Confession #81

I am disgusted with myself when I use winking emoticons in instant message conversations. I never wink in real life, why would I cyber-wink*?

I know it has to do with conveying emotion and letting the reader on the other side "read" your emotion. But a wink!? I should start obnoxiously winking with grandeur in real life after half the things I say. It only seems fair to conduct myself in the same manner both on and off line.

It sicks me out, and I just can't seem to stop.

*How creepy is the phrase cyber-wink? Eww.

Casting Stones

I apologize for being a bad blogger lately. I've been rather distracted with planning an extended "friends-are-coming-to-visit" vacation, securing a new job, completing an old job, and trying not to die of heat stroke. I recognize this does nothing for you in the meantime.

Forgive me my trespasses as yall have trespassed. I consider myself a frequent blogger, so let him who is without blogging sin cast the first stone.

Thank you, thank you, I'm here all week.

In the meantime, while I try to find the strength to blog again; I'll leave you with a list.

Though I love Pop Culture, I absolutely cannot stand:

1. Dating shows on MTV.
2. The phrase "dancing for their life" on So You Think You Can Dance?"
3. Athletes who rap.
4. Movie trailers that start all super intense and menacing with the voice (yeah, you know the one), and it ends up being a really lame kid's movie, like Garfield or Spongebob.
5. When animals react in movies like they're people. An eyebrow raise, a head tilt, a shiver, etc.
6. Kanye West
7. Post-Idol fascination with Sanjaya ...
8. Hollywood coke/alcohol/anorexic starlets (yes that's you Paris, Lindsay, MK & A, Nicole, Kate, etc.)
9. Celebrity couple concatenated names. Seriously, should have let it die after Brangelina.
10. The 24/7 Paris coverage. Homegirl went to jail. She's out. Her life of doing nothing can resume.

And if you're STILL bored, watch this video. John Krasinski (Jim Halpert) and Conan O'Brien. Worth a watch:

After these messages, we'll be right back. (Saturday morning cartoon theme-song anyone?)

Liquid Movement

I'll admit. I've posted this video already. But it cracks me up! I haven't seen it since October, and have been rolling in my seat just now rewatching. Stephanie and I used to try to "dance out" our favorite moves.




Seconds 51-47 are still my favorite. (Boo. This one counts down instead of up.)

I'll ask again: is he a little person or a child? Then, comment your favorite "oddity" of the video. I'll start.

This video is crazy odd because Menudo is making an appearance in a Bollywood video.

Facelift

Alright yall. For the 2nd time in my blog's history, I have changed the template. The black and white and red all over just wasn't cutting it anymore.

(To tell you the truth, I was inspired by my older sister Alaina's mad layout skills. I've got to keep up--I'm supposed to be the "tech-y" one!)

If you hate the new layout, let me know why -- it's a work in progress. As a disclaimer, Blogger templates have always freaked me out; that's why I have never changed from the standard. But it's time to break free! Oh wow, my favorite song from High School Musical just popped into my head. I'd listen, but my iPod broke. Randomly. Without reason. I really shouldn't be shocked anymore.

Sorry the photos on the posts below are skittywumpus--they're set to lay in my old layout. New and improved people, new and improved!

So there you have it, a layout that's a little more robust; and hopefully a little more warm and inviting. Come, stay awhile, and if you can figure out how I can use my blog to become rich and famous and quit work alltogether, suggestions are definitely accepted.

As always, thanks for reading. If you have any requests, please make them... I'll write a blog about just about anything requested. Stay tuned for the Summer 2003 Lice blog; coming your way shortly (thanks Rachie for the request!). Happy Tuesday all -- I appreciate all of you (except maybe any creepers who are reading this).

Joining the Commuters

Hi everyone, I quit my job today.

Thanks, and good night.

The Way Life Should Be

The motto affixed to every Maine state sign is "Maine: The Way Life Should Be." I kind of like that.

Check out the photo on your right. Doesn't that look like the way life should be?

Now back to the travel log.

