She laughs too easily & cries too hard...

Time for 2011 to face the music...

2012-01-02T13:16:00.003-05:00

There is a room in my house that is very clearly meant to be a dining room. There is a two-way, swinging door to the kitchen for easy opening when one's hands are full of casserole or some such dish and an open archway to the living room for flow. It is optimally shaped to allow for the placement of a table and chairs.

While I, being the daughter of an architect after all, have the greatest respect for architectural suggestion, we have chosen to go in another direction with the space.

Along with more CDs than two people should probably ever own it houses Indie Jake's ever growing vinyl collection

and the half of a collection of 78s I inherited from my grandparents that ever made it out of Daddy & Chickadee's house.

It is by far our favorite space in the house (and the least cluttered). Right now I am curled up in the red chair with a Low album on the turntable, and the sun coming through the matchstick shades our landlord seems to adore. It is perfect. It is also very conducive to reflecting.

At the end of every year there seems to be a barrage of "Thank goodness, XXXX is over. Next year is going to be better." But obviously, since this happens EVERY New Years, it's not that the past year was really that terrible, it's that we have had an entire year to mount up complaints. So much has happened and the new year seems fresh and empty.

We have had our share of gripes against 2011 here in the Laughs Too Easily household. There have been accidents and illnesses; there have been tears and stress. But, in a rather uncharacteristic move, I'm choosing to look at the brighter side of things. The sun through the blinds side.

2011 was a year I spent entirely as part of the best little family I could ever hope for.

It is a year that we ended without the loss of a loved one which seemed almost inevitable back in July.

2011 was a year that saw a resolution to the two worst angers I was carrying towards people. One through resolution and one through moving on.

It was a year with jobs and health insurance.

But most importantly, it was a year with potential. I'm not making any resolutions as such this year. All I'm saying is that I want to build 2012 on the shoulders of 2011 and come out of this new year in an even better place.

...but hopefully in that better place there will still be the red chair, and the turntable, and the sun through the blinds.

Seriously though guys, you need to reconsider the unitards;they aren't doing anything good for your butts...

2011-10-22T13:32:00.000-04:00

My childhood babysitter was a woman who lived down the street from us. I remember her as being very old but she was probably only in her 60s at the time, then again she could have actually been very old, who knows. Either way she was caring, grandmotherly and used to let me come over and play in the emptied out swimming pool full of car parts and gardening supplies in her back garden. I remember her lecturing me on the importance of writing actual letters and once watching me put a staple through my finger so I would learn not to do thoughtless, silly things (which clearly was not a lasting lesson).

Since they did not go with the traditional choice of flakey teenage sitter, nights when my parents went out were less filled with algebra homework and phone calls to boyfriends (which is what pop culture has led me to think accompanies such caretakers) and more filled with Angela Lansbury. My sitter was extremely fond of watching only two shows: Murder She Wrote and Perry Mason. Many an evening were spent solving a crime or arguing a case, but as soon as Jessica or Perry was done with their duty the TV clicked off. Once in a while she was slow to the button and the next program would start. Traces of space, strange looking characters and that guy I watched on Reading Rainbow would pop up, but inevitably she would flip them off and begin reading Readers Digest.

I never thought much about these glimpses of Star Trek I saw. I was too young to be interested on my own and by the time I was old enough to be in nerd circles where Wars or Trek mattered I had amassed a group of Lucas fanatics as friends. Much as I despise all the whining Luke does in Star Wars IV, I never really explored my other option.

Enter Netflix.

When all of Star Trek went up for stream Indie Jake's trekkie heart was reignited with its love of all things in the final frontier and it was decided that I needed to watch this business. You see his parents, like good nerd parents had taught him in the ways of galaxy exploration and, not to sound too emo, but IJ doesn't have tons of happy childhood memory triggers (or memory triggers at all), so when we hit on one of course I was going to go along.

OH DEAR LORD, I LOVE ME SOME STAR TREK.

Even Wesley's ugly sweaters and Riker's tendency to shtup anything that's female and has a pulse.

True, it took me a while to warm up to the thinking man's undercurrent of Next Gen, constantly exploring what it means to be human, but now I'm hooked. And I've got about 20 more years of episodes to watch!

