Tuesday, January 30, 2007


I got a raise on Saturday.

The first raise in the nearly two years that I’ve worked here.

$1,500 whole dollars.

Less than $30 a week.

Approximately $0.70/hour.

I think my boss wondered why I didn’t weep and thank her profusely when she had me sign the payroll notification.

She’s an idiot.

I have choices to make.

Over the weekend, Mom mentioned to me that a family friend was looking to hire for his uber-successful business. I could work there, she's sure, if it was something that I was interested in. Another family friend has a son working for him. He isn’t completely enamored with the job, but he likes it well enough and he makes significantly more than I do.

I’m thinking about it.

There are aspects of the job that immediately appeal to me. I would be working (and living) way closer to my parents, Colin, my grandparents, my friends, the rink I figure skate at on Friday mornings, my soccer team’s home field, my hockey team’s home rink, my doctors and pretty much everything else I know and love.

I wouldn’t have to work on Saturdays anymore. Nor would I have to put up with the funky schedule and the later nights.

I could skate before work a few mornings a week, which would be huge for me. Skating is a huge part of my life. My job now doesn't allow me to skate half as much as I would like.

I could live at home for a few months, save a bit of money, get spoiled by my parents before settling on an apartment.

I could play indoor soccer.

I would be available for impromptu knitting bees and movie marathons with Lucy.

I could put less miles on Stella.

I would make more dough, pay off my debt faster, save more money.

I could see Colin more than just on the weekends.

I could be so much happier.

The prospect is tempting. I want to jump on the opportunity now.

I'm trying to be patient. I will go to the job fair next Tuesday and I'll see how it goes. The jobs at the fair will be in my industry. The hours will likely be worse. The pay will likely be less. I suppose that there's something to be said for staying within this industry, what I know and what I've dedicated almost three years to.

If staying in the industry requires me to sacrifice my happiness, I'd rather leave. I'm not doing it anymore. My next job will not be like this.

It can't be.


I just got my FYI and FAQs email from that job fair I signed up for next Tuesday.

My stupid fucking damn company IS going to be there!

Those asswipes!

I don't care if they know that I'm looking for a new job. Anyone with half of a brain would know that I am too good and too smart and too ambitious to stay here forever. They have to assume that I'm looking.

But I really would rather not have the fear of running into those turds, and putting on a happy face and having an awkward conversation, a while I'm there.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I'm considering not going.

Monday, January 29, 2007

Not the best decision

It's 5:53 pm. Within the last five minutes, I ate a bowl of ramen and three Girl Scout cookies.

At 6:45 pm, I'll be taking a cardio kickboxing class.

There are 9 to 1 odds that I'll barf all over my Shox.

Sunday, January 28, 2007

On having girls

I've been spending a lot of time with Lucy and her three other bridesmaids. We've been to the bar a handful of times since her wedding; we've hung out at Lucy and Chet's (eating, bitching, giggling, baking cookies, watching movies) too many times to count.

Gradually, we're all getting closer. We divulge a bit more. We act a little sillier. We forget to keep up our guard.

All four of us have been friends with Lucy since high school. But we were never friends with each other. It wasn't because we disliked one another. We just weren't friends. And that was okay.

In the weeks leading up to Lucy's wedding, we spent time together. And realized that our three counterparts weren't so bad. They were all pretty cool, actually.

The end of the wedding could've marked the end of our association. I wouldn't have been surprised if it had been. But somehow Lucy, in her infinite wisdom, kept getting us together. And we just kept getting friendlier.

At the bar last night, April blurted out "you're my girls now!" She went on to explain that, after a falling out in the summertime with her best friend, we were now her closest group of friends.

Alexa agreed. She feels like she's been unofficially booted from another group of girlfriends.

Colleen agreed. The majority of her friends were her ex-boyfriend's pals.

I agreed. I haven't had a close group of girlfriends since high school (and I was on the fringe of that group).

Lucy agreed. And she's been friends with all of us from the beginning.

I think these girls have a lot to do with why I'm happier now.

And all this time I thought I was good at and okay with being a loner.

It's nice to find what you need. Especially when you didn't even know you needed it.

Friday, January 26, 2007


Grey's Anatomy, I am not kidding. You must stop this. Stop ripping my heart from my chest and dusting the open wound with table salt.

