Friday, August 31, 2007

Like a pig going to slaughter

Within the hour, I am leaving for my cousin's wedding in Chicago.

Due to recent events, I am absolutely terrified.

It is human nature to protect yourself and the ones you love. Attending this wedding goes against my every instinct.

By going to this wedding, we are opening ourselves up to a lot of hurt.

I hope I am very wrong.

We'll see.

Thursday, August 30, 2007

I expect I will settle down eventually

I like how
Since The Talk
(on Saturday night)
I am mostly, constantly, irrationally

That I’ll never hear from Colin again

Making it official has scared him away
In the past

(I remind myself that it is the future)
(I remind myself a lot)

I send text messages
And I hold my breath
I call
And I bite my lip

This is going to take some getting used to
And blind faith
And trust

Until I can fully commit
Feel secure
Open up
Intertwine our lives
Do it with abandon

It will happen
We are great
We will last

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Location, location, location

I really should’ve started on this whole quest for a new apartment when I started seriously considering moving elsewhere.

Instead, I elected to leave everything for the very last minute. I have not notified my apartment management company, Nielsen, Comcast, my grandmother, or pretty much anyone else.

I did tell my parents that I might be crashing with them for a month or six. And I mentioned it to Lucy when we went for coffee a few weeks ago.

As I explained to Lucy, I feel like I have three choices.
1. Stay where I am, on the East Side. Short commute to work, long commute to soccer, skating, and pretty much everything I find even remotely enjoyable.
2. Move somewhere close to home. A cool hour to work, but close to my friends, my family, a branch of the gym I already belong to, the facility I play indoor soccer at...and Colin.
3. Move somewhere in the middle. If I found an apartment in one of the young, hip cities that are conveniently between where I live and where I grew up, I would be a half-hour from work, a half-hour from fun.

I’ve been leaning towards heading homeward bound. It appeals to my lazy side. I wouldn’t have to learn my way around a new city. I could easily stay at home for a few months, bulk up my bank account, let my parents baby me. I’d be within five minutes of Colin.

I had been considering asking my cousin Anna if she wanted to live together. If we did so, it would have to be somewhere in the middle. And I’d have to put aside my fears that she might be a teeny-tiny weird about her new boyfriend that she cannot seem to tear herself away from. But living close to home remained more appealing. Especially when, after I told Colin I may be his neighbor again in the near future, he nearly peed himself out of excitement.

So home it was. I was looking up apartments, trying to justify the fact that I would be spending as much as I paid for my lease on my apartment on the East Side and spending a lot more money on gas for my significantly longer commute. Spending more money than I already was, essentially, and making no headway on the debt that is starting to pile up and really freak me out.

I was still stuck on home. So maybe it was to Mom and Dad’s house. I get along with them perfectly well. I’d essentially erase all of my living expenses. And I could never go out on weeknights, stay at Colin’s, go to the bar wearing something ever-so-slightly sleazy, or get out from under my parents’ loving thumbs.

It was a bit of a conundrum. I was leaning towards moving in with Mom and Dad. And feeling sort of sick about having to tell folks that I was 25, living with my parents.

But then Lucy said that she and Chet were considering moving to the same middle area as me.

And we giggled excitedly about how much fun it would be to live in the same general vicinity. Then I emailed my cousin Anna and proposed that we become roommates; it looks like we’re a go.

Location: check.
Everything else: um. Not so much.

I’ll figure it out.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Here’s to second, third and fourteenth – chances.

In addition to being a fantastic night out with The Girls, Saturday was an equally thrilling and memorable evening with Colin.

He joined The Girls at the bar after having dinner with his boss. He was laidback and good-natured, silly and fun. When The Girls get together, we act like complete and utter fools; he went along with our idiocy without question. I admire his willingness; I couldn’t have done it myself.

We left the bar, dropped off my drunken friends, and had The Talk.

The Talk We Should’ve Had A Long Time Ago.

About us, of course, and why we do this not dating foolishness.