I'ma say it. Plain and simple.

I'm a trekkie and I didn't even know it.

...now where can I get me a Klingon to English dictionary?

Mary Poppins had her carpet bag...

2011-09-08T23:02:00.000-04:00

You know when you love something even though it is old and worn? The kind of book or garment that any sane person wouldn't look at twice before tossing in the garbage (not even the donation bin, yo).

Meet my purse.

Sure, the fake leather is flaking off and the latch constantly comes unscrewed. That dark spot on the lower left is a cigarette burn from @Blkmarketliver's MCAT celebration (which was about 36 hours after I got the darn thing). But it's bright orange and has just the right pockets so I hang onto it.

Today, I saw that Alice was doing an investigation of the contents of HER purse, and I couldn't help but be enamored with the idea. Old Orange-y is quite the black hole. Who knows what might be inside it. So, I figured I would follow her lead and give y'all a peek.

Click for embiggening.

1. Two pens. Well techinically one pen and one orange Sharpie pen. Two pens.

2. My keys, with their billion discount cards and Hokie tail. When my parents got a key made for their new house I asked them to choose a blank that had a colored plastic head. They chose to get me an extra large Winnie the Pooh themed model. Thanks, mom.

3. There are sunglasses there. I promise.

4. Glasses case. It has a Yelp name tag stuck to the back, but other than that, not terribly interesting.

5. My life.

6. Orange leather wallet I picked up for $10 at an after Christmas sale. See, it matches the purse. Perfect.

7. In ancient times I hear that these were called checkbooks. For some reason I carry mine with me.

8. Unredeemed Broken Social Scene download card I picked up months ago at Starbucks. Guess I didn't want that song so badly after all.

9. Yelp mints with real peppermint oil.

10. 3 Cottonwood Pumpkin bottlecaps. Yeah, that doesn't seem bad at all. I can explain. We collect caps in a decorative vase. I was going to put them in the vase. Yeah, this isn't helping.

11. 2 stickers for my friends' band, Secret Hospital. Rock out!

12. A 10-pack of batteries. Oh, that might explain some of that extra weight. It's good to know that if a Wii party breaks out spontaneously I'll be ready to keep the motes operational.

13. 53 receipts. Yeah, I have no response to this. I started pulling them out and when I got to around twenty it just became embarrassing. 53, y'all. ::shakes head::

14. Beer roster from the NY TAP festival from 2010. Johnny and I went and had a dang good time. It makes me smile when I rifle through it.

15. Moleskin notebook.

16. Complete Besta catalog leaflet. We were at IKEA last week and I needed hands...to help put a Besta on the cart.

17. Pamphlets for, in order: Carmax Service for IJs car, the Mebane, NC Tanger Outlets, cat vitamins, and our cat groomer. I like to have the cat groomer's info on me at all times. *crazy cat lady*

18. Takeout menus from La Shish Kabob (my falafel place) and Smashburger.

19. Miscellaneous financial documents. There are some pay stubs, junk about my student loans that I needed to fax the gov't, and a letter from my landlord letting me know I overpaid him by 50 bucks in February.

20. Volunteer application that I faxed out months ago for a company I have already completed some volunteering with. I think it's safe to say they got it when I sent it. Probably can toss the copy.

21. Pretties by Scott Westerfeld with a copy of my grad school transcript and my airline tickets back from Chicago jammed in it. If you haven't read the Uglies series you should get on that stat. Even my cold, hard, non-YA reading heart loves it.

22. Gift card to National Sandwichery that Indie Jake got me as a combination part-of-my-birthday/eat-some-dang-lunch present.

23. Sponsorers list from the June Yelp Elite event. I swear I peruse this everyday, Nicole. Swear it! (I lie.)

24. Offer for an extended warranty on IJ's car. Apparently I just shove junk mail in my purse now.

25. Recipe for Spicy Shrimp and Grits. Because everything is better spicy. I might just learn to be southern yet...nah.

26. Coupon for a free pair of Gap jeans from the Pico de Gap-o truck at 20sb Summit. I refuse to use this until I lose the 10 lbs I put on this summer. Looks like I have until November, thighs.

