Wednesday, February 28, 2007

One of my finest moments

On Tuesdays, I get a really crappy night of sleep. I have a hockey game at 10:00 pm; I don’t get home from my game until it’s nearing midnight and I’m usually so wired from my physical activity that I can’t go right to sleep.

Once I fall asleep, I sleep hard. I rarely wake up at all. Generally, I’m very, very asleep until my alarm clock goes off and I remain very, very asleep while I try to coax myself into getting ready for work.

Wednesday mornings are a struggle.

Last night, I didn’t sleep the entire night through.

I was having this vivid dream of my grandma’s house. I was there with my sister and my dog, Stevie, and Stevie was sniffing this hole a mouse had burrowed into the wall. It was just like a mouse hole you’d see in a children’s storybook.

[Never mind the fact that my grandma’s house doesn’t have any mouse holes. It’s a dream, damnit.]

Suddenly, Stevie’s passionate seeking of the mouse paid off. The mouse emerged from the hole, limping [can a mouse really limp?] and Stevie and Snoopy, my grandma’s cat that’s been dead for 10 years, lunged after it.

And the crippled mouse jumped on me.

I wake up.

Convinced that there’s a mouse on me.

And squeal like an eight year-old little girl.

Thickly cloaked in a sleep-induced daze, I am convinced that my dream is real. While squealing, I move to jump out of my bed.

In doing so, my sheets wrap around one leg.

I tumble onto the floor.

And smack my head on the corner of my dresser.

Immediately, I am glad that I live alone. Seconds later, I am glad I have a blog on which I can recount this tale of madness.

Because I am sure as hell not telling anyone else.

Monday, February 26, 2007


When Heather called a few weeks ago, she mentioned how much she was missing soccer. She hasn't played since our season ended last August. Neither have I.

Heather, who is in her second year teaching, is too overwhelmed by her busy life to play soccer on weeknights. I, living an hour away from the indoor soccer facility I've been playing at since I was a freshman in high school, cannot justify the commute.

Maybe, I said to her, we can find a team that plays on Friday nights.

She encouraged me to look into it.

And I turned to Colin, the most dedicated soccer player in my life, to help me.

"You should have told me earlier!" he said. "I just committed to playing on a coed team on Friday nights."

A coed team, unfortunately, that was at capacity.

It took Colin less than an hour to find us a home on another team in the same league.

I'll be playing against him.

I'm looking forward to it. I like the clarity that it brings: he is on this team, I am on that team. We'll battle.

And, maybe, at the end we'll kiss and make up.

Maybe we won't.

But I still hope that we will. And pray that I can accept either outcome.

Sunday, February 25, 2007


This is going to be a good week.

My sister's school is on spring break; my mom's school is on spring break. Mom and Dad are going to California. And that, as you old timers know, means one thing: revenge.

Meg hates being left behind.

And I like shopping.


Actually, I hardly expect this time around to be the mall madness that Mom and Dad's last spring break trip was. As was one of my new years resolutions, I've been extraordinarily good reducing my overzealous shopping habit. And now that I have a "real job" and "responsibility" and am a "grown up," I can't really get away with using Mom and Dad's credit card to my heart's content.

Which is just as well.

I'm going to take Saturday off. Well, I should say that I plan to take Saturday off. My evil boss has yet to okay my request. Cross your fingers for me.

I need the day off. Meg and I have made three full days (and an additional two evenings) of plans. Grandiose plans. A massage for each of us (Mom's treat), haircuts, dinner at a favorite restaurant, at least one trip to the movies. We'll sleep on the couch and dress like slobs and eat too much chocolate. We're going to tackle beading my skating dress.

And we'll go to the mall. At least once.

But maybe we'll just look.

Saturday, February 24, 2007

Buckets o' fun

I don’t particularly enjoy drinking.

I drink, though. When I’m at the bar or in some social setting where drinking is not only appropriate but somewhat expected. It’s fine. I don’t dislike it. But I’m also lacking in the “woooooah, drinking is so fun and exciting and it enhances my life in so many ways” attachment to drinking that many my age seem to have. I have never drank on my own. I have never had an overwhelming urge to drink. Actually, I’ve never had the urge to drink at all.