When you’re not dating, you look and behave like a dating couple. And everyone thinks you’re dating, but you’re not. If someone calls the man you’re not dating your boyfriend, you correct him. And if you don’t want to take the guy you’re not dating to a wedding, then you don’t. Because you’re not dating.

Historically, Colin and I have been better at not dating than we’ve been at dating. We attempted dating several other times. It hasn’t worked. For a lot of reasons. But mostly because of Colin. (I’m allowed to say that because he would admit it. Has admitted it. Fairly recently, in fact.)

We sat in his driveway and we hashed things out. I was more honest than I knew I was capable. He was sweeter and more apologetic than I would’ve imagined.

We’re giving it another go.

Dating. Like real grownups.

This time around we’re going to act like real grownups, too.

Colin and I, as you all know, haven’t had an easy time. He hurts my feelings. I blow him off. We have rocky months. I get crazy busy. He hits The Bumps. I get a little hysterical and he (rightfully) scurries for cover.

And we always end up back together.

There must be a reason for this.

There is a reason that Colin and I have been not dating since February 2005.

There is a reason why we cannot irreparably break what we have, despite valiant attempts at sabotage.

There must be a reason for this.

And I don’t think that it's only because we’re both too stupid to know any better.

Monday, August 27, 2007

Why every man should want a daughter

My dad called me at work today.

He called me for only one reason: to tell me that my mom had called him to say how much she liked the birthday card he left for her this morning.

The birthday card that I bought for him to give to her.

That he hadn't asked me to pick up.

Which I slipped in his junk drawer and reminded him to sign.

Daughter. Personal shopper. Same difference.

Sunday, August 26, 2007

Why you shouldn't hold a grudge

I considered staying mad at The Girls.

It was bad timing to hold a grudge. I had to let it go.

Lucy and I had Dave Matthews Band tickets (Oh? The tickets that I thought were for the 4th row are really in the first row? Me likey.) for Thursday night.

Alexa is making her move to New York come hell or high water and we all (including April, who it really was good to see) went out for one last time at Our Bar.

Giving up the grudge was worth it. My weekend was why you let some irritations roll off of your back.

The DMB concert on Thursday was vintage Aly/Lucy. We tell ourselves that we aren't the squealing fangirls that we were during the road trips of yesteryear. But we totally are. It just happens to be that working full-time and (in Lucy's case) being married and acting the part of young adults has sucked the All Dave, All The Time out of our everyday lives. But not out of our hearts.

Some things never change. And apparently that includes me and Lucy, eyes bulging, giggling madly when Dave Matthews straps on his guitar and does his cute little dance.

I love that. I love that I can count on it.

Saturday night caught me completely by surprise. I expected to have fun with The Girls - I very rarely do not enjoy my time with them - but I did not expect to have the wind knocked out of my by the pure.asinine.silly.wild.bitch of a good time we had.

Each of The Girls brought her A game for Alexa's last night out.

It was an evening to remember, featuring my delicious flourless chocolate cake, a plethora of drinks, the gentle harassment of fellow patrons, a special appearance by Colin, our favorite tunes on the jukebox, ridiculous commentary about my chest, mozzarella cheese sticks and french fries, Jager bombs, and some really creepy and unwanted admirers.

Hopefully we can hold things together with Alexa gone.

We make quite the group.

Thursday, August 23, 2007

My friend the trainwreck

This is a long story. I will shorten it as much as I can without damaging the integrity of this hot mess.

My friend Alexa? Oh holy hell.

After a craptastic year at a mediocre (at best) school here in Michigan, she went to college at a liberal arts college on the East coast. She came home three years ago with a degree and a lot of student loans.

And she met a boy. His name is Ed. He is a musician. And irresponsible. Lazy. Unmotivated. Devoid of a decent work ethic. (I really like him, if you couldn’t tell.)

He didn’t have a job. Until more than two years into their relationship.