I wasn't expecting it, Grey's. I watched the majority of the show, entertained but not blown away. And then, just as I settled into the idea of the episode being slightly blasé (because, honestly, could any episode compare to last week's?) you go and punch me in the neck.

It is a damn good thing Colin didn't see my tearful, whimpering, sniffling reaction to the last five minutes of the show.

Scare him off? No. It probably would've stopped his beating heart.

Thursday, January 25, 2007

Ouch. Want to hear about it?

You know all of that glowing praise I gave yoga yesterday?

Forget it.

I hurt today. I hurt in a way that no amount of IcyHot, whining and ibuprofen could ever cure.

There's a knot between my shoulders that is approximately the size of South Carolina. Possibly slightly larger. It has pretty much left me paralyzed. I can't lift my elbows off of my side without a burning, stabbing pain in the center of my back.

I also can't keep myself from narrating every pang of pain that I feel.

I have a really bad habit of that. I think people care. I think people care that I'm hurting and are interested to know exactly where its hurting, how its hurting and how my body and I got into this mess.

I do have enough common sense to know that no one in his or her right mind gives a flaming shit about my wrist (injured shoving food into the freezer) my ankle (blister from my figure skates) my knees (ache for no reason) my back (has hurt every day since I was a sophomore in high school) or any other boo boo, regardless of the severity (or lack there of) of my injury.

I can't help myself.

I am pretty sure this annoying personality trait makes people want to hit me.

I am also pretty sure that this annoying personality trait keeps people from hitting me.

If you hit me, I'm going to get injured.

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

In which I vomit up the contents of my day

Hot damn, I was in a good mood today. This makes absolutely no sense, to be honest because:
1. When am I ever in a good mood?
2. I was at work.
3. Thanks to a 10 pm hockey game last night, I didn't get much sleep.

Had a little bit o' work drama. Boss told me something. I passed the something along to my dear, trusted coworker. I knew it would upset her, but I also knew it was important for her to know. My dear, trusted coworker almost immediately burst into tears and had to talk to my boss about this issue immediately. It did not matter that Boss would know that I'd squealed to her and that Boss would hold it against me for the rest of my days.

So there were the few nervous minutes when I was afraid that Boss was going to bust my balls. And then I got over it because I knew I had a damn fine argument to lay down if she confronted me. Which, of course, she didn't. She never does.

Okay. Enough vague tales of work woes.

I finally made my Victoria's Secret Semi-Annual Sale purchases. Yayyayyay. I love that Victoria's Secret always has a zillion coupon codes to punch in at checkout. The stellar bargains make me want to do cartwheels. And I got a free tote bag. Score!

I signed up for the job fair, which is huge. Well, maybe it isn't huge. But it's something.

Tonight was yoga. I haven't been to yoga class since before Christmas and, lemme tell you, I could feel it. Especially in my shoulders (where I store all of my stress until my earlobes are resting against my shoulders) and in my hip flexors (which take a beating during all of my athletic pursuits). All I took was a short, slow flow class and I feel like I just had a massage. Long live yoga.

Now I'm sitting here, in my yoga garb, watching the NHL All-Star game and reading up on the U.S. National Figure Skating Championships results.

And I'm happy.

Like I said, I'm in a good mood today.


Tuesday, January 23, 2007


My dad: great man, not so great in the kitchen.

My parents got married young – Mom was 19, Dad was barely 20 – and, to her credit, my mom trained my dad well. He’s always been a little more Mr. Mom than any other dad I know: he does laundry, cleans, grocery shops (occasionally, though Mom can’t stand the random items he has the tendency of throwing into the shopping cart) and cooks.

Dad is great with breakfast foods. He makes absolutely fabulous, completely homemade pancakes and waffles; he can make just about any egg product you can dream up, too.

Mom is mostly in charge of dinnertime. But, as my father is absolutely whipped and has been for 31 years, Dad helps out with dinner, too. He mostly pitches in on the weekends and during the school year.

My dad doesn’t have much of a dinner repertoire, however. His suppers consist mainly of the following: a hunk of meat (chicken breast, steak), a potato (generally mashed or baked) and a vegetable (usually frozen, occasionally a fresh steamed veggie if he knows how to fix whatever happens to be in the house). Sometimes, he’ll throw in a frozen dinner roll of some kind.