Based on that information alone, you all know that I’ve never had enough to drink to consider myself anywhere near sloshed, trashed, soused, peppered, hammered or otherwise significantly intoxicated.

And drinking has never, ever resulted in vomiting. (Which is very good. I’m a shitty puker.)

Call me square! It’s okay.

I am square.

I am also very concerned about the party that Lucy and Chet are throwing tonight. This party, a recreation of Lucy’s grandiose trip to Thailand, will involve many people sitting around many buckets filled with a mixture of many varieties of alcohol from which the many people will sip through straws.

Drinking from buckets, it seems to me, will prevent me from being to appropriately gauge how much alcohol I have consumed.

I do not want to get loaded.

I really don’t want to vomit.

And I will be drinking from a bucket.

Tonight should be interesting.

Friday, February 23, 2007

It sounded good

I just got home from the bar.

I'm eating a bowl of broccoli.

My normalcy is blinding, I know.

Thursday, February 22, 2007

What is this feeling?

I’m in a good place this week. Work has been busy and stressful. There has been a constant buzz of activity this week. Endless interruption and irritation. It’s rolling off of me. I’m living it but I’m not feeling it.

I’m happy.

I’ve had two Girl Scout cookies after dinner every night this week.
I finished a book.
I took a yoga class that eased my body of significant pain.
I won three hockey games.
I dreamed and schemed about my skating dress.
I hashed things out with Colin.
I sated my appetite for guilty pleasures by watching Engaged and Underage and The Hills.
I ate dark chocolate covered soybeans.
I called Colleen and wished her a happy birthday.
I had the time, energy and desire to do some housekeeping.
I cut back on my coffee intake.
I got my sister to agree to play on our soccer team this summer.
I exchanged text messages with my cousin Emma.

I’m happy.

Tonight, I will watch the episode of Grey’s Anatomy that I have been anxiously awaiting.
Tonight, I will go to the bar with Kevin, Kevin’s wife and one of the few dear friends I have made at work.
Tonight, I will go to bed too late; tomorrow, I will get up too early to go to the rink.

I’ll be happy.

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Arts and Crafts

I got this skating dress for Christmas.

Well, no. Not exactly. That picture shows the dress pattern. My dress, unfortunately, isn't in the lizard/hologram green.

This is my dress. In black velvet. Velvet is very forgiving.

While the dress is very pretty as it is (isn't the back adorable?), I want to slap some rhinestones on it to jazz it up a bit. A few (gross of) rhinestones will turn a dress suitable for practice into a dress suitable for competition.

I have pretty much no sense of personal style, so I've spend the last few days looking for a dress to rip off.

I started off, of course, with The Queen, Michelle Kwan.

I'm mostly in love with the beading on this dress. It a Vera Wang. How could you not love it?

Because my dress is a halter, I can't see the beading at the straps working well. That's okay. The beading at the waist is enough to stop my beating heart.

But it's the beading that runs up one side that really fires me up.

Vera Wang seems to do a lot of dresses for MK that focus at the waist. I absolutely adore this dress that she used for her Spartacus program. But I'm a little nervous to call attention to my waist.

I'm considering going with the plain ol' beading for the sake of beading. Something like this would add a bit of pizazz, reflect a little light and be an incredibly safe choice.

I'm not entirely convinced that I want to be boring.

If I do, there are many classics to choose from.

This is the classic bit-of-interest-at-the-neckline dress, which I could do at the vee of the halter.

If I was feeling really sassy, I could scatter rhinestones on the bodice and skirt, too.

I could also go with something more along the lines of a design, like in on this dress:

But maybe that's a little too immature.

What I like about this dress is that the rhinestones are the same color of the dress, adding a bit of quiet sparkle to the dress at the waist and under the bust. This is definitely something I could pull off.