Oh. Wait. Scratch that. He got a job a year or so after they started dating. Delivering pizzas. But he quit it within a week.

Anyway. Alexa decided that she wanted to get her master’s in social work. Applied for the program at UM. Got in. Leased an apartment in Ann Arbor (Ed moved in with her, of course). Took out more student loans. Started classes. Dropped out shortly thereafter.

They continued to live in Ann Arbor for the duration of Alexa’s lease. Alexa worked part-time for a real estate agent; Ed just did whatever you do when you’re unemployed and inherently lazy.

When the Ann Arbor apartment lease was up, they’d been together for a year. Alexa decided it would be best to move back in with her parents. While she lived at home, Ed bounced between Alexa’s parents’ house (classy!), his parents’ house and his van.

I can’t recall how long Alexa lived at home or what she did to make money during that time. Apparently, however, she registered for classes at EMU that she later dropped. (I just learned that this week.)

And then she and Ed moved into an apartment. She got a job working with autistic kids. He didn’t work. She put their rent on the credit cards that she was always opening, transferring balances to and attempting to use the promotional 0% APRs to her advantage. (Obviously a big mistake. But I think that, 350 words into this rant, you may already know that maybe Alexa isn’t the smartest girl this world has ever seen.)

Halfway into their lease, Ed gets a conscience and a job. He starts waiting tables and – wow! – we all think that maybe they’ll get their shit together and start paying down Alexa’s debts and everything.

And then Alexa quits her job. She hates it too much. And Ed, ever the romantic, said that it was his turn to carry them (financially).

Okay. Whatever. Alexa lines up a job as a summer camp counselor. (Hi. If you’re 25, you’re probably too old to be a camp counselor.) She starts massage therapy school. Which she loves.

Three months later, Alexa and Ed are breaking up.

None of The Girls are sad about it.

But Alexa seems to be losing her shit.

As in, she stopped going to her massage therapy classes this week.
And next week, when she is supposed to be going to NYC to visit friends, SHE’S JUST GOING TO STAY.

She hasn’t told her parents that her and Ed are over. Or that she quit school (again). Or that she’s moving.


Because, now that she won’t be in school anymore, all of her student loans (undergraduate, two stabs at graduate school and massage therapy) will no longer be deferred.

She is totally screwed.

Because even sweet, unassuming, understanding and moderately financially irresponsible Lucy was smart enough to refuse.

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

I am a ball of anxiety

Today is field trip day.

Let us visit inside my head. What's bothering me today, kiddies? Oh, just EVERYTHING.

Graduate School
I potentially start graduate school in five days. This is highly unlikely, as all of the necessary components didn’t arrive at the university until yesterday, but not entirely impossible.

I’m afraid that I’m going to get a phone call on Friday telling me that I’m in for the fall semester.
Still, I really want that phone call telling me that I’m in for the fall semester.

But I won’t have books. I have no idea when I can squeeze myself into a class. I don’t know how I’ll pay for the first semester. And there will be precious little time for my brain to segue into student mode.

I am anxious because I am impatient. I am impatient because I want to start. So that I can finish. So that I can get out of this job and into a career.

I am anxious because I have no control over this situation.

My bank accounts
Um. What happened to all of my money? For real.

Mara’s Wedding
Dread. Pure and simple. Dread.

And dread shouldn’t be my overwhelming feeling going into the wedding of a cousin who I used to be really, really close with.

Because of that, there’s a fair amount of guilt mixed in.

And fear. I’m afraid of another big blowout. I’m scared to see Uncle Alan, who is rumored to be coming to the wedding. I’m scared to make eye contact (let alone pleasant conversation) with Aunt Louise. I’m afraid that my dad will be treated like dirt. I’m terrified of what I would say or do if I am provoked. I am afraid that I will spend the entire weekend with a chip on my shoulder, pissed that I am there, pissed that I have such assholes for relatives, pissed that I am wasting away my long weekend.

The whole thing makes me terribly nervous.

