Archive for March 31, 2007

O Canadia!

March 31, 2007

I’m leaving bright and early tomorrow morning to fly to Vancouver for a family ski trip, and I’m still totally not packed. And by “bright and early” I mean pitch black dark and still the middle of the night. I have to be at my office building to catch my shuttle at 5:25, which means I don’t even want to talk about what time I’ll have to wake up (but I’ll just mention it once, because I know you’re dying to know: 4:30).

And I smell trouble for tonight, because I’m going to Nathan’s house in a few minutes to help him celebrate his birthday by playing a game of Werewolf with our friends, which will probably turn into like a thousand games of Werewolf, because it’s more addicting than nicotine, which incidentally is more addicting than crack, according to my college “Personal Health” book (yes, I took the class for an easy A, and yes it was easy and I got an A). Last time we played I was there until 4 a.m.

I’ve been so busy ever since my day off switched from Monday to Friday. My social life has jumped off the charts, while my “getting things done and being productive” life has taken a few kicks in the shins. But frankly, it’s not a hard choice between the two. My 28th year has been the absolute cat’s pajamas so far, and I only expect it to get better — perhaps even into the “bee’s knees” category. The only catch is that I have so much on my mind that it’s hard to focus on one thing, and I’ve been making weird, absent-minded mistakes all over the place. For example, this morning I put every single one of my bath towels in the washing machine right before taking a shower, so I had to dry off with two washcloths and my little white gym towel.

In any case, I’ll have plenty of snowy ski time to clear my head, if I can ever get packed. It’s hard deciding which wool sweaters and scarves to take when it’s 80 degrees and sunny outside. Other challenges I face include: 1. My dad called today and told me that it’s currently 50 degrees in Whistler village and 7 degrees on the top of the mountain. I’m not a very talented layer-er in the best of circumstances, and this challenge just has me stumped, and 2. The drawer where I keep all my hats, gloves, ski socks, etc. has beeen broken for weeks and won’t open, and I can only access the contents by reaching my hand into a gap on one side and feeling around for what’s inside. Life is hard. Sigh.

Anyway, if I make it to the airport and remember my passport, I’ll be gone for the week, reachable by text message only, so have a good one, y’all, and I’ll think of you while I sit in the jacuzzi with a white russian in my hand and snow on my head (or possibly rain… hmm).

Me, Myself, and I

March 26, 2007

I’m so tired of people using the word “myself” incorrectly. It is rampant. Why do people do this? And so many do. I am an editor. For my job, I edit things for correctness, or “correctaliciousness,” if you will. You would think my fellow editors would know when to say “me,” when to say “I,” and when to say “myself.” They do not. Emails I receive on a regular basis include such phrases as, “If you have any questions, please ask myself or Bob.”

There’s a simple way to know which word you are supposed to use. Remove “Bob.” Would you say “Please ask myself?” Well… unfortunately I’ve seen people do that, too. But, well, you shouldn’t. You should say, “Please ask me.” Now, add Bob back into the equation, and say, “Please ask Bob or me.” It’s simple! And correct!

Now, if you’ll excuse myself, I’m going to get me some water.


March 22, 2007

I just found this on YouTube while browsing for something else. Oh man, I don’t even know what to say, just watch it, and listen to the sound. I laughed so hard!

Dog or Chicken?


March 19, 2007

In middle school and probably high school too, and probably sometime earlier today, I would always pretend I knew what people were talking about, and I seldom did. I mean specifically pop-culture-type stuff. Somehow I just never knew. They’d be like, Oh, did you hear that new such-and-such song? And I’d be all, “Oh yeah, um, such-and-such is a great ba..sing..musician-group-person type thing. I love him her them. QUICK, LOOK AT THAT CRAZY BIRD BEHIND YOU! Whoa, that was crazy. Well, gotta go, see ya!” (I’m actually much better at the music thing, and have been since the advent of internet searches, and am pretty obsessed with music, so maybe I could even turn you on to a great band you didn’t know about — but ask me about lots of other things I should absolutely know about, and I’ll be like, “ummmmm…”)

Other things I did included not telling people what for when they were mean to me, or not speaking up when someone offended me. Like the time I was at dinner with a friend and her husband and some of his friends, and one of them kept saying to his male friend, “OH, come on, you girl. What are you, a girl??” And what I wanted to say was, “Excuse me, but I didn’t realize being a girl was such a bad thing.” But I didn’t; I kept quiet.

I started mulling over this around New Year’s, and I kind of made a vague, half-assed resolution that had something to do with not being afraid to be myself and admit to who I am, but I never put it as plainly as I just did, and never wrote it down. So I figure I’ll write it down now, here, on the internet — the World Wide Web, if you will — so that y’all can hold me to it. This year, I am not going to apologize in words, actions or silence, for who I am, what I like, and what I don’t like. If something bothers me I am going to speak up, to friends, aquaintances, and strangers alike. Not that I’m going to go around shooting my mouth off hither and nigh when anything goes against my grain, but if I need to, I will.

I think it’s easy to mold yourself to the people you’re around. I know I do it a lot. I kind of become who they want me to be. And I’m going to try really hard not to do that anymore, because I am freaking awesome, just on my own, without molding myself to anything. So there!

And you know what else? I’m listening to Kelly Clarkson right now, and I love her! And, I love the buttered popcorn-flavored Jelly Bellies. I know that makes me a freak, but I don’t care; they are so tasty! Also, I’ve never read a lot of the books you have, because all I want to read is Harry Potter! HA! I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU THINK! I LOVE HARRY POTTER AND WANT TO ATTEND HOGWARTS, AND THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT!

And tomorrow’s my birthday!