My mother is grateful for Dad’s attempt, but she is incredibly sick of this "meal," which she refers to as Pale Chicken.

I don’t blame her. A bland chunk of meat doesn’t do much for me, either.

Mom has told Dad that she could use a little variety.

And so, on Sunday, Dad was sweet enough to attempt to make a bean soup. A bland bean soup. Ham floating in salty water, actually.

It was horrific.

Which is par for the course when Dad tries to get "creative" in his meal preparation.

After discussing this with Mom last night (and by discussing, I really mean I laughed at her misfortune), we decided that the best course of action would be to put together a handful of recipes for Dad to use.

My mom is so desperate that she said she’d give me $10 per recipe.

I will spend my workday looking for appropriate recipes.

Here’s the criteria:
1. Must be simple. As few ingredients as possible. As few steps as possible. As quickly as possible.
2. Use of the Crock Pot (a Christmas present from Mom to Dad) is bonus.
3. Must not be Pale Chicken.
4. Must not be bean soup.
5. Some recipes should be able to be thrown together at the very last minute, with no preplanning necessary and very little cook time.

I’m wrapping up the recipes; they will be a gift to Dad and Mom for their anniversary, which is next week.

I’m the best daughter ever.

So. Anybody have any good, simple, Dad-proof recipies that aren't bean soup that they'd like to share?

Monday, January 22, 2007


A girl in the company, who started not long after me, recently put in her two weeks. I'd heard through the grapevine that she hated the transfer the company made her take (from a job at the company's corporate office, where I started working, to another building where she served in a role not unlike mine) a few months back and that she'd been looking for something new.

I wasn't surprised when I heard she was leaving. I was happy for her, even.

But I nearly swallowed my tongue when I learned that she'd taken a position with the company I interviewed with in the fall.

Nothing like starting off your Monday morning with a slap in the face.

A feeling of worthlessness is settling down around me.

Sunday, January 21, 2007


Are you kidding me? How am I supposed to react to this?

Marlon Jackson, a Michigan man, just picked off Tom Brady, a Michigan man.


I don't cheer for any particular NFL team, anyhow.

Saturday, January 20, 2007

Oh my

Excerpt from a conversation with Colin:

Colin: You wouldn't believe what I did yesterday after I saw you yesterday.
A: Try me. I doubt there's anything you could do that would surprise me.
Colin: I had a bunch of icy build up on my windshield wipers. You know when you grab the wiper and smack the ice off of it?
A: [Snicker.] I'm familiar.
Colin: The windshield wiper snapped right off.
A: ...
Colin: I broke it off while smacking the ice off of it.
A: I've never told you That Story?
Colin: You've never told me That Story.

[Insert telling of That Story here.]

A: So, don't feel bad. You're not the only one.
A: Welcome to the club?

Friday, January 19, 2007

Aggressive butterflies

Today was my annual exam at the gynecologist. She was, as always, running 30 minutes behind.

I met Colin for breakfast after my appointment. Our food took a long time to come out from the kitchen. In the meantime, I drank too much coffee.

The hostess told me a joke while I was putting on my coat. "Why do men like intelligent women?" I didn't know. "Because opposites attract!" I smiled, glanced sideways at Colin and jokingly agreed.

We still haven't exchanged our Christmas gifts.

I've had a nervous stomach ever since I left the restaurant. It's a dull ache in my midsection. Like something big is about to happen.

I am suspicious of everything.

Dad and I went to the North American International Auto Show this afternoon; Mom was invited, but she didn't want to come. I enjoy watching the people at the Auto Show as much as I like looking at the cars. We had an early dinner at a restaurant that can only be properly labeled as a Detroit institution.

I have to be at work at 5:45 tomorrow morning. I am not pleased.

Colin called me at 2:00 this afternoon to tell me a story. I missed his call. We've played phone tag. I still haven't heard the story.

I don't think it's the story that I'm nervously anticipating.

I don't know if my body is preparing me for something good or something bad.

Whatever it is, I think I'd just like it to happen. Or to not happen.

I hate waiting.

Thursday, January 18, 2007


Grey's Anatomy was sad and beautiful this week, wasn't it?

I won't get into details. I don't want to spoil the episode for anyone who has yet to watch it. But I don't think that it would hurt to say that it was a sad, beautiful, quiet, powerful episode. I enjoyed it.