The Big Move
I told my parents that I want to move.
But I don’t think that I’ve told them that I’m definitely going to move.
And I definitely haven’t told them that, when I do move, it is probably going to be into their house.

Oh. And it will be in approximately five weeks. And I need help with the furniture and the television.

Anxiety racks me whenever I merely allow myself to consider all of the work that moving will entail. My clothes definitely won’t all fit in my bedroom at Mom and Dad’s house. My books don’t fit in the bookshelves. And what the fuck am I’m going to do with my furniture?

This is too good. This is too good to last. My anxiety is fueled by the fear that this is temporary. And I don’t want it to be.

I am more attached, more vulnerable, more happy, more hopeful than I have ever been.

Mom’s birthday
Next Monday! I am so bad at shopping for her, but between Meg and I (with a little of Mom’s help – way to buy yourself a Coach purse!) it seems that we have everything covered. Of course, I’m worrying that she’ll hate everything, think that it is too expensive, or return it just for the sake of returning it and breaking my heart.

I volunteered to bake her birthday cake, too. As I am an overachiever and entirely open to setting myself up for praise, I spent most of my workday looking for The Perfect Cake. I found the recipe. And now I will spend the rest of my week imagining all of the ways I could potentially ruin it.

Are you scared yet? I could go on.

Hopefully your nightmares tonight aren't too severe.

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

She is obviously a great deal cooler (and more talented) than me

You know what's really weird?

Seeing your cousin on Perez Hilton.

Monday, August 20, 2007

Something must be changing


I didn’t expect that a week away from you would feel so foreign. Life was disrupted. Previously unbeknownst to me, you – the emails you send me when you get into work, the phone calls when I’m heading towards bed – are how I gauge my days.

I felt like I’d lost my compass.

I didn’t realize how much I had integrated you into my life. We haven’t had the easiest time; I thought that I had been keeping you at a safe and comfortable distance. When did this happen? How did you become such an important part of my life without my realizing it?

You called me last night. I was in bed, wearing polka dotted pajama pants and a UM football t-shirt, reading the book that I can’t quite decide if I like. You’d just been at dinner with your family, celebrating your younger brother’s birthday.

I mentioned that I might be driving back home tomorrow. I forgot my laptop at Mom and Dad’s house. And you’re not working late. Hint. Hint. Hint, hint.

You offer to pick up my laptop and meet me halfway. (Clearly you have learned something from when I was bitching about my friends this weekend.) But you’re already working an 80+ hour week. I refuse. That extra half-hour of sleep will make a difference.

You tell me that your mom lectured you at dinner. She said that you still had to make time to be social.

And then your 16-year-old sister retorted with a zinger along the lines of “yeah! Mom wants grandkids to spoil!”

There were a thousand ways I could’ve responded. I didn’t push it. We joked that our mothers must be in cahoots. Left it at that.

I went to sleep happy. With my heart lodged in my throat.

Friday, August 17, 2007

Hurt Feelings

“I can’t go,” I told Lucy, when she invited me out with The Girls (minus April) tonight, “unless you guys want to meet me halfway.”

I have to work tomorrow. My parents are out of town. My sister is back at school for the night, attending some sort of high-class soirée (read: kegger). Colin is still at training camp with his team. Long before I talked to Lucy last night, I’d decided that I wouldn’t head back to the west side of town until after work on Saturday. It just isn’t worth the drive.

Lucy said that meeting me in a fun, young, town halfway between us and teeming with bars, restaurant and nightlife, would be fun. And Chet could meet us out on his way home from work. Perfect! She would clear it with the other girls and call me back.

She called me back nearly 24 hours after she told me that she would (this is typical Lucy behavior).

Colleen really has her heart set on [this new bar that is right on a lake near where we grew up]. She says that she really needs to be outside this weekend; she hasn’t had a chance to be out much this summer.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, you guys have fun.” So much for my plans. So much for rushing home from work.

“We’re going to go out around 7:00, if you change your mind and want to come home.”