Jenni invited some of us to her parents' vacation home on Square Pond in Maine. How cool is this--the house is actually on an island that can only be reached by ferry. Treasure Island has no cars, and everything (even building materials to build new homes! trash! women and children!) has to be sent over on the baaaaarge.


Julie, Joseph, Kylee and I were only in Maine 24-hours but made the most of it by partying like rock stars. Here's J-rad and I on the boat.

We boated, we swam, we sat out, we walked the island loop, we read trashy magazines, we played Phase Ten (yes! all 10 phases! yes! no one quit! yes! i won!), we laughed, we ate, we drank Cherry Coke Zeros, we slept, we felt the wind in our hair and the sun on our faces, we had a grand time.

Side note: Being back in Maine, especially driving on the windy roads at night totally flashed me back to Summer 2003 when I was a camp counselor in Maine. I haven't even opened the can of stories yet on that one. Be prepared for stories about the summer I spent picking lice. Rock on.

Side note dos: When I said "windy" above, I meant "wine-dy" like wine-dy roads. Not roads that have wind. A co-worker of mine and I have been discussing the spelling and aren't quite sure what it should be. I guess I could just google it, but what's the fun? But really, windy? Windy? Streets with winde? Wine-d? Is windy (wine-dy) the adverb of to wind (wine-d)? Whined? Ah! Why am I getting caught in a word trap? Where are my copywriter friends?!

Long story short, if this is the way life is supposed to be, sign me up.

Once...

... Alicia got married and my eyes were closed the whole time.

And now...

... a tennis analogy.

It's a natural given that in tennis, your ability of play usually matches your opponent. (Okay, at least for me.) Generally, you return volleys at a similar speed and strength as they're hit. If your opponent is a lazy player, typically you become one as well.

On the other hand, if your opponent's forehand travels with exceptional speed or he/she hustles to pick up balls and really commits to rallying--then as a player, I find that I rise to the occasion and my playing improves. Quite drastically. This is why I like to play up (thank you Sarah Schmidt. You are a killer.).

Here's the analogy:

In life, our output mirrors our oppositional input. If we're not challenged, with weakness or temptation or indecision, we become sluggish and slow in our progression. We plateau. We either mire in mediocrity or worse, we slide down what can quickly become a slippery slope.

On the flipside, if we're pushed outside our comfortable level of play, with the right attitude--we rise to the occasion. Our playing improves, and we better deal with the slicing backhands and cross-court shots we never would have hustled to before.

Without a challenge we cannot improve. Think on it.

And call me to play.

Speechless

Today I made penitence for my fructose-indulgent sins.

One hour and $580 later, here I am, making my video blog debut:

Roots

Lately, there's been a lot of talk about roots on this here blog. In keeping with that theme, and in overwhelming response to Friday's post, I made a decision about my hair.

I came into this world with flaming red hair, so I'm taking it back to the old school. Believe it or not, the baby below is actually me. Don't feel bad that I wasn't a cute baby, I've fully admitted it and clearly accept it. (Can you tell it's me? I've still got that crazy widow's peak and cowlicks going on. Not so much going on is the emaciated legs, one-piece sleepers and old man/primate look. ... I hope.)















That's right friz-ends. I decided to keep with the red for another go-round. Honest, honest, honestly, I had full intentions going into the salon of coming out blonde, but knew that I would leave a redhead. Rachel is a good convincer!

I had specific requests for me with red hair with actual other people. Fine Kendall, your wish is my command.

Some of my absolute favorite ladies in B-Town: Marie, Kylee, and Julie:

Here's my sounding board and one of my biggest supporters herself: (and a perfect example of a downward-sloping smile:

LEFT: I have impeccable balance. Try to figure those angles out.

RIGHT: The name of this sculpture was literally "Feral Goose." Remember how much I hate birds (especially geese)? This is my both kicking and punching that feral goose.

So, which is the strangest? The fact that I was actually born with the exact hair color I have now? That I actually had thin legs once upon a time? That there are finally documented photos of me being *outside* in Boston? That I can't just let go of the terrible, terrible injustice those geese did to me? That I accidentally wore two very different earrings the entire night? That the night ended up with me eating a spoonful of Miracle Whip? The fact that I actually blogged on a Sunday?