27. Anti-baby pills.

28. Concert tickets that I always remember to save but never remember to store. Also, I forgot to number my lighter but it is that red thing hanging out with the tickets. For all my power ballad appreciating needs.

29. Black plastic knife. I don't know why I have this in there either. Maybe in case I need to ward off a very wimpy or hemophiliac attacker.

30. 2 paperclips. We are being thorough here, okay.

31. Watermelon gum.

32. Car clicker battery. It wasn't actually the battery that was the problem. Dang.

33. Advil & Tylenol Cold. I get headaches fairly frequently so I like to keep something on hand. Also useful for blogging conferences when everyone in the room had a leetle too much fun the night before.

34. Not candy. I actually just keep my change in an old Altoids Sours container for quick access.

35. My business cards from the 20sb Summit. Good times had by all.

36. Loose business cards for other folks, 3 of which are for my friends, one is for a chocolate shop in town, one is a PR firm, and one is for honey (but not the kind cheap enough to use as a mask).

37. Pin for Indie Jake's college band Tripleside. There is a long, cute-ish story involved in why I keep this in my purse but that is a story for another time. For now just know that they were awesome. Drop me an email I'll burn you a CD.

38. Pretty little compact mirror. Both mirrors have unglued from the case and are chipped so it's kinda hard to see in them.

39. Tub of Carmex I have had since 2008. F'real. I don't use a lot of Carmex (but I like it).

40. Teal Sharpie that I used to need at work but that we couldn't order individually. IJ gave me this one because the one I had in my desk was running out. He's a sweet man.

41. It's a tampon. I'm a girl. Get over it. Moving on.

42. Charlotte Area Transit Authority (CATS) transfers. How awesome is it that our public transport is called cats though? So awesome!

43. My shoes. These weren't in my purse but I got a little overzealous with the numbering. Sorry.

I'd like to point out that all the junk in my purse barely fits on my coffee table. This is probably not good. I'm thinking I need to keep a better handle on what I throw in there.

...as it is I think I'm approching an event horizon.

This is probably the kinda thing i could have passed off as normal if i'd had a girlfriend do it too...

2011-09-06T22:16:00.000-04:00

You know how sometimes the internet tells you that it has a simple solution to a problem you have been dealing with since puberty and your boyfriend is out of town so you feel like you have free reign to have a little girly liberty. Then before you know it you are standing in your bathroom with the contents of your spice cabinet smeared on your face thinking, "Well, I guess I should photograph this mess for the blog."

I knew you'd know what I meant.

... I don't know if the honey/cinnamon/nutmeg mask helped my acne any, but damn I smelled like a delicious spice cake all night.

You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes you might find you don't know what you want...

2011-08-26T07:00:00.002-04:00

Last night I was hanging out at my very favorite local watering hole knocking back some delicious and hard to find brews. The place was pretty packed and since there are few things more awkward than standing in a crowd of folks alone with not even 20% cell phone battery to hide behind I decided to grab a seat at the deli counter away from the bar. As is wont to happen in this particular establishment I soon found myself talking to the other girl parked at the counter and she invited me to join her group who were en route.

Fabulous!

They showed up and we went through our introductions and before long one of my new chums asked the unavoidable landmine of a question: "So, what do you do?"

I hate answering this. It makes me feel like a fantastic failure every time i have to own up to being a secretary. Even if the people I'm talking to don't know that I have a Masters degree, I know it and I beat myself up wondering how the bottom fell out. Shouldn't I be doing more? Really, Danielle, how lame can you be?

As it turned out, one of the guys in the group also had a psych degree but was currently working in a shipping job. We got to talking about what could have been and he mentioned an outreach program he used to work for. I guess the conversation plus the residue of job shame (and maybe a bit of the brew) got my gears turning because this morning I found myself investigating similar outreach programs in our part of the state. Low and behold, one of them has an open position. Perfect!

Well, almost perfect. You see the position is overnight and the top of the possible pay range is 1/3 less than what I currently make (which, trust me, isn't a ton to start with). Could I manage it, yes, but it is forcing me to really look at what I value. This is a job in the field I studied with a chance to make a difference but I find myself weighing that against the inevitable money crunch and further squeeze it would put on the already limited time I have with Indie Jake.