“There’s not a chance. You all have fun for me.”

I’m disappointed.

I realize that I live a long way from the rest of The Girls. I realize that it is inconvenient. I know that it’s stupid for three of them to drive all the way to my apartment to see one of me.

I have never asked, begged, implied or otherwise forced them to come all the way out here. I don’t expect them to.

But I thought that once – ONCE – in the two years that I’ve lived here it would be okay for them to meet me in the middle.

I guess I was wrong.

Colleen wants to be outside. Colleen wants to be on the lake.

My friends just picked a location over me.

I think I have the right to be annoyed.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

This happened a week ago; I’m still thinking about it

Me: So, Colin dear, how was that ridiculously stupid NFL Fantasy Football Draft that kept you too late and prevented you from seeing me?

Colin: It was okay. The guys didn’t understand that I had someplace better I wanted to be.

Me: ...

Colin: I took Terrell Owens with my first pick.

Me: Really?! I was T.O. for Halloween last year!

Colin: I know. That’s why I picked him.

Colin and I have been apart. And we've been on rocky, ugly terms where we weren't really speaking. But it's been really strange with him gone this week.

If I get nothing else - even during those stretches where our relationship is nothing and my heart is torn open - I get an email or a text message that mostly says nothing except "how is your day going?"

And, in invisible font below, it whispers to me a reassurance. "See that, Aly? I'm thinking about you."

Most days, it is a few dozen emails, handfuls of text messages. A phone call or two. We live far apart. We don't see each other enough. And he's still a very, very big part of my life. This week without Colin has proved that.

The silence is screaming.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

The internet is my BFF

A tragic event unfolded on Monday, August 13, 2007. My cable went out.

And when my cable television kicked the bucket, so did my home internet connection.


I called Comcast on Monday afternoon to report my outage. As it my luck, none of my neighbors had called in any problems. They would have to send out a repairman. And the next available service appointment Tuesday. August 21.

So pissed.

I definitely did not get to see The Hills. Nor did I get to check my email, read blogs, shop online, pay bills or download music.

This is not okay. I cannot deal without a consistent internet connection for any extended length of time. I am sick and I have addictive tendencies, yes, but I also pay exorbitant amounts of money to Comcast every month and I WANT MY SERVICES IN WORKING ORDER AND I WANT THEM FIXED PROMPTLY WHEN THEY ARE NOT.

A week without cable seems like a very long time.

After I went to the gym last night, I packed up my laptop and ran off to the safe haven that is Panara Bread for some soup, salad and internet surfing. I spent an hour or so reunited with my laptop (and it felt so good).

When I got home I figured out that if I have my laptop in my bedroom, squeeze myself up against the window, cross my fingers and recite the alphabet backwards, I can “borrow” an unknown neighbor’s wireless.

It sucks ass, but it will get me through Tuesday because...YOU CAN WATCH FULL EPISODES OF THE HILLS ONLINE!

I had no idea until I saw it posted at Perez Hilton and Pink is the New Blog this morning. Sure, MTV replays new episodes of their hit shows every two hours. But I didn’t want to wait until Saturday night when I’ll next be at Mom and Dad’s.

Oh, internet. This is why I am obsessed with you. Because you are peace, love and joy and because you bring me TV shows when I want you and because I can gank you from my neighbors without them knowing and you’re a really, really great way to kill time at work.

If only I didn’t have to get you from Comcast, sweet internet. Those filthy bastards.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

An objective assessment

Colin is shorter than I prefer.
He drinks too much.
He works too much.
He’s an awful communicator.
He doesn’t call with the frequency that I desire.
He is messy.
He knows he is messy.
He doesn't care that he is messy.
He procrastinates like it is his one calling in life.
He’s weird about pretty much everything.
He is lacking in that male I Know Most Things About Most Sports gene.
He’s too picky of an eater.
T-shirts make up too much of his wardrobe.
He cannot cook.
He has all of the makings of an overly intense soccer dad.
He’s oddly sensitive to gentle teasing.
He doesn’t have the education he is capable of.
He starts projects that he doesn’t finish.
He’s injury prone.
He lets his job run his life.
He spends money like the frivolous bachelor that he is.
He knows everyone. Everyone knows and loves him. And thus I am forced to share.
He’s entirely too stubborn.

