would laugh and cook. she would dish me advice while braising the brisket. her dark bob bouncing as she giggled about Jeffrey. and then Mariska would come over and we would all sit around her 50 inch flat screen and watch a law and order svu marathon. i’m sure i would mess this up. Ina would get mad at me for dirty foot prints on her virgin white couch. or for leaving the fridge open. or for being pissed that she roasted another fucking chicken.
okay, maybe this fantasy got creepy. living next to Ina would most likely result in me becoming the size of a small house. woof.
for the record, i was not a girl who had JTT posters or trapper keepers. i didn’t obsess about how his last name would match my first. this selection is purely about Randy, not Jonathan.
i think randy and i would get along. he is kind of a lame, but has a creative edge (Jill’s birthday s1 ep16). how did i not think of a little brother tax? he is also clever enough to trick a women into thinking that he is a 32 year old man over the interwebs (s3 ep24). i like that he is smart and devoted to his school work (because nerds are cool). we could be study buddies or he could just do my taxes. Randy is also kind of a pussy (room without a view s5 ep8). he gets is own room and cant handle it? i would have loved to have a weird space room with all of Tim’s bells and whistles. i never understood how he could like, i mean love, Lauren. she was lame. i would have stopped that. she changed him with all that environmental do-gooding. yuck. i like that he wanted to do his own thing and left the show (adios s8 ep2). i could go visit him in costa rica… get my hair braided in those awkward corn rows that never look cool because your scalp is casper white and your face is rock lobster red because you thought your skin had a good enough base tan from laying out in the front yard for 20 minutes the day before the trip.
runner ups: Luke Dunphy. Kevin Arnold.
big brother- Jordan Catalano
talk about cool. Jordan would be a great big brother. he is emotionally unavailable and practically illiterate (why Jordan can’t read s1 ep7). he is the kind of kid parents worry about constantly. this will come in handy when i am causing my own trouble… parents:”Rachel! why didnt you pay your student loan this month?” me: “Jordan’s iliterate!” parents: “right. about that…” and i’m off the hot seat. he is also mysterious and handsome so naturally my friends would love him and i would be the coolest girl in school.
runner ups: Will Smith. Steve Holt. Reese Wilkerson.
Grandma- Lucille Bluth
i worship this women’s dysfunction. it would be an honor to call her my Gangy. i love how she projects an “i dont give a shit” attitude while rocking pearls and a Chanel suit. she is horrific driver (s1 ep8), a day drinker (s2 ep17), emotionally manipulative (every episode), and outrageously competitive (s2 ep 13). i love how she pits her children against each other and dreads them forming a united front. her and i could hang out in the penthouse drinking martinis and mis-reading pill bottles. i would jump on the chance to zip her up. Lucille and i would have a fabulous time spending the company money and avoiding eye contact with waiters. how wonderfully magical.
let’s pretend my parents don’t exist. or my brother. they died or left me in (on) line for space mountain. they are long gone and there is no sign of a distant relative coming to claim me. now let’s pretend i get to design my own family. all the characters that dance across the television are fair game and they all want to live with me. each of them pleading for me to pick them! we can call this the best draft ever.
mother- Kitty Foreman
even though that 70s show lost it’s sparkle toward the end of season 4 (eric’s false alarm s4 ep25), Kitty remained a fantastic matriarch for the Foreman brood. i loved how she whipped around the house with this cheerfully manic “food can solve anything” attitude. her continuous effort to be the perfect housewife and supportive foster mother to Eric’s friends make her my first choice. i would love to be hanging out in the basement with my friends… discussing nonsense and bell bottoms… bashing disco and collecting resin…”Rachel, dinner” travels from the top of the staircase. Kitty would fill the table with full spread of meatballs and bacon and mashed potatoes. “all this! wow you worked so hard!” i would exclaim with a big smile. “anything for my favorite daughter” she would reply with her perfectly aquanetted hair and pristine apron. mmm… bacon…
runner ups- Amy Matthews. Jill Taylor.