Cranky Pants

March 15, 2007

I’m wearing my cranky pants today. Or maybe cranky shoes is more accurate, because it’s mostly because of my feet. As some of you know, I injured both of my feet in early December for the dumbest reason: I wore the wrong shoes in Disneyland. Ironically, these ones, that I was so excited about and bought 2 pairs of. Which apparently have no shock absorption or arch support. And who knew, but apparently I am an old person and have to worry about ruining my feet by wearing the wrong m-f-ing shoes. And even more unfair, as evidenced here, I am very conscious about taking good care of my feet. It would be one thing if I didn’t try, but I do, and feel that this is entirely unjust.

When my sister April came to visit, we spent a day at Disneyland, and something you need to know about us is that we are never half-assed about Disney excursions. When we were little, Disney World was truly the happiest place on Earth for us, and we are used to long, hardcore days of fun (if anything involving anamatronic singing tiki-birds can be called “hardcore”). So when she came, we got a park hopper pass and spent about 4 hours in California Adventure and 6 hours in the Disneyland park. We do it right. Except… I wore those dang shoes, and my feet were fine until we were about to leave, and suddenly I just couldn’t walk. I could shuffle, but couldn’t bend my feet at all without excruciating pain. This went on for almost two weeks, so I went to the doctor who said I had damaged my ligaments. I spent the entire holiday season in sneakers with Dr. Scholl’s arch supports — I even found an outfit for our company holiday party that I could wear with cute sneakers. I have been so good, and have tried so hard to allow them to heal, and for a long time they got slowly better and better. I even went hiking twice, and wore heels one time and boots one time.
But apparently I got too cocky, because within the last week or so, they’ve been relapsing. Now even my cute sneakers hurt, and all I can wear is my dorky New Balance running shoes. I mean, at least I’m getting some wear out of them, because heaven knows I won’t be running anytime soon. I’m so tired of feeling unfashionable and flagrantly ignoring the dress code at work. I mean yeah, I kind of ignored it before, but not flagrantly, and at least that was my own choice.

Even with the dorky sneakers my feet hurt. Pushing on the gas pedal while driving causes sharp pains in my heel, and combined with heavy traffic and PMS, let’s just say that this morning I screamed out a not-so-nice word on my way to work. Grrrrr.

I know I’m being a total baby about this, because I could actually have much worse things to be cranky about, like oh, I don’t know, a terminal illness, and in the grand scheme of things, this is not that bad and doesn’t interfere with my life THAT much. But I can’t do any of the physical activites that make me feel good and not irritable, like hiking, spinning, or anything that involves my feet in any way. That pretty much rules out… everything except swimming, yoga, and pilates, and swimming is usually more trouble than it’s worth because the pool at the gym is almost always packed. So that means I am getting no aerobic exercise and am about to jump out of my skin. And most frustrating of all is that on April first I am flying to Vancouver for a week of skiing with my family at Whistler. I have been looking forward to this trip forever, and if I can’t ski life will be so unfair. I have lots of trouble with ski boots anyway, so I’m kind of feeling like the odds are stacked against me.

You want to know the other reason I’m cranky? For over a year I have been asking for a keyboard tray under my desk at work so I don’t have to hunch my shoulders up when typing. Finally, yesterday I got it. My desk is like a curvy corner, and the dude said he was going to install it right in the bend. Except he didn’t put it right in the middle, he put it like 5 inches over to one side, and it is HURTING MY OCD. I NEED IT TO BE IN THE MIDDLE. It is making me crazy.

So, to recap for you: My feet hurt, my body is fidgety, and my brain hurts because it really wants the keyboard tray to be dead center. It hurts so much, like when I drive over bump after bump with the left wheels of my car, and until I drive over enough bumps with my right wheels, the entire right side of my body screams in panic and agony.

Am I a brat? I sure sound like one. “Waaah, waaah, I might not be able to ski at this amazing ski resort I’m going to. My life is soooooo hard. Waaaaah, my keyboard tray is off center.” I know, I know. But writing about it makes me feel better, so thanks for reading. Know what would make me feel even better? A bloody mary. Hmmmm…

Birthday Cake

March 12, 2007

It’s almost birthday-time for me, and with it comes a lot of pondering things & stuff. Cause, like, I’m almost 30, Peeps. I’ll be 28, which is 2 less than 30, and ten more than 18. In fact, when I was 18 years old, as a senior in high school, ten of my friends and I had a progressive dinner at Christmas time. We all dressed up and went from house to house for each course, and finished at the Grove Park Inn. At our last house before going out, we all said what we thought we’d be doing in ten years. I don’t remember all of them, but I’m pretty sure we’re all pretty close to living up to our predictions. I remember feeling conflicted and not knowing quite what to say. I could see myself doing two distinctly different things, and couldn’t reconcile them to each other. One was that I’d be married and starting a family, and the other was that I’d be in New York pursuing acting. Guess which one I did? Well, neither really, because I’m not in New York, but I am living the single life and pursuing my dreams, and I could not be more happy with my decision. The older I get, the more comfortable I become with the choices I’ve made, and the more I like myself. It’s taken me so long to realize certain things, the knowledge of which I feel I could not live without, and every year I gain more confidence, and with confidence comes fun. So contrary to what we may be taught to believe, I am not having less fun the older I get — I’m having so much more. I have a really really good feeling about this year. Happy Birthday, Me!

Haikus for You’s

March 7, 2007

I need to write more.
This blog is getting lonely.
Sorry, Internet.

Today was sunny.
I read a book in the park.
Don’t be too jealous.

With windows open
the whole house smells like flowers.
California rocks.

Men with arm muscles
make me get all swooney-like.
Show me those guns, man.