And, in my eyes, he’s still perfect.

Monday, August 13, 2007

You want random? You came to the right place.

I’m in a decent mood.

I woke up quite chipper – feeling perky and refreshed, which was entirely unlike how I woke up feeling on both Saturday and Sunday morning. I didn’t work over the weekend. What I did do was go to the bar on Friday AND Saturday night (how unlike me!), stay out exceptionally late and get up disgustingly early.

Saturday morning: had to skate.
Sunday morning: was awoken by one of my employees, panicking because whoever was supposed to open the building wasn’t there yet and she was waiting outside...with a bunch of customers.

This morning, I woke up and I took my shower and I went to turn on Good Morning America only to find out that my cable was out. Which means I didn’t get to check my email, either.

Ugh. Hate that.

Needless to say, I got ready with a bit more speed than I am accustomed to.

My workweek did not start out well. By 11:10 am, I was ready to quit. Or cry. Possibly both. I have ironed out the multitude of issues that mucked up my morning and tucked away my crabby persona. As much as I like to complain, I would much rather be happy.

Here’s what I am excited about:
1. I am fairly certain that my graduate school program has received all necessary transcripts. For a while, it was looking like I wouldn’t get them in time from the out-of-state program I did (for grad school credit) the summer after I graduated. And they wouldn’t look at my application until they got those transcripts. Fingers = crossed.
2. SEASON PREMIER OF THE HILLS. Under no circumstances will I move from in front of my television between 10 and 10:30 pm.

In case any of you were wondering: my mom’s birthday is two weeks from today.

I got new ballet flats on Saturday. The cuteness of this pair of shoes is unrivaled by any pair of shoes in my closet.

Colin is out of town this week with the team that he’s coaching. It’s a strange, empty, there-is-no-chance-that-we’ll-spontaneously-get-together feeling. He hasn’t been gone for more than a few days at a time in the entire time that we have been, er, um, hanging out (cough, cough). Or however you’d define the maze we have been meandering through for two and a half (!!) years.

Please note: there are a few things in my life that I can/will write a bit of substance about. These topics include (but are not limited to):
1. Big sister/little sister bar night - twice in one weekend!
2. My cousin's wedding and what I will wear.
3. To move or not to move, that is the question.
4. I am great, here's why.

Stay tuned, bitches.

Friday, August 10, 2007

Dawson, Rose Dawson

A little girl just told me that I looked like "the girl from Titanic."

This is probably just because I have curly hair.

It is most certainly not because Kate Winslet and I share the same curves.

I'm still flattered.

And a little curious as to why a 4-year-old has seen Titanic.

Thursday, August 09, 2007

Incest is best

My company hired a graphic designer, Greg, and fired him at 87 days of employment. Typical behavior, doing anything they can to weasel out of paying unemployment.

I never met Greg, because he worked at our corporate office and I work here, but I would email him my various graphic/website needs and requests almost every day.

A few days after Greg was let go from my company, I met Colin and a buddy of his at the bar. I recognized this friend – who I previously did not know – immediately. I’d played coed soccer against him more than a few times.

His name is Greg.

And you see where this is going.

It wasn’t until after I left the bar that Colin called me and was like, “do you know who that was?”

I was blissfully clueless.

Colin told me. I blasted him for not telling me before. I was floored by what a small, small, small world we live in. And then we laughed about it. Colin relayed the reasoning Greg was given for his termination (complete bullocks); I gave him the real story.

A few weeks ago, I went out with Colin and Greg again. We somehow managed to avoid the subject of work. By awkwardly and consciously dancing around it.