While Emily Hughes' beading contrasts the dress, I think it's simple and not the slightest distracting. Her smile, however, is not. Goofy grin need not apply.

I saw it in dozens of dresses, but I'm a big nervous about accentuating the boob region. I'm not normally big on drawing attention to that part of my body.

But, I suppose that if I focused on that region in a rhinestone color that doesn't jump out from the fabric (as in this dress), it would feel a bit more classy and less, um, obvious.

I really like this, though. A few rhinestones at the boobs, but the focus is elsewhere.

I love that the design continues on the back.

I love the design on this dress, but I'm worried that:
a. I couldn't replicate it.
b. It would ridiculous on a 24-year-old.
c. The beading wouldn't translate well onto velvet.
d. It'd be too, too, too much.

And so, my darlings, I am completely stuck.

Come on, my resident fashionistas, don't be shy.

Monday, February 19, 2007

Meant to be

I’m pissed at Colin.

I slept in fits last night. My rest was interrupted by a voluminous hoodie, a pair of fleece and two comforters (too hot), some odd dreams (too disturbing) and a nagging irritation with Colin.

I hate him sometimes.

It feels, on occasion, like he puts me on the back burner. As though he knows that, when he wants to come around, I’ll be waiting. In the past, I certainly have waited. But that waiting? It’s getting kind of old. I’m not okay with second place.

This time around, things with us have been stellar. But I look at the last couple of weeks and I see us slipping back into the frustrating, ugly rut of old.

I don’t want to do it again.

It makes me feel too worthless. A second-class afterthought.

I didn’t call him yesterday. It was a childish test of sorts. I had told him on Saturday that, since I couldn’t see him on Friday night (he was working) or Saturday night (he was going out with people for/from work) I wanted to have dinner with him after my hockey game. I’d already planted the seed; I would leave it up to him to water it.

He didn’t.

Something better must have come up.

Not that skipping out on dinner was any sort of a big deal. It’s just the thought. Or, really, the lack of thought.

I’d like to be a priority. And I’m not.

After a night of such crappy sleep that left me with entirely no patience for him and for his bullshit, I was very done with Colin. Not because I wanted to be. Because I felt that I needed to be.

Because I knew that, if he called me tonight and wanted to see me, I would see him. Because if we didn’t call me all week and on Friday night he wanted to see me, I would see him. Because, somehow, he turns my values and my self worth to mush. Because all I ever want is to be around him. Because, when he comes around, I’m waiting, ready and willing.

And that needs to stop.

I need to stop.

I need more.

I’m convinced.

My heart isn’t.

As I drove to work feeling sulky and sad and tired at the unraveling of what was once a good thing, the deejays on the radio asked those who married their first kiss to call in.

Colin was mine.

And with that radio bit – which aired while I was driving to work due to irony or fate or dumb luck or nothing at all – I thawed. I immediately had an appetite for forgiveness.

And then a man named Colin called in to the radio show. Followed immediately by a man with Colin’s middle name.

I felt as though I had just turned over a Magic 8 Ball and it read “all signs point to ‘yes.’”

Or, more specifically, “all signs point to ‘continue your spineless ways.’”

Saturday, February 17, 2007


My arm hurts and my ass hurts and, of course, I can't help but tell absolutely everyone about it.

I was just telling my coworker that my arm hurt and my ass hurt and the entire story of how I busted my ass on my way into court yesterday.

And he's all "you could've made $5,000 on that."

Apparently, the city I fell in settles all lawsuits by dishing out a $5,000 check. He would know; he's a fireman in that city.

$5,000 for falling on my ass.

Would've nicely offset the $135 fine I paid for my ticket.

Damn. It's too bad I'm not into the whole frivolous lawsuit thing.

Friday, February 16, 2007

A funny thing happened on my way to court

Most Friday mornings, I go to the rink and skate for a few hours. I hate getting up earlier then I do on workdays on my day off, but I love the accomplishment of having that practice under my belt before I'd normally even get up.

I skipped skating today; I was scheduled to appear in traffic court at 9:30 am.