There was one tiny portion of the episode - when George's brother has a bit of gas and the family is laughing uproariously - that reminded me of when my Uncle Rich died. There were moments just like that. Laughing with a heavy heart and teary eyes.

Uncle Rich died in January, 1997. It was a Tuesday. I was in 9th grade.

I have a lot of good memories from the days following his death. Maybe good isn't the right word. Close, perhaps. My memories evoke a feeling of closeness.

Uncle Rich had a sudden heart attack; he was 44. He died in his basement following a workout on his treadmill. My aunt found him when she returned from home that night.

I remember standing in his basement, seeing the shoes he was wearing when he died sitting on the floor next to the treadmill. My aunt must've taken them off of him before the ambulance took his body. Or maybe he'd taken them off himself. I never asked.

My aunt and uncle lived in Ohio. My entire family, and the close-knit group of friends who are those who grew up around my dad's family, stayed in the same hotel. We were given the entire top floor. The hospitality room was always open for us. Free of charge. Courtesy of my uncle's company.

My mom's parents came down for the funeral. Some of my dad's best friends. My Aunt Louise and Uncle Ed. The number of people at the funeral home was overwhelming. I sat with Meg and my cousins Paul and Danielle at the funeral. I can't remember if I cried. I imagine that I did.

One day, my aunt bought me dress shoes. They were by Esprit. I might still have them somewhere.

Meg, Paul, Liz and I spent a lot of time trying to figure out the proper way to pronounce "concierge." We said it differently every time. Con-ser-gee. Con-cur-ga. We still laugh about that.

A neighbor brought us over blueberry muffins. Meg and Paul ate the entire batch.

The fire alarm went off in the hotel twice. Once in the middle of the night. It didn't matter; nobody could sleep. Once in the middle of the day. My parents took Meg, Paul and I down the closest stairwell. There was smoke. I was first, leading the way, and I can still hear the shakiness in my voice when I told my parents.

It turned out only to be a steam pipe that burst.

Mom and Dad took Meg, Paul and I to a restaurant. We ate nearly nothing. The waitress was surprised when we didn't want to bring any of it with us.

Aunt Lynn bellowed Paul's name in the middle of a department store with such fervor that we still imitate it.

Cousin Liz memorized the digital message board flashing on the restaurant across the street.

Recalling that weekend, we always smile, assuring one another that Uncle Rich was laughing at us. The smiles and the laughs, however, are only half of the story.

We don't talk about the other half.

My mind's eye can see, from where I was sitting on the couch in my pajamas, my dad leaning up against the kitchen counter after my aunt called to tell him that his big brother was dead. I remember it perfectly.

It's a memory that I have never once vocalized.

Work, blah, blah, blah

It's 8:45 am and I'm not at work. Hallelujah! I have a ridiculously stupid training session to attend today, so I won't be making an appearance at work.

Yesterday, the company president took my boss, a coworker and me to lunch. A delicious meal, no doubt, but everything else was nauseating. Watching President interact with Boss was enough to kill my appetite. He adores her. He thinks that the sun shines out of her ass. He doesn't care that she cannot manage, that she makes outrageous, ignorant comments, that she lacks in intelligence and common sense.

President thanked me for "taking so much time" filling out my supervisor review. It gave me some hope. Until yesterday. Nothing is going to change.

It's only mildly disheartening. I know that I need to leave.

My latest plan (has anyone else noticed that I have a new plan biweekly?) is to make an appearance at this job fair tailored to my field. It'd be stupid not to, honestly. The internet job search is obviously not doing much for me.

Here's what makes me uncertain: I know that my internship supervisors (my internship was at a division of my company) have gone to this job fair in the past.

How risky is that?

When you register for the job fair, you have the option of having your résumé automatically distributed to all of the companies represented at the fair. I can't imagine not taking advantage of that. And I can just imagine that my bitch ass ho internship boss sprinting at the company president, waving my résumé above her head.

So what's a girl to do?

It's not like this company is above firing a person for looking at the options out there.

Not even close.

Tuesday, January 16, 2007


I just got home from my hockey game. It's basically midnight. Have I mentioned how much I dislike 10:00 pm games? This kills me. I'm all wound up (as I am after every hockey game) and I won't be able to fall asleep for another 90 minutes. At the earliest!