father- Dr. Heathcliff Huxtable
thank god for syndication (i might want that on my tombstone/freeze chamber), or i would have never fallen in love with america’s favorite ob-gyn. Cliff is witty, silly, successful and bizarre. i love how he walks in the house after a 14 hour delivery, plops on the couch and is immediately approached with an offspring’s issue. he sits comfortably in between warm and crabby. his desire for the children to “just go away” (s2 ep 19) is balanced by his bribes with chocolate cake (s6 ep15). he went so far to have a funeral for Rudy’s fish, Lamont (s1 ep2). i want a dad would is very silly and will go to great lengths to prove a point. Cliff is that dad. i want a dad who will stage the entire house as the “real world” to prove to me that there is no way in hell i can afford to move out and become a model (s2 ep22). i also want a dad who wears ugly sweaters.
runner ups: Sandy Cohen. Phil Dunphy
sister- Rudy Huxtable
not having a real-life sister made this choice pretty interesting. Rudy would be a good fit. she is much younger so i could be the boss (room with no view s5 ep23). she is also a people pleaser. i find her to have this accidental humor. her reactions and questions are proof that kids do say the funniest things. i am also certain that i could convince her that babies come out of your butt and dogs can read your thoughts. she has a tough side (Rudy suits up s2 ep7) that i could foster and maybe use for evil. i think we would be a good pair as long as her cuteness didn’t outshine me.
are you commercials supposed to be funny? because i think they are. each time one appears on my friend (the television) i have to giggle. i enjoy the simplicity… in fact, i think that might be what i find humorous.
one part hunky bartender
one part disaronno
one part obvious ingredient (in the title; cola, lime, breast milk)
Do the advertising people think that i am not smart enough to figure out a disaronno and cola? the “and” in the title is an indication that it is both ingredients are added together. perhaps if the drink was called a “supernova” or “donkey punch” it would require an explanation. they cant think we are that dumb… right?
i have never actually tried disaronno. is it gross? it’s not vodka, so it has to be meh. maybe i can pick up some nips at blanchards. make myself a nightcap. i should be sure to watch the instructional videos. i don’t want to accidentally dump lighter fluid and diapers into my disoronno. that would be unfortunate.
27 year old male + Friends = Jennifer Aniston. BINGO!
at around 3am today i found myself in a very intense conversation about Jennifer Aniston. wait, what? let me try and rewind. four twenty-something boys (or men, as i think they like to be called)> birthday related drinking> multiple apple devices> three musicians> old 97’s > the break up> Jennifer Aniston. okay. cool.
how is it that this woman is at the top of every “best______” or “most__________” list? she’s pretty, sure. she has a great body, okay. her hair is glossy, eh? but how is she one of the most searched women on google and yahoo? how is she on the cover of all of my guilty pleasures? ( and why do i keep buying those fucking magazines?) how is it that the media is still casting her as this victimized women, scorned by Brad Pitt and his robot girlfriend? and why is she cast in all these shitty movies? (she must have the same agent as Katherine Heigl, and that agent must hate them. or us. i’m not sure.)
so at 3 this morning, wrapped up in this JAniston conversation, i was so confused. the five of us were shouting at each other over the music that was 4 decimals past appropriate. one friend explained that she is somewhat of a girl next door. i added that she was out of his league… the girl next door that was out of your league. his eyes light up. “you’re right!” he exclaimed while inhaling his bravo pizza, “that’s it”. the three other boys were sreaming at each other… my boyfriend being very polite as his roommate starts talking about her perfect tush. “it’s perfect, i dunno, it’s just…” he trails off. i still dont get it. she cant be indefinably the “best/most________” eight years after friends is off the air. her appeal has to have worn off by now. it just has to have. i’m moments away from exiting the conversation when jon breaks through the chaos. his deep voice carries nicely over the weird ass music that is vomiting all over the bose sound-system. “i think it has to do with Friends being on when we were coming-of-age”… i sit up straight. ouch/back-crack. that is it. he just said it. he just explained what has been irritating me for five years. BINGO
fifteen hours later… this seems pretty lame. i can’t believe i just typed that all out. who the fuck cares. Jennifer Aniston. pfft. but now i get it. i feel a sense of acceptance.
six vodka tonics + 3 am + hash = pop culture epiphany. yes!