I parked in the structure next to the courthouse, gathered my belongings, dipped my head to shield my face from a blustery wind whipping through the parking structure and hurried to the stairwell.

While taking my first step onto the stairs, I checked behind me to verify that I had parked on the third level.

My foot - clad in adorable, yet totally inappropriate for slippery winter conditions, ballet flats - slipped. I didn't recover. I was on my ass in a millisecond. I banged down another step before I could get control of my flailing limbs and stop my downward motion.

I was assessing the damage – mainly to my ass and to my pride – when I heard a thump at the bottom of the staircase.

Did something fly out of my purse?

I brushed myself off, descended down the stairs and, at the bottom, there was my cell phone. Working, thankfully, after its freefall. I tucked it back into my trusty black Kate Spade and went for my day in court.

I got what was expected: impeding traffic, a no-point violation that carries a fine identical to that of my original speeding ticket.

I also got what I didn’t expect: a massive bruise on my ass.

If I had gone skating this morning, even if I’d skated incredibly poorly, I couldn’t have injured myself as badly as that misstep injured me.

Cute, right?

What can be said about a girl who is more secure on ice than she is on solid ground?

Thursday, February 15, 2007

Top of mind

Whole grains are all I ever buy anymore. I couldn't tell you when the last time I had "regular" pasta; I like the Tostitos chips.

Tomorrow I absolutely must go to court, I absolutely must get my skates sharpened and I absolutely must make no further plans.

Arts and crafts project of the moment is gluing rhinestones to the skating dress I got for Christmas. Prior to the official commencement of this project is choosing/ordering the stones and deciding on a pattern. This may require reader input.

My neighbor may be working with an electric sander. Or a drill.

I almost want a MySpace page. Yikes.

Ditto for Facebook.

My heart is still beating awfully fast and my hands are still kind of shaking and my eyes remain a bit teary and my head is spinning a bit. Thanks, Grey's Anatomy.

I will call Colin before I go to sleep, even though I'll only get his voicemail.

The mere attempt at contact will calm me.

Wednesday, February 14, 2007


I have a Valentine's Day date for dinner and a movie. With Colleen. One of my girls. I've never hung out with Colleen alone before - only in groups that include Lucy - so this should be interesting. Especially on Valentine's Day.

On a good night, pretty much all she can talk about is her ex-boyfriend.

Clearly, I am setting myself up for an awkward situation. I hope that the meal and Because I Said So are worth it.

Colin is working until at least midnight tonight. I'm harboring a bit of hope that Colleen and I are still at the bar (which happens to be among his favorites) when Colin gets off of work. I'm definitely not counting on it.

As we still haven't exchanged our Christmas gifts (I know, I know), I'm not holding my breath for a Valentine's Day present. Which would be just as well. I didn't buy one for him. In a crunch, I figure I'll change the color of the bow on his present.

It won't come down to that.

I wonder if there's another relationship in the world that is as awkward as the relationship that I have with Colin. I don't consider him my boyfriend, you know. And I'm mostly sure that he doesn't think of me as his girlfriend, either (though I've heard myself referred to as "Colin's girlfriend" by his friends dozens of times). We've been so on and off. But it always comes back to him.

And every time it does, it gets a little bit better.

At this rate, we're looking at a 2031 wedding.

You're all invited!

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Snowy, snowy night

We’re in the midst of a snowstorm. Not a blizzard, as the news anchors would like us to think, just an aggressive snowstorm that has transformed this bland, characterless suburb into what borders on beautiful.

I love a good snow.

This is the first one of the year. I’ve been waiting so long! Last week, the schoolchildren had classes cancelled due to the extreme cold. Tomorrow, perhaps they’ll finally get their first snow day. A day to sled in the backyard and pelt one another with snowballs and drink hot chocolate while defrosting in front a television that is playing cartoons.

How to get a snow day, the superstitious way: go to sleep wearing your pajamas inside out.

My hockey game tonight was cancelled. I baked cookies and listened to the new Norah Jones album. I ventured to the gym and didn’t have to fight for a treadmill.