I will hate myself in the morning.

This morning, I did not hate myself. This morning I was quite enamored by my presence, especially my presence as it reflected itself on my scale. Five and a half pounds less than the standard 130 that I've maintained since - hmmm - my junior year of college. Probably before.

I haven't truly been trying to lose the weight, but I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't pleased. Every girl likes to feel skinny, even if she knows that she's thin enough already and the numbers that represent her weight are influenced by her muscle mass.

I'm all about this dropping five pounds without trying. And I didn't need to lose it. And I knew that.

Still (and I can't imagine this ever changing), never a day goes by - before or after the magical disappearing five pounds NOT the crucial, nagging five pounds - where my weight doesn't cross my mind. Every time I walk into a kitchen, see a tempting television commercial, pour myself a cup of coffee, or linger on a food blog, I'm quietly reminding myself. Don't. Can't.

That's a sad thing. It feels incredibly one dimensional.

I wish I knew its source.

It makes me want to give birth only to boy children.

Monday, January 15, 2007

The irrational fear disappeared quickly

GASP! gaspgaspgasp. Eeeee. Oooooooooooooooooooooooooh my goodness. Oh oh oh oh ooooooooh my. This. Cannot. Be. Holy shit. No. No no no no.

I'm suddenly feeling short of breath.

And dizzy.

And sick.

Why? This is horrible. This is tragic. This is the end. Oh, no.

Sniffle. Sigh. Moan.

Well, actually, I guess it isn't that bad. Giggle. Chuckle. Tee hee hee. It's not bad at all. And it helps that her profile picture is absolutely ridiculous. And sleazy. And that she's not half as cute as I remembered her to be. Ha. Bitch.

This is what my reaction was to finding out that Colin has his high school girlfriend a friend on My Space. Incredibly impressive and mature, I know.

In search of: one life

Yesterday was the first day since October 29, 2006 that I didn't blog.

I am officially a weirdo freak.

As well as a very prolific writer.

Saturday, January 13, 2007

Question of the day

When do you know when too much is too much?

I think I might be getting close.

I'm tired.

I want another day to my week.

Last night, I went out with Colin. And then it's 2:30 am and I'm going to sleep because I'm fortunate enough to work on Saturdays.

Today, I worked. And then it's 5:00 pm and I'm running back to my apartment to change my clothes for a visit to a funeral home (my hockey coach's wife died) and rushing to Lucy's house to hang out with the girls and checking my watch all too often to see if I should go so I can see Colin, too.

(I didn't leave in time to see Colin, by the way.)

Tomorrow is much the same. I'll sleep in a bit - until around 8:30 - and then I'll shower and drink coffee and read the newspaper. Then it's off to the rink. I'll skate. I'll rush home. I'll have an hour or two of downtime, I hope, to watch football or nap or knit. And then we're going to Grandma's for dinner. I have to leave early; I agreed to substitute in goal for a friend's hockey team. After the game, I'd like to see Colin. We still haven't exchanged Christmas gifts. And I'd like some time alone with him; I hated sharing him at the business function of his that we went to last night.

If I see Colin tomorrow night (I doubt that I will), I won't get to bed until after midnight. And that will put me behind for the rest of the week.

I haven't gone grocery shopping in at least three weeks. Probably a month.
I haven't cracked a novel.
I haven't moved the LSAT study guides off of my coffee table.
I've gone to the gym a mere four times in the last week. Not quite sure how I'm going to make it 171 more times in 2007.

Not sure how I'm going to get anything done.

Not sure how I haven't lost it yet.

Friday, January 12, 2007

Space concerns

Kristine - File Girl - recently wrote about My Space. It's stuck in my head.

Two things I truly love in this world are internet dorkdom and myself. That's why I adore my blog so: I can be a dork and write all about myself and my life and share it with the internet.

I love my blog; I'd obviously love My Space. And Facebook, for that matter.

I narrowly missed the Facebook wave when I was in college. It was just getting popular during my senior year and, smartly, I never joined. I hear its a great waste of time. I never would've graduated.

And I've been waiting to join the social networking sites - My Space and Facebook - since then.

First, it was a so-so internship. If I'd had a fabulous job, I would have joined Facebook and flaunted my job to all of my college classmates.

