fun night stand

Birthday party, cheesecake, jelly bean, boom!

The world is ending. It is. I promise.

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 31^st. 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 31^st/1^st. 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.

Hipster Babies

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.

Rock on, Mama!

(Sunday August 19, 2012)

This week was very strange.

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!

Nobody can eat 50 eggs

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 5^th 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 5^th 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!

The numbers, respectively

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.

 

7 Things

Things I miss

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 30^th 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’.

Moma Dance

(July 2, 2012)

Greetings from Amtrak.

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 3^rd. 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 2^nd 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 7^th 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.

Balancing Act

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.

human backpack

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.

Happy Father’s Day Jamie!

thanks, pandora.

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.