as i sit comfortably in my mid-twenties, i am confident with most of my choices. the way i take my coffee, the shoes on my closet floor, the bumper stickers on my 2000 passat station-wagon… they are all very me. but nail polish has always caused a bit of a uneasiness.
when i enter a nail salon i feel pressured by the technician. “pick a color” shoots rapidly out of her mouth as she gestures toward the wall of polish. i feel overwhelmed by the rows of essie, opi and chinese glaze. and then they have the seasonal collections. opi is very topical… they did movie themes for Burlesque and the Muppets (what? yes, really). essie is very calendar conscious. and then there is this chinese glaze that kind of came out of nowhere (and why are they pushing the crackle look? that wasn’t cool the first time).
i gravitate toward the colors that i am used to. i pick up the opi red/browns with this “hello old friend” twinkle in my eye. but then i second guess myself. “try something new! step outside the box (or bottle in this case)” crosses my mind. i put down the familiar color and scan the rows. i pick up some new ones to read the name… hold it up to my skin…swirl it around. i grow tired of pretending. i can sense the technician is getting impatient with me. “okay” i say as i grab the bottle, “ready”.
she directs me to the station and gets to work. after what feels like an hour of painful small talk and awkward “is she talking to me?” pauses we are done and i am at the drying station. i hit the reset button 2 extra times on the dryer to ensure complete dryness. i gather my things, give a general “goodbye” and am out the door.
then it hits me.
what just happened? what did i do? i am flooded with regret as i look down at my nails. cajun shrimp? what am i sixteen!? it’s so pink and…pink. am i going to cruise around coolidge corner with barbie and skipper? am i bedazzling my blackberry at the galleria? maybe i can watch trl and instant message on aol with my close-knit group of frenemies. this is awful.
this is never going to work. i’m an earth-tones chick. i’m not pink. no way. i’m pushing it with purple. but aren’t they the same? who am i kidding. i’m screwed. as i fish out my camals from my over-sized hand bag, i try not to touch the sides (like i can help it). i purse my lips and pout all while dragging my feet toward my car when BAM, there is it. a parking ticket. fucking brookline.
if i’m going to jump, i’ll jump with my best friend, television.
i love television. i love everything about it. its never ending programing all on this 24 hour loop of awesome. i cant wait for the late night repeats that make my alarm seem deadly. the early morning news banter is just what i need to get through my AM routine.
a majority of my devotion is toward the characters of 90’s sitcoms. i would have killed to be best friends with Kevin Arnold and Winnie Cooper. maybe Corey Matthews would have used the locker next to mine. i could have been the 4th Tanner sister (a Michelle/Stephanie combination but with better clothes). maybe Sabrina would have had me as her arch enemy (aside from Libby, she sucked). i don’t remember Ashley Banks having a cool, white friend. perhaps Ross Geller needed a young graduate assistant. and then we come to the final two. in the face off of television this is the final bracket, a show down. Frasier vs Seinfeld. sure, i could make a blanket statement and say that Seinfeld is my favorite show of all time. but favorites get boring. (perhaps i could do an entire post on the ins and outs of both shows).lately i have been indulging in my love for Frasier. the writing, the characters, Eddie the dog. it’s hard to remember that it was a spin-off.
with too many shows to watch, it is easy to get lost. newer shows find their way onto my flat screen. 30 rock, modern family, arrested development, lost… they are all great (and by great i mean amazing) but they don’t have the same nostalgia. the full house episode when Papouli dies (s7 ep17) is not the same as when Buster’s hand gets eaten by a seal (s2 ep12). the monologue at the finale of the wonder years (s6 ep22) is infinitely more emotional than when the Haffernans consider divorcing (King of Queens s9ep12).
it makes me wonder… were these shows better? or am i just romanticizing them? maybe they just had that 90’s family warm and fuzzy thing going for them. they embodied the essence of a sitcom. with all this mockumentary/docudrama on now it’s nice to go back in time and remember that sometimes a snobby psychiatrist and his prissy brother are the perfect counterpart for their bitter father and his hilarious jack russell terrier.
i guess this is the best place to say it… to just confess…i, Rachel, am i self diagnosed television junkie.