Then, there was the lack of a boyfriend. If I had a boyfriend, I'd have joined My Space so that the boy I had a crush on in high school could look at the pictures of us, with smiles so big they barely fit in the frame of the photo.

Now, it feels too late. Like I'm the last kid picked for the team. Not to mention that I'm lacking a fabulous job, an engagement ring, money, power, a gorgeous baby and a house.

In high school, I was That Girl.

That Girl who would amount to something. That Girl never had a boyfriend, but she had brains and she had a future. That Girl would become something before the rest of us. That Girl would put us all to shame.

That Girl isn't anything special anymore. She has her fancy-schmancy degree from her fancy-schmancy school. She has a dead-end job. She has debt. She has doubts. She's restless. She's unsure.

And she'd rather not broadcast that to her former classmates.

Maybe some of them see her absence on Facebook and My Space and assume that she's too busy being That Girl - That Successful Girl - to participate.

Maybe that's exactly what That Girl hopes.

Thursday, January 11, 2007

Hip, hip, hurrah!

Today, three cheers go to:
1. David Fucking Beckham for making the move to play for the L.A. Galaxy and, thus, to conquer America.
2. A new episode of Grey’s Anatomy.
3. My boss: cheaper and stupider than ever.
4. The workday that isn’t going as painfully slow as it could be.
5. Not hating Kevin’s replacement half as much as I expected to.
6. A sky that is, for once, cloudless.
7. Weather that, for once, gives me hope that I’ll get to skate on a lake at least once this winter.
8. Making plans with Colin for tomorrow.
9. Hummus.
10. My ability to craft unique and charming nicknames that stick like superglue.

Today, despite the fact that I have a killer headache and that my back is killing me (getting old is a bitch) and that I'm working (puke), has been a good day. I can't complain.

And, for once, I won't complain.

Every once and a while, it wouldn't kill me to appreciate my life.

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

Sick and wrong

I’m spending the night at Mom and Dad’s house tonight; I had meetings all day on this side of town and tomorrow morning I’m meeting Colin for breakfast, so it made much more sense to stay here in lieu of driving an hour to my apartment and then an hour back here in the morning and then an hour to work. Simplify, right?

So I’ve been here since 4:00 pm, doing exciting things like watching Oprah and napping and settling down in front of the fireplace and the television to watch You, Me and Dupree with Mom and Dad.

A very chill evening. I can’t complain.

When the movie was over, Mom hustled into the office and onto the computer. She was replying to a few emails.

I was pacing outside of the door.

If Meg and I don’t have our laptops here, there’s only one computer in the house. And I wanted to blog.

Even though I had absolutely nothing to blog about.

This is what happens, kids, when you participate in two Post-One-A-Fricking-Day-Come-Hell-Or-High-Water-A-Thons. You get obsessive. And you can’t give it up, even when your two months are over.

And then you can write in your blog about writing about your blog.

That’s when it gets really scary.

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

Tuesday in a Nutshell

Waking up an hour late to my neighbors fighting. Realizing that my alarm clock/cell phone died during the night. Not rushing to work. Spending 60% of the day looking for a new job, 20% of the day eating, 5% of the day talking on the phone to Kevin, 5% of the day talking to a coworker who happens to also be a friend and 10% of the day legitimately working. Talking on the phone with Lucy. Making a delicious dinner of a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of Crackin' Oat Bran. Packing up my hockey gear. Running to the gym for a quick workout. Rushing to hockey practice. Rushing back home. Throwing myself into bed. Exhaling.

Monday, January 08, 2007


When she finishes her BS next spring, Meg plans to stay in school; she wants to be a physical therapist.

Because of Meg's career aspirations, as well as my own laziness towards caring for my body, I often let Meg stretch me out. We focus mostly on my hamstrings and my hip flexors, both of which are major, major problem areas for me.

We do this one stretch, for my hip flexors, where I'm on one knee with my opposite foot flat on the floor in front of me. Meg pushes me forward, which generates the stretch.

Something about this - I think it's my foot placement - makes me tip over. I nearly fall over onto my side just about every time we try this. It makes Meg laugh.

Yesterday, when we were doing this stretch, Meg prevented me from falling by crouching down at my side.

"I'm your kickstand," she said.

"Oh, Meggie," I replied, "you're my kickstand in life."

I said it jokingly.

And meant it seriously.