Polls are Open

Okay friends. An interactive blog!

The time is half-an-inch past when I need to do something with my hair. Two options and I'm taking a vote. I could literally go either way (back to blonde or a deeper red), but I'm going to open the polls reality TV style and let my fate hang in the hands of my readers.

Please comment your vote: I think I'm going to try to have Rachel do it tomorrow (Saturday). Start voting --

BLONDE:

RED:

Ready.... set.... go!

Confession #47

I watched the season (series?) finale of One Tree Hill last night and my heart hurt a little as the gang said their final goodbyes.

What a craptacularly awesome show.

The Bob Bob Blog

I love getting dressed up. Know me, know this. So of course I jumped on the train Jenni was conducting—an evening of mocktails and formal attire at The Charles Hotel in Harvard Square. There Jared, Julie and I were. Standing in the hotel, waiting for the rest of our party to show up. Dressed to kill (see above). Enter Bob Vila. Bob Vila. Chalk another another quasi-celebrity spotting to my list.

Let me state, for the record, that I wanted, OH SO BADLY, to take a picture with Bob Vila for this, your viewing pleasure. I thought long and hard about it, and even had a second opportunity (as he walked directly by us again in the very empty lobby), but couldn’t muster the courage to ask “Mr. Fix-It” himself for what would have been a very funny and vertically-challenged photo. The Vila is approximately 5’4” and looks just like you imagine – kacki pants, plaid shirt and all. (On an unrelated note, what kind of superhuman baby would The Vila and Martha Stewart have? That child would just ooze smarmy charm and handiness.)

There Jared, Julie and I were. Standing in the hotel, waiting for the rest of our party to show up. Dressed to kill. Enter Bob Weir. Bob Weir. Chalk another another quasi-celebrity spotting to my list.

Let me state, for the record, that I didn’t even know who Bob Weir is (founding member, Grateful Dead.). Good thing Jared did. Again, I wanted, OH SO BADLY, to take a picture with Bob Weir, for this, your viewing pleasure. I thought long and hard about it, and even had a second opportunity (as he walked directly by us again in the very empty lobby), but couldn’t muster the courage to ask “Mr. I Don’t Remember the Last 30 Years” himself for what would have been a very funny and chemically-challenged photo. The Weir is approximately 6’4” and looks just like you imagine – 110 pounds of stonewashed black jeans, black leather vest, long grey hair/beard, skull cap and all. (On an unrelated note, what kind of superwreck of a human baby would The Weir and Mary Kate Olsen have? That child would just ooze stringy hair, translucent skin, homeless clothes and a propensity for illegal substance.)

Okay, that's all for the celebrity viewings. We wanted, OH SO BADLY, to see Bob Saget and complete the Bob-trinity, but alas, our hope was in vain. Instead, Julie and I took photos.

My bangs are getting long. Isn't Julie HOT!?

Our sitcom photo:Me, with the open mouth, because I'm beginning to think I'll never smile normal again. I forgot how!
Enter J. Schwehr, the seven-letter, one-vowel, one-constant last name wonder.

Again, the red is a good hue, because Julie is lookin' hot hot hot! (Sing it with steel drums in your mind; it improves the experience ten-fold. I promise!)

This is me, again, not knowing what to do with myself, and again, using too many commas.

Jared gave two thumbs up for the Bobs.

Julie and I couldn't stop giggling over the tongue-twister that was rapidly becoming the Bob/Bob Blog. or the Blog of Bob and Bob. Which all brought back to mind Scott Baio's appearance as Bob Loblaw on Arrested and the always funny "Bob Loblaw's Law Blog." Try saying it outloud fast, and I promise you'll giggle. There I go again, with the commas, and the promising. It all ends now.

At Last

Today, I got confirmation of what is rapidly becoming the best news of my summer. Nate, Joe, and Dave have officially bought their tickets to spend the 4th of July with me in B-Town.

Here we all are at my Birthday Disco Skate Extravaganza:

All with me....... AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. The party of eager anticipation will continue inside my stomach for the next two and a half weeks until they're here. I don't get giddy very often, but I am kind of enjoying it!