...sadly, even though this could be what I want, I'm wondering if I want it enough.

Apparently 26 is the year you get a big old bucket of crazy for your birthday...

2011-08-19T07:00:00.000-04:00

I have to say, I'm a little disappointed in myself as both a psychologist and a woman right now.

Of course those little disappointments are overshadowed by one giant feeling of "OMG I am a crazy person! ::embarrassment::" but none the less...disappointments.

One of the first things you learn when you study influence is the idea of bias. We, as humans, don't perceive all information equally. Perhaps most notable among biases is the big, bad Confirmation Bias. That is to say that once an idea worms its way into your brain and sets up camp you are way more likely to notice things that agree with that idea than things that disprove it.

I know about confirmation bias. I know it backward and forwards, upside down, and in the dark.

And yet I stepped in it like a big old horse turd after a parade.

Shame.

You may have noticed that for confirmation bias to take place, there has to be a central idea that you are seeking to prove. Well, in this case that idea is no less mortifying. You see a few weeks ago, while sitting at my desk I remarked to myself that Indie Jake had been suspiciously quiet on the subject of my birthday (which was last Tuesday). "Hrm," I thought to myself. "mayhaps he has something planned."

Did you see that motion off on the side of the screen? That is an idea starting to creep in.

"It's also kinda weird" I continued in my head, "that my parents just decided they should come visit for my birthday. No prompting. Nothing. Just hey, we're coming."

Right there, that was another idea creep. It's already taking hold, gathering evidence.

The next day I was equally as daydreamy. "Didn't IJ say he wanted to replace his wonky desktop with that bonus he got from National Sandwichery last month. He also mentioned something about the TV. I wonder why he hasn't looked into either. He loves techie things."

There goes that Idea. It was setting up tent and starting a camp fire.

"Maybe he has other plans."

And right like that, the idea made itself known. And not just any idea, friends. A big, dumb girl idea.

THE big, dumb, happy girl idea.

Mortifying.

Of course I was wrong and that makes all kinds of sense. Jake is preoccupied, my parents are just overly involved and the money went mostly towards the car issues from a few months ago. The host of other evidence I collected over the following weeks can be just as easily explained, but damned if I didn't confirmation bias my little terrible feminist self right up through Tuesday night.

Obviously, since I am writing about this I have told him after copious blushing and feeling embarrassed. Instead of being angry he gave me a hug (which ironically enough involved kneeling down next to the kitchen chair I was sitting in on his one good knee).

I guess while I may have taken a hit in the psychologist and strong woman sectors, I got a ton of actual confirmation that my judgement is not off in all aspects of my life.

...but I'm still going to blame the whole thing on a 2 week long bout of PMS.

20sb Blog Swap 9: Grown up Summer

2011-08-17T10:03:00.000-04:00

Today's post is part of the 20sb Blog Swap. That means instead of listening to more of my prattle you get a fresh new post from Momma StJ who usually blogs over at Grace, Hope and Frugal Things. The theme of the swap was all things summer so here is what she has to say on the topic. If you want my take on summer, or if you are just looking for some positive new reads, click that link and head on over to her blog.

When I was young, the impending days of summer haunted my every step.

They were the fuel behind my fingers, frantically writing my last writing assignment and the motivation to dance each routine flawlessly during recital week.

Summer. Freedom.

Aside from one week long trip to the beach with my grandparents, my days were filled with fort building, ice cream truck chasing and sprinkler hopping.

My family did not have much, but in the summer less was more.

I lived for summer.

While the snow fell I ran around our tiny town home, losing my mind from being cooped up.

Even though summer came the same time every year, I did all I could to make it come faster, and stay longer.

That meant hiding out in the woods with friends until sunset, ignoring my mothers calls for bedtime.

And getting up at the butt crack of dawn to feel the dewy grass on my feet.

Yes, when I was young, I lived for summer. Life was simple.

Now that I am a grown up, summer has a different meaning for me.

Heat, cook outs, and ice cream.