The snowfall makes me feel gloriously isolated. It is unusually quiet outside my apartment door. I imagine all of my neighbors are huddled inside, being lazy and relishing in the opportunity to do so without any guilt.

I wouldn’t have felt bad if I hadn’t made it to the gym tonight.

This snow is nice, but far from the best. I would like my snowstorm to happen at Mom and Dad’s house – or someplace awfully similar – with two fireplaces to warm myself in front of, a lake to skate on, a hill to sled on, a short walk to shovel. Maybe. If I’m feeling productive.


I’d like my snowstorm to involve a movie. And takeout. Chinese or Thai.

The perfect snowstorm would leave me stranded with a companion I can share a blanket with. Colin, ultimately. Lucy or Meg or Mom. We could exchange body heat, appreciate the other’s fleece socks and ratty sweats.

The snowy night would precede a snowy morning, void of prior obligations that the snowfall would have smothered. We would make a big, complex breakfast at the time that we’d normally be eating lunch. We would tackle a bit of the snow buildup. We’d make a snowman, sled down the hill, skate a few laps.

Takeout, again, of course.

Logging more hours in front of the fireplace.

Going to bed unabashedly hoping, though the chances are zero, for another snow day.

Monday, February 12, 2007

Soliciting advice

On Friday morning, I'm going to court to fight my speeding ticket. It feels very exciting and promising and classically American.

And scary. Really flipping scary.

I mean, I was speeding. It was caught in a speedtrap and I wasn't endangering anyone that fateful Thanksgiving night, but I was speeding. No denying that.

Mostly I'm fighting this ticket because everyone told me to. Yeah. Because decisions made based on peer pressure really turn out to be good ones.

I'm afraid that the judge is going to make me cry.

If any of you have fought a speeding ticket and have a moment to tell me about it, I'd love to tuck your stories in the back of my mind. Anything to keep me from nervously biting all of my nails off as I wait, wait, wait, wait for 9:30 Friday morning.

I want to get it over with.

In other news: I just spent the last fifteen minutes obsessively cleaning the mirror in my bedroom.

You'll also be happy to hear that I am baking press cookies for Valentine's Day. This time around, I'm not bothering with the heart-shaped mold.

Two years ago today I went out with Colin for the first time. I cannot comprehend how two fun, scary, memorable, frustrating, crazy years have gone by.


Sunday, February 11, 2007

I'm not quite sure what to think about this

April, one of my girls, recently went out with a guy she met on one of our Saturday night bar adventures.

Nothing came of their date.

Except a bit about me.

Apparently I'm intimidating. That's what his friends thought about the curly-haired strawberry blonde. I intimidated them.

I didn't even talk to them. I don't think I even looked at them. And I'm intimidating?

I don't get it.

And I'm not sure if I should take it as a compliment or as an insult.

Saturday, February 10, 2007

In a row

I was giddy yesterday.

There was no particular reason for it.

Fridays are normally my day off. A coworker was on vacation and I was volunteered (translation: not given a choice) to work in her place. It turned out okay. Fridays are quiet.

In exchange for forfeiting my Friday off, I didn’t have to work today. Whenever I have two consecutive days off, I can feel it. It makes a difference. It makes me happy. One day, I’m going to get a new job. A job where I have Saturday and Sunday off. I can’t wait.

I left work at 4:30 and went back to my apartment and pack things up to bring to Mom and Dad’s. I decided that I’m really sick of that: packing a bag every weekend, standing at my closet trying to figure out what I want to wear:
a. If/when I see Colin
b. If I go out with the girls
c. To skating
d. In the event that I was invited to a fabulous soiree
e. Should I go to the gym.
f. Etc.
It’s exhausting. And I end up packing a week’s worth of outfits. Plus another bag for my shoes and makeup. And my skates. Sometimes my hockey equipment. The Tupperware I need to return to my grandma. A Footballer’s Wives DVD. And anything else that you could think of.