Prepare to be bored

• I was parked on Newbury Street this morning talking to Alaina on the phone when a man on foot started screaming at a cab. He got up in the cabbie's face and started pounding on the car. He then proceeded to kick the door twice. The cabbie pulled over and got out. Screaming ensued. I took out my camera and was prepared to start videoing. Unfortunately, traffic got heavy, the screaming match subsided, and I realized I was being a most terrible phone companion. Sorry Lainey!
• I was in Rachel's chair at the salon, about to get my bangs cut, when I realized I do like the natural flip they're self-styling themselves into. At least the humidity is good for something around here.
• Paris is out of jail and I'm annoyed. Proof we bow to the rich and powerful.
• There are four girls who live in our house and only one shower. Initially, I thought this was going to be a problem. It has not. For the third time in five months, I had to wait in line for a shower this morning. Of course it was on a day that I had a "can't-be-late" appointment in the Back Bay. No worries though, it all worked out.
• I had the greatest time out with Jenni, Colleen, and Rachel last night. We did some mad shopping and ate at the Texas. I purchased the greatest jeans and a shirt or two. I had will power in not purchasing the 4th-of-July-dresses to end all 4th-of-July-dresses. Shame, I know. But I've gotta exercise self restraint somewhere, right?
• I still have the crapper McCrapper of phones. On the docket for the weekend is shelling out the money to upgrade my phone and my life to where I was a week ago sitting pretty without a technological care in the world.
• The lights in my room are STILL OUT. Dear Landlord, I'm refusing to pay June's rent until you come find the circuit breaker in my room and let me come back from the dark side. Left in the dark, NatA!
• Believe it or not, I'm not a very good swimmer. (Reference the story where I nearly drowned in a white squall.) I also don't particularly like being wet. Believe it or not, I am actively seeking out water this weekend. Lake Winn. or Walden Pond -- it will happen.
• I also bought cake pans to create a birthday cake masterpiece this weekend. Maybe pictures early next week?
• So You Think You Can Dance? is back on, and it makes me extremely nostalgic for last summer's living/watching/obsessing with my girls in Sugarhouse. How much can change in 12 short months.
• Speaking of my Sugarhouse girls; three of them left for three months in Uganda this week. I've got all kinds of phone minutes now. Any takers?
• How boring is this post? On a scale of 1 to 10, I give this an 8. Sorry friends, I've got nothin'.

Challenge & A Promise

Ask God if he loves you. He'll let you know.

Everywhere You Look

Answer me this:

Remember that hit show "Full House?" Who exactly was that show's target audience?

Too old to be young.
Too young to be old.

Too after-school-special to be after-school.

Too corny to be smart.
Too smart to be ...

... oh wait. Not too smart.

But really. This isn't a rhetorical question. I'm genuinely interested. I mean, we watched it as kids, but all that adult business of three men and their little ladies? The parenting issues? The bad-boy turned good-uncle theme? The woodchuck? The Beach Boys?!

Who were they trying to reach!? Oye. Add this to the mysteries we'll have to learn about in Heaven.

Rewards & Requests

$100 cash money to the person who recovers my phone. The call logs indicate I still have it somewhere. But there's a craaaaaaaaaazy mystery surrounding the whole thing that boggles even the mind of the T-Mobile workers. Only the randomest for the random...

Meanwhile, I literally don't have any one's phone number. I remembered exactly five phone numbers. Home, Dad's Cell, Krista, Jamar, and Alaina. I know quite a few more than five people. Like maybe eight. Ten on a good day.

Shoot me a text with who you are and I'll save you--or shoot me an email and I'll enter it manually, the old fashioned way.

In other, completely unrelated news, my roots are growing in so fast and look totally weird. In fact, I look dandruffy. Or like I'm greying. Maybe I am. It's been a good week. Pregnant, dandruffy and grey. Sounds like a good country song huh?

In Addition

Shalom friends.

In addition to the tragedy that has befallen my life of late, my cell phone is MIA; most likely KIA.

