fun night stand

In fact, I'm in love with Italian food

Sun, 19 May 2013 18:15:24 -0400

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.

Signs and Cowbells Everywhere

Wed, 17 Apr 2013 10:26:21 -0400

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.

All those 19 year old girls and their leggings

Sun, 24 Mar 2013 18:28:54 -0400

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.

XOXO

Sun, 17 Feb 2013 15:36:00 -0500

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.

The Nonsense

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

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.

Stale beer and Daisy

Sun, 06 Jan 2013 14:49:00 -0500

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.

Dance, Grandpa!

Wed, 28 Nov 2012 20:56:42 -0500

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.

Practical Feline

Sun, 14 Oct 2012 12:37:59 -0400

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 31^st 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.

She Doesn't Even Go Here!

Sun, 07 Oct 2012 14:06:56 -0400

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.

Odds and Ends

Sun, 30 Sep 2012 22:09:00 -0400

Here’s what

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’.

Bucket of Worms

Tue, 04 Sep 2012 08:04:15 -0400

(September 2, 2012)

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 1^st.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.)

Well, that is that.

Okay bye

Birthday party, cheesecake, jelly bean, boom!

Fri, 31 Aug 2012 15:31:13 -0400

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

Mon, 27 Aug 2012 17:04:20 -0400

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!

Wed, 22 Aug 2012 12:12:00 -0400

(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

Sun, 12 Aug 2012 19:31:21 -0400

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

Wed, 08 Aug 2012 18:54:00 -0400

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

Sun, 22 Jul 2012 19:49:11 -0400

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

Thu, 12 Jul 2012 22:18:09 -0400

(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

Sun, 24 Jun 2012 17:06:47 -0400

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

Sun, 17 Jun 2012 14:51:41 -0400

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.

Sun, 27 May 2012 17:30:27 -0400

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.