I called Colin after I packed my bags into Stella and left my apartment, still all giddy, giggly and sunshine and light. He laughed at me. I love when he does that; I love when I make him laugh.

I didn’t get to see him last night and I won’t get to see him today. Normally that puts a chip on my shoulder. We really only get to see each other on the weekends. One day, I’m going to get a new job. A job where I don’t have to live an hour from Colin, Lucy, my parents – all of whom live within 5 miles of each other.

But yesterday, it was okay. It was acceptable.

I was giddy.

Thursday, February 08, 2007

Why I'm a Great Friend Reason #8213

Heather called me AT 9:00 pm.

9:00 pm. Translation: when Grey's Anatomy starts.

It was Heather's birthday on Sunday and, while I left her a message wishing her rainbows and cupcakes and endless happiness during her 25th year, I haven't talked to her.

And so, at 9:00 pm, I sucked it up and I was a friend and I answered her call. While All. Of. This. Excitement. unraveled on Grey's.

It was KILLING me.

But I listened to her bitch about her job and her mom, babble on about her new boyfriend and update me on the lives of her sister and a high school friend for 12 agonizing minutes.


I didn't do it. I saw her number and I picked up the phone.

A friend, even a friend with whom I have a spotty history, always takes prescience over a television show. Even if it's a badass episode and she's rambling on about the school district she teaches in.

It's the right thing. Occasionally, I surprise myself and do the right thing. Sometimes, I have morals.

All the time, however, I want to hump Dr. Karev. Mmmmmmm.

Wednesday, February 07, 2007


The job fair was a waste of anxiety.

My damn company didn’t even show up. That is so like them, to blow off an opportunity to put the company (which is by no means huge or particularly well known) in front of so many people. Here they were, with a captive audience of job seekers who want in on the industry, some of who must have the bright minds and the creative thoughts that the company needs, and they don’t bother to show.

That’s not to say that I wasn’t OVER THE FRICKING MOON when I realized that they weren’t there. Oh, the glory of avoiding that mess.

I’m not quite sure what to think of the rest of the job fair. I don’t want to be so naïve as to paint the entire afternoon as a waste but when it all boils down, that’s what it feels like. It seemed like a lot of the companies were looking more for interns. They’d throw my résumé in the pile for full-timers and tell me to keep checking their website.

Gee, thanks. I couldn’t have figured that out myself. I hope that my résumé makes great fuel for your next bonfire. Roast some marshmallows over it for me, eh?

I had one conversation that I’d consider productive and hopeful. The recruiter seemed excited and enthusiastic when he saw my résumé, and more specifically what I was involved in here, and immediately related it to a position that would be opening up with his company.

I can totally see why he thought it was a job that could fit me and my experience. But I have my reservations. I suspect that it would involve more sales than I’d like or would be comfortable with. It’s in Cleveland, which obviously gives me all sorts of moving anxiety even though it’s really not that far from the D.

And I’m just not sure that I want to work in hockey for the rest of my life. I love the sport, I really do, but I think I’d just be content with being a fan and a player. I’m pretty sick of this former jock bullshit that I put up with. I’m so over these people who have their jobs merely because they have a penis and have taken a lot of pucks to the head.

It’s back to the drawing board, I suppose. More lectures from my mom. Trudging through frustration. Digging through job postings. Keeping my ear to the ground. Crossing my fingers. And Blogging about it all.

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

My bags are packed

I'm counting down the minutes until I leave.

A suit will be worn (thank you for all of the feedback and great advice). My nails are painted. My résumé has been copied a zillion times over on lovely paper. I'm praying.

Attempts to avoid my current company will be made. A confident smile and a cheerful hello will be my only weapons in an awkward run-in. I will make no apologies. Doing what is best for myself is not a crime.

Monday, February 05, 2007

Reader Poll

The famous job fair is tomorrow.

Suit or no suit?

Better (but not perfect)

I, along with the rest of America’s football watching populous, really don’t feel like working today. It’s cold in the office. I have a lot to do. These unfortunate circumstances, coupled with a lack of decent sleep, make me want to work even less.