Sunday, January 07, 2007

Nice yet creepy

For whatever reason, my dad looks at the track lighting in the kitchen as his own little experiment. Whenever he changes a bulb, he marks the date on it. Just to see how long it will last, I guess. Maybe the bulbs he buys come with some sort of a guarantee? I'm not sure.


One of the bulbs burned out while we were eating lunch today. And when dad took the old bulb out to change it, he'd written more than just the date on the bulb.

He wrote "I love you. xoxoxoxoxox."

It was, he explained, for us to find if he died. A note from the grave.


It's nice of you to think of us, buddy, but we're not quite ready for you to die.

So please, please, please don't.

Preferably ever.

Saturday, January 06, 2007


One of the few people in my company who I actually like, a sweet and funny Canadian man who works in another facility, has just taken another job. It's the perfect position for him: much closer to home and, therefore, his pregnant wife and his son (he'll be a mere 20 minutes away instead of over an hour). A step up in responsibility. A bigger company with more room to move up.

I sent him the job posting.

I'm very happy for him.

Another one of the few people in my company who I actually like, a genuine and fun married college student who worked in my facility, recently quit because he landed the perfect internship in his field (civil engineering).

This week, he was offered an engineering job that he'll start after his graduation in May.

I'm thrilled for him, too.

I'm jealous of them both. I'm ready to move on, too.

I'm picking up a few LSAT study guides on my way home from work tonight.

Friday, January 05, 2007

Letters from an idiot

Dear Boss,
Thanks for the bonus. It was too small. And if you think that it will keep me quiet when you announce another year of salary freezes, you are sorely mistaken. Thanks again, though. Honestly. I already cashed the check.

Dear Grey’s Anatomy,
Come back, already! I’m starting to forget how much I love you!

Dear Cousin Mara,
Somewhat surprised to get an email from you today, seeing as how your brother tried to kick my dad’s ass at Christmas. Considering who your parents are, however, I am not surprised that you were emailing me a job posting.

Dear Mom,
I hate working on Saturdays but I love having Fridays off because I get to spend the day with you doing fun things like going to lunch and shopping and seeing a movie or, in the case of today, doing all three. I am so fortunate to have a mother who is a college professor and thus never works, but makes over four times what I earn per year.

Dear Credit Cards,
I’m sorry, but we can’t be friends anymore.

Dear Christmas Presents Sitting in the Middle of my Living Room, Still,
It’s not that I don’t like you. It’s that I’m busy. And I don’t really have the desire to clean out my sock drawer.

Dear New Neighbors,
Welcome to the complex! I look forward to stealing your wireless internet!

Dear The Last Kiss,
You're great! Spectacular, even. But mighty depressing. Why did I buy you? Will you continue to make me depressed every time I watch you? I adore your soundtrack, by the way.

Dear Colin,
When did this happen? How did I become that girl who wants to spend every waking second with that boy?

Dear Readers,
Love ya'll. Have a fabulous weekend, eh?

Thursday, January 04, 2007

10 to grow by

I hear it’s 2007.
Let's talk resolutions.

1. Read 12 novels.
I’m embarrassed by how my reading has fallen off since I started working full time. I was an English major! This is completely doable.

2. Find a new job or go back to school. Or, ideally, find a new job AND go back to school.

3. Go to the gym with increased frequency.
If I made it to the gym 175 days this year, in addition to the exercise I get figure skating and playing soccer and hockey, I’d be doing very well.

4. Not make a weight-related resolution.
Because, honestly, as nice as it’d be to peel five or 10, I really don’t need to.

5. Knit more.
Completely finish four projects. This is reasonable.

6. Stop the incessant purchasing.
To this, I will need to curb the visits to H&M. And stop browsing online too-good-to-be-true sales while at work. And stop buying myself a new outfit every time I go out with Colin. And exercise a bit of self-restraint.

7. Visit with my grandparents more.
I only have two of them. They won’t be around forever. I am so fortunate to live so close to them and I need to take advantage of that.

8. Cut back on the coffee/hazelnut cappuccino mix that I feast on allfrickingdaylong at work. It’s as bad as sipping on a soda all day.
I’ll limit myself to one cup three days/week. The rest of the time, I can pass the hours drinking regular coffee, tea or water.