Colin invited me out with him and Greg tonight. “It would be fun. Blah blah blah. You’re already going to be in the neighborhood. And on and on and on. We might be out a little late. Blah blah blah.

"Oh. And you can meet Greg’s new girlfriend.”


"Actually, you can re-meet Greg’s new girlfriend."


"He’s sort of, um, unofficially, ah,’s Kellyann."

Colin’s girlfriend from high school.
My old soccer teammate.

Let me summarize this for you: this random guy who worked for my company, who I used to play soccer against, who is Colin’s friend is dating Colin’s high school girlfriend, who was my soccer teammate...while she was with Colin.

That, my friends, is incestuous.

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

Did you hear that?

In case you missed it, that was the sound of a very big step.

I submitted my graduate school application today. Sent it off without crossed fingers, held breath or a nervous squeal. Freaking out need not apply.

It is now officially out of my hands.

Tuesday, August 07, 2007


Self-conscious about my arms. My Sunday soccer team wears sleeveless jerseys and three times over the course of the season I have had my teammates ask me if I’ve been working out. I’m afraid I’m getting man arms.

Guilty. My cousin Danielle’s birthday was last Wednesday and I still haven’t called or emailed her.

Anxious about my grad school personal statement. I want it done and enviably perfect rightthissecond. I’ve made some good headway over the past two days – it isn’t like I’m stuck in a stalemate – I’m not at a point of desperation. My transcripts haven’t arrived yet, anyway, and they won’t look at my application until they do.

Hungry. But I don’t like to eat my lunch too early, because then I’m starving again before the end of the day.

Embarrassed of my feet. This soccer season has absolutely trashed my feet. If you’re looking for bruised and broken toenails, calluses, blisters, swollen toes, and general nastiness, I’m your girl. Otherwise, you might want to stay away from me when I’m wearing sandals.

Excited for Kevin and his wife. They’re having a boy!

Cold. I got to work today in the midst of a torrential downpour. Despite my adorable pink umbrella, I got plenty wet. I’m dry now, but I still haven’t been able to warm up. Am currently drinking hot water in an attempt to warm my innards and my hands.

Unmotivated. Last week, work was an endless barrage of exhausting crap thrown on me from all angles. Yesterday was much the same. Today I can see (a sliver of) the surface of my desk and I think I would like to spend my afternoon reading blogs and checking my email every four minutes.

Sleepy. I made an ice cream pie last night to bring to work today. Due to kickboxing class and a terribly long line at the grocery store, I didn’t get started on it until 9:00 pm. And you have to wait between layers. I definitely had to set my alarm clock for 1:00 am and drag my ass out of bed to slop on the final layer. It’s a damn fine ice cream pie, though. It’ll be worth it.

Inarticulate. This is one boring-ass excuse for a blog entry, if you ask me.

At least I tried.

Monday, August 06, 2007

Prematurely counting myself out

When I was breaking the news to my mom about graduate school, I was gushing about all of the scholarships and assistantships and other opportunities that are offered by either the program or the university.

While listing off anything I thought I would be or could be eligible for, I slipped in The Ultimate. My dream. The ideal scenario. Etc.

“Oh!” I said to my mom, feigning forgetfulness, “and there is also this ultra competitive program, where you work 20 hours a week in the library and you get tuition and full health benefits and a stipend.

“Wouldn’t that be great? It is really competitive to get a place in the program, obviously. Places only open up after someone graduates. You’d have to be really good and really smart. I would never be eligible.”

My mom yelled at me.

You ARE really good.
You ARE really smart.
Why on earth would you think that you wouldn’t be good enough?

Which were all valid points, really.

I didn’t realize that I was so quick to sell myself short.

Friday, August 03, 2007

Resolution Review 7

1. Read 12 novels.
My book o' June was John Irving's Until I Find You, which I had been trying (unsuccessfully) to get into for nearly two years. I started and put down that book a handful of times. Once I got into it (which didn't take as much effort as I'd put into it during my failed attempts), I really enjoyed it. I shouldn't be surprised. I love John Irving.