Colin and I went to Katie and Josh’s house for their modest, nice Super Bowl party. I brought along my homemade caramel corn, which brought the other girls to their knees with its potent deliciousness. I have a feeling that at least a few people were wondering why I wasn’t feasting on the caramel corn like everyone else; that was more to do with the fact that I’d nibbled on it for three straight hours while making it than any sort of ridiculous attempt at being healthy.

I like Colin’s core group of friends. They’re genuine, low-maintenance, nice people. I’m still pretty quiet around them (I’m still getting to know them all), but they do not intimidate me. And that’s nice. It doesn’t take much to make me feel inferior.

There was a portion of yesterday when I could’ve killed Colin. He asked me to go with him to Josh and Katie’s when we were at dinner on Friday. We only talked for a minute on Saturday (we both had absolutely insane workdays and our schedules were completely opposite of each other’s). And, on Sunday? Nothing. No call. I went ahead and made caramel corn, trying not to think about last New Year’s Eve, which went something like this:

[Just before New Year’s Eve.]
Colin: What are you doing for New Year’s Eve?
Me: I have no social life. I never do anything.
Colin: I’ll call you.
Me: Glorious! I will wear something pretty and make it so that it doesn’t look like rodents nest in my hair!
Colin: Cool.

[New Year’s Eve.]
Me: (I feel excited. I am going to go out for New Year’s Eve. It will be fun. I will be fun!)
Me: (I wonder why Colin hasn’t called. I’ll call him.)
Me: (Voice mail. Of course.) Colin! Hi! I was calling to find out what the plans were for tonight. Give me a ring, please.
Me: (It’s 10:00 pm. Is he going to call?)
Me: ...
Me: ...
Me: Happy New Year, Mom and Dad. I am so lucky to have spent the evening with you and not depressed at all by the fact that I’m 23 and ringing in the New Year with my parents in my pajamas.

Sunday was not a repeat of New Year’s 2006; Colin eventually called. It was a little too late for my taste, but he called.

In the moment, I revert back. I panic. I forget that this is the new Colin. The one who might not be timely on his phone calls (he’s spent most of the day sleeping; very impressive) or good with details and doesn’t understand that it takes a girl longer than three minutes to get ready, but doesn’t drop me when something better comes along.

I’m a big fan of the new and improved model.

Saturday, February 03, 2007

Problem solving

We were talking about the job fair. I was showing her, with great dramatic flair and the inclusion of many four-letter words, exactly what I would do if I were to run into the peons I work for.

“What is it that you want to do?” The way she asked the question was forceful.

I stumbled. “I...I don’t know.” It was honest, anyway.

“You don’t want to [be in the industry that I studied after graduation for and interviewed in Chicago and NYC for positions in]...?”

“I don’t know. No. I don’t. I don’t want to move, Mom. And I didn’t really like the people much.” I also couldn’t land either job I interviewed for.

“Maybe you should quit your job, move back home and temp for a while. Find something that you like.”

“I am not quitting my job to work as a temp, Mother!”

“Why not? You’re young.”

“I won’t have insurance, for one thing.”

“You can’t live your life for insurance. Quit your job and move home. You can live her for a year.”

“I’m not quitting my job and moving home.”

“You have a fantastic résumé. Your job has given you a lot of experience. You can stay, but, face it, your résumé won’t get any better. They’ve already passed on you for two promotions.”

“I don’t want to temp. I don’t want to go without insurance. It’s important. What if it’s like that girl I worked with in college? What if I don’t have insurance and I find out that I have M.S.?”

“That’s highly unlikely.”

“She thought the same thing, Mom!”

If my mom was the type of person to roll her eyes (she’s not), she would’ve.

“Then you’re going to have to get married.”

There you go. Quarter-life crisis solutions by my mother. Quit your job and be a temp. Or just get married.

Friday, February 02, 2007


In my head: "Bold as Love," by Jimi Hendrix as covered by John Mayer.

In my mind: Colin.

There's a difference, you know.