9. Become a sweet-ass juggler.
Any halfway decent soccer player can juggle the ball. Any halfway decent soccer player, that is, except for me. I never had a soccer coach who emphasized the importance of being able to juggle the ball and, as a result, I mostly suck at it. I would like to suck less at it. So I’m going to practice juggling the ball in 2007. And if I could do it 25 times without letting the ball hit the ground, I’d be pleased with myself.

10. Allow myself to trust Colin.
Because keeping my distance to protect my heart isn’t doing anything to grow us. And us, I think, is an entity I’d really like to mature in 2007.

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

Why she's my best friend: the Christmas edition

Lucy and I bought each other the same book - I Like You: Hospitality Under the Influence by Amy Sedaris - for Christmas.

Which elicited the same reaction from her - squealing and giggling and rolling around on the dirty floor of Starbucks and drawing a great many stares - as it did from me.

I never would've guessed that it was possible, but we're closer than we were before her wedding.

Lucky. Lucky for Lucy. No doubt.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

Bless his maize and blue heart

They played Hail to the Victors at President Ford's funeral!

I love that.

Letting the cat out of the bag

Until Sunday, Colin was the only person I’d mentioned my law school aspirations to. The mention was in passing – it involved no long or drawn out conversation – and he told me to do it.

Early on Sunday afternoon, I met Lucy for coffee at Starbucks. She’s starting on her MSW at a local university later this month and I admitted that I, too, am considering going back to school. Law school, I said.

And Lucy, being the very best friend I could ever ask for, lit up. “You’ve never even mentioned that before,” she said. “And you’d be really good at it.”

It’s true. I’ve never expressed an interest in law school to Lucy. It’s something I’ve thought about before, I told her, but never really vocalized. I mentioned it, in passing, to my mother while in college and she balked at the idea. Law school, my mom said, sounded as horrible as her elder brother and sister, both of whom happen to be lawyers.

My mom’s comments were enough to shut me up for four years.

When I got home from coffee with Lucy, I slipped the law school idea into conversation with my mom.

Her reaction? Much the same.

Is it because you think that it would be easier to find a job?
I’ve seen your Uncle Alan in court and, to be honest, it doesn’t look like any fun.
Don’t you think that there are already a plethora of lawyers?

Thanks for the support, Momma.

I told her that I would think about taking the LSATs, just to see how I’d do, and decide where I’d go from there.

Then I tucked my tail between my legs and wondered why I opened my mouth in the first place.

Monday, January 01, 2007


On New Years Eve 2005 Colin was supposed to call me, but he didn't. That action was at the top of a very slippery slope. I am shocked that our relationship recovered; I am pleased that our relationship recovered. And then went sour again. And then recovered. And then went sour again. And then recovered.

New Years Eve 2006 was spent with Colin, Colin's best friend Josh and his girlfriend Katie, and lots of friends of Colin, Josh and Katie. Fourteen of us had dinner at a fancy-schmancy restaurant, then we all went to Josh's brother's house for a party. It was mostly nice.

I overheard Katie and one of her friends talking about me. The friend said "she's just like Little Miss Suzy Homemaker, isn't she?" when she found out that I'd made the (delightful/delectable/delicious) cheesecake on the table. She didn't say it in a mean way: she was at Josh and Katie's cookie baking party.

My sister, Meg was pissed when I decided to go out last night. She called me a hooker. Last year (and the year before, I believe), I was pissed when Meg decided to go out. I didn't call her a hooker. I might've called her a slut. We love each other fiercely.

The Rose Bowl broke my heart. Again. Fucking Wolverines.

Colin came to my family's Rose Bowl party. They adore him.

Colin doesn't have his iPod yet. We haven't exchanged gifts yet. How incredibly ridiculous is that? My gift is supposedly backordered. And he won't take my present until he can give me mine. Tool.

Meg and I saw Borat on Saturday night. From the moment his ass was called his "back pussy," I knew that I was in love.

Did you notice that I blogged every day in December, too? It's sort of a miracle. I'm glad I did Holidailies and NaBloPoMo. It's cemented my belief that I blog because I truly do enjoy it, not because it's habit or because I'm afraid to abandon a project that I started. Blogging daily, for me, wasn't a chore. It was a pleasure.

So here it is: the first post of the 300+ that will make up 2007.

I wonder what the year will bring.
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