I'm through 9 novels in 2007. Not too shabby.

2. Find a new job or go back to school. Or, ideally, find a new job AND go back to school.
Graduate school is looking more and more like a reality. If I can get that personal statement written.

3. Go to the gym with increased frequency.
Gym: I made it to the gym 13 times in July, which isn't all the bad considering that I was in Vegas and played a awful lot of soccer. I have made 92 trips to the gym in 2007; my lofty goal is 175.
Skating: Three. Which is truly sad.
Soccer: I played 7 games in July. The holiday helped keep the games to a reasonable amount, which my old joints really appreciate.

4. Not make a weight-related resolution.
Honestly, I'd say that 98% of the time these days, I'm happy with my body. For an adult female, that seems pretty good.

5. Knit more.
This month, my excuse will be that I was afraid that my knitting needles would get confiscated at the airport.

6. Stop the incessant purchasing.
So good. Even in Vegas! My credit cards and my bank accounts thank me tremendously.

7. Visit with my grandparents more.
I saw Grandma and Grandpa twice this month. We had a really nice dinner to celebrate Meg's 21st birthday. Last weekend, we all got together for Aunt Marie's birthday - dinner at Bahama Breeze followed by Hairspray at the theater.

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 downed a cup of my favorite coffee/sugar sludge last week despite giving up the juice, and I was doubled over in pain a short while after. Not pleasant. But in line with my goal!

9. Become a sweet-ass juggler.
You know how I didn't have any dedicated juggling practice in June? I didn't in July, either.

10. Allow myself to trust Colin.
For the most part, Colin and I had a good month. He's finally learning a thing or two about making an emotional investment. It's refreshing and it makes me hopeful.

July’s resolution of the month: Rededicate myself to the job search
I wanted to apply for 20 jobs. I applied for three. After looking for jobs for a year and a half now with no success, I think that it is time to change directions. My resolution o' the month was obviously a resounding failure, but I think I'm on the right track.

A pinch to grow an inch: August’s resolution of the month
Floss my teeth...every day!

Every day starting today, that is. I have an appointment with my dentist on the 24th. Better late than never!

On 2007's resolutions:
The Original
Resolution Review 1
Resolution Review 2
Resolution Review 3
Resolution Review 4
Resolution Review 5
Resolution Review 6

Thursday, August 02, 2007


Meg works at a summer day camp.

Max and Paige have never been to summer camp.

It made sense for Max and Paige to stay with my parents last week, hitch a ride with Meg to camp, and participate that a quintessential rite of childhood summertime. The kids had a blast, running around like little maniacs, making friends by the busload, singing songs and playing games and sliding down an enormous slip ‘n’ slide. Camp was exhaustingly fun – Max would fall asleep on the drive home every day.

For a week, they got to be normal kids. Without a mom addicted to prescription painkillers. Without a dad whose car was recently repossessed.

They shared my bedroom, fighting about who got to sleep on the top bunk and who would be relegated to the bottom. (The compromise, of course, was switching every day.)

I missed out on all of the summer camp excitement. The kids were gone by the time I got to Mom and Dad’s on Friday afternoon.

Their overnight bags were sitting at the front door, waiting for my uncle to pick them up on his way home. There was another bag – just a standard plastic bag – sitting on the kitchen counter. I dug through it, trying to figure out if the clothes inside belonged to the kids.

One of the first items I came across was a pale pink bra.

I own a pale pink bra. It is one of the few bras that I own that isn’t a Wonderbra. Mom bought it for me at Victoria’s Secret this winter.

While the color of the bra matched, the fabric seemed different than I recalled my Victoria’s Secret to be made of. I pulled it out of the bag to investigate, seeking out the tag to confirm.

I saw the size first. 34-A. My size. It must be my bra.

Oh. Wait. I don’t own any bras by Maidenform GIRLS.

My 10-year-old cousin wears the same size bra as me. Gah.
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