Thursday, February 01, 2007

Resolution Review 1

Accountability, accountability, accountability. Let's check in with those resolutions, kids.

1. Read 12 novels.
I'm not sure that it counts because it's more of a coffee table book than a novel, but I read Amy Sedaris's I Like You from cover-to-cover. I started James Frey's A Million Little Pieces last Friday. I'm about halfway through.

2. Find a new job or go back to school. Or, ideally, find a new job AND go back to school. I sucked it up and signed up for the job fair. It's a start.

3. Go to the gym with increased frequency.
Gym: 13 times in January. I’m going about three times per week. Three times per week isn’t going to get me to 175 visits for the year, but I’m confident that I can make up the difference in the early spring (after hockey ends, before soccer starts) and the fall (after soccer ends, before hockey starts).
Hockey: 8 times in January.
Skating: 7 times in January.
Overall: 28 instances of physical activity. You can't get much better than that.

4. Not make a weight-related resolution.
Didn’t do it. Was pleased to see that I randomly dropped 5.5 pounds; I haven’t weighed myself since then. I have had quite the appetite the last week, so I’m sure I’ve put at least some of that weight back on. Oh well! I will not obsess.

5. Knit more.
I nearly finished a baby hat (from the same pattern as this one). But it’s ugly. (I made some poor color choices.) I’m going to unravel it and start over.

6. Stop the incessant purchasing.
Probably shouldn’t have fallen victim to the Victoria’s Secret Semi-Annual Sale. But I swear that I needed new underwear. Definitely shouldn’t have stopped at the outlet mall on my way to a hockey game, but I showed a bit of restraint. Haven’t been to the mall. I’m doing okay.

7. Visit with my grandparents more.
Mom, Dad and I had dinner with them one weekend, but that’s it. Not good enough.

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 thought this would be the most difficult resolution of them all. But I’ve stuck to my self-imposed limit of one cup three days/week. Shocking.

9. Become a sweet-ass juggler.
I only practiced once. Once. Once? Please! Pathetic. Although, I should say that I did make a good bit of improvement during that practice session. Juggling the ball 25 times before the ball hits the ground by the end of 2007 is not out of the question.

10. Allow myself to trust Colin.
We’ve both been crazy busy this month. We haven’t spent as much time together as I would’ve liked. I didn’t make much progress on this. If I don’t hear from him, I still get the nagging feeling that he’s flaked out and given up on me. Must move past this.

A pinch to grow an inch: February’s resolution of the month:

Start taking calcium.
My multivitamin sucks in the calcium department. I’m a chick. I need the calcium; I don’t need a broken bone.


Can nothing work correctly today?

I got up this morning, hell bent on reporting on my New Year's Resolutions. Blogger was crabby and inconsistent. As I trolled through my archives to find links, I kept getting error messages.

The television was on while I was writing/fighting with Blogger. Suddenly, the television is a screen of crackling snow. Nice. The cable went out.

The cable AND the cable internet.

While I normally just compose in Blogger, I copied and pasted into word and finished my post about my resolutions. I'd post when the cable came back up.

Except it didn't come back up.

I called the cable company, expecting to hear that it was a larger outage. Instead, I got to make a service appointment. For between 6 and 9:00 pm tonight.

There are two problems with this.
Problem #1: I won't get home from work until 7:30 pm.
Problem #2: Grey's Anatomy is on at 9:00 pm.

If I knew that my cable won't be fixed in time for Grey's, I could high tail it to Mom and Dad's in time to see it, but I can't just leave the Comcast guy hanging. Or maybe I can. Comcast fucks me over on a regular basis.

So now I'm bitter about not having cable or internet. And I'm bitter because I wrote about my resolutions and I can't post what I wrote. So, being a problem solver, I burn the writing to a disc. I will post at work!

Except that my stupid fucking work computer won't read a CD RW.

Like I said, nothing works today.

Now, don't ya'll go thinking that what I wrote about my resolutions is actually interesting or worthwhile.

I'm sure my brain isn't working correctly, either.
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