Hence, I am relatively unreachable on nights and weekends when I'm not at work and far from a computer (which is freakishly broken right now too).

I am not avoiding your calls or texts. I love you. Shoot me an email, gChat me, or send me some love through a comment.

I need a hug. And a stiff Diet Coke.

Baby Baby, how was I supposed to know?

I don’t have any idea how to start this blog. I want it to be clever and “hook” you into reading the rest. Storytelling isn’t my strongest skill—but this story needs to be told. I guarantee that all the events of the below story are true and factual. Bare with me as we get this story started…

It’s ingrained in us early that we shouldn’t tell lies. It’s unethical, we’re told. We should be honest in every thought, word, and deed, sings the Primary song. But I confess, (and digress), that last night I told a lie. A BIG one.

There I am, checking out at the Target service counter. I was purchasing a few essentials, a birthday gift, and a shirt of the most gorgeous blue color.

It’s at this point in the story that I should just fess up and explain that the shirt was a maternity shirt. I like maternity shirts—they’re built in love-handle disguises. (I also like maternity skirts and bathing suit tops, but that’s a story for another blog.) For the record, I never actively seek OUT maternity clothing, but it finds me on the sale racks and by the time I notice it’s a maternity cut, I’m already sold on the style, cut, or color. (Again, I won’t lie. I’m loving the “tight on the top, loose around the gut” look these shirts produce. Quit imagining me in shapeless t-shirt, I know you’re doing it. Maternity clothes are quite stylish.)

But again, I digress.

There I am, checking out at the Target service counter. I was purchasing a few essentials, a birthday gift, and a shirt of the most gorgeous blue color.

Cashier: “You’re so lucky you can find maternity clothes in your size.”
Me: “Yeah, I know!”
Me (thinking): Anyone can find maternity clothes in their size! THAT’S the beauty of it!

Cashier: “Do you know what you’re having?”
Me (thinking): OHMYGOSH. She thinks I’m actually pregnant. OHMYGOSH. Why am I standing like this? I know I’ve stopped running, but do I actually look PREGNANT? How embarrassing! Wow, this is crazy. OH. MY. GOSH. Really, again, WHY am I standing like this? PREGNANT? REALLY?

Me: “Yes. I’m having a girl.”

Me: “What are you having?”

Cashier: “I’m having a boy and a girl.”
Me: “Oh TWINS! That’s so great!”
Cashier: “Yep, one of each.”

Cashier: “How far along are you?”
Me (thinking): OHMYGOSH. How far along do I look?! I know “I know” the sex of “my baby,” so I have to be at least 20 weeks. I also have some (even if only a miniscule) pride left and I’m obviously not 40 weeks along… HOLY CRAP. I look PREGNANT!?

Me: “Twenty weeks.”

Me: “How far are you?”
Cashier: “Twenty weeks too. Just today.”

Me: “Oh, that’s great.”
Me (thinking): IF SHE ASKS ME WHEN I’M DUE, I AM FREAKING SCREWED. I don’t know how far along I should be! I don’t HAVE a due date! OHMYGOSH. I look PREGNANT? AGAIN, WHY am I standing like this? And better yet, WHEN is “my baby” due?

Me: “So… when are you due?”
Me (thinking): Ha. I’m a genius. … a fake-pregnant genius. … I’m an idiot.

Cashier: “October 18th. But they’ll probably be coming early September.”
Me: “Well good luck with everything!”
Cashier: “You too!”

Hungry, and needing to eat for two, I contemplated my recent pregnancy over a Target hot dog. I sat, rather dejectedly (surrounded by the usual Target café crew—really, there are regulars, and sadly I’m one of them) trying to make reason of my recent turn of events. I lied to that pregnant cashier to save her feelings. I mean, why WOULD a non-pregnant woman be buying maternity clothes? It wasn’t her fault I like it easy and breezy around my stomachal region. If I’m being honest (and why would I stop now? I just admitted to looking, acting, and lying about being pregnant in an open forum), I think I also lied to save face.

And with THAT off my chest, I hereby expel this false fetus from my womb, and will be getting back to the gym.