How I wish I could enjoy those things as I once enjoyed every summer second.

Instead, each summer I fear our AC not working, and having to pay to repair it.

I spend hours deciding the perfect menu for a family cook out.

I no longer try to eat as much ice cream as mom will let me. I limit myself to a small serving to avoid, well, big hips.

Worry has replaced careless summer days.

I find myself yearning for lazy winter days midst the summer humidity.

I can hear the ten year old tomboy in the back of my mind yelling at me for typing that.

Life is hectic and there is never any rest for a grown up in the summertime.

Hey, did you know these couches aren't cat hair-colored after all?...

2011-08-15T07:00:00.009-04:00

Let's play a guessing game. What has four legs, two heads, a vacuum cleaner and makes me want to tear my hair out?

If you guessed "Daddy and Dahling visiting for the weekend" then you are absolutely correct. You can pick up your prize, a years supply of Suneeco Hooting Oil, in the lobby on the way out.

Don't get me wrong, I love my parents really I do, but it is a fact, unchanging and true that my mother and I can't spend more than about 3 hours together before we butt heads. Generally at high decible levels and using language that would make a sailor blush. I'm not proud of it and as I get older I have come to terms with the fact that it is mostly because we are very similar. Still, it is not fun, particularly since Indie Jake has had a rather mellowing effect on my temper at all other times.

There was a fight this weekend. One loud enough to send Daddy scurrying for the guest room to hide. But, as usual, it was much like a summer storm: as short-lived as it was violent.

Once squabbling was off the agenda we could get down to truly important things...and by that I mean my mother presenting me with "some things they found when they were unpacking after their move". Let me make perfectly clear that this means that not only did she encounter these things but she deemed them important enough to move from New Jersey to Delaware, then, when she got to unpacking them, important enough to bring 8 hours to me because I would want them.

"So what did she bring?", you ask. "Surely they must be of great value to you. Heirlooms? Books? Photos?"

No, my friends. Dahling's treasures consisted of a pink afro wig I wore as a troll for halloween when I was 7, a witch hat and wig I wore some time in middle school, and an under-bed shoe organizer that she has tried to force on me 4 separate times (unsuccessfully I might add).

It makes me wonder what "gems" made it into the 3 dumpsters they actully disposed of in the move.

...but damn, the pet hair attachment on that vacuum they brought works well. Probably could have even picked up synthetic pink afro hairs.

The first single will be called "mo' litter, mo' problems"...

2011-08-12T07:00:00.007-04:00

Have you have fallen down the rabbit hole that is Spotify?

If so then you are very aware that it opens up untold wealths of music possibilities. You are also probably aware that it is a bit addicting. Listen to one desired album and before you know it it's 5:30 in the morning and you have just listened to every band you ever liked as a high school sophomore.

For this reason it is not hard to imagine that after trouncing around from one rap song to another while we were both writing the other night, Indie Jake and I decided that what we really needed to follow that Outkast was a fiasco, Lupe Fiasco.

It is an agreed upon truth in our house that Lupe Fiasco used to be an intelligent and talented rapper. I say used to be because while Food & Liquor and The Cool are both go-tos, that what came after is generally considered single-ridden, club appeasing trash. So imagine my surprise when IJ chose to put on Lasers.

In my completely unannoying and totally not whining manner (riiiiight) I began to lament the decline of Lupe and the fact that there were far too few good rap artists anymore. If you read my short letters from wednesday you know my feelings on one Mr. West and while collectives like anticon & Doomtree are holding the line, there could be so much more.

I had just reached my conclusion when a furry invader padded his way across my desk and flopped down next to my mouse.

"Where the f*ck is the cat's rap album?! When is that ish gonna drop? Need to hear some of those fat, kitty beats and dope feline rhymes."

::crickets::

Indie Jake just stared at me. Then we both stared at the cat. He looked back at us unfazed.

"The cat doesn't have a rap album. He doesn't know language."

"The cat has a rap album. You wait. It's gonna be huge."

Well, it turns out I was right. The postman just dropped off the first pressing when he delivered a few short letters that got returned to sender. Y'all, trust me when I tell you that you need to go out to your local record store and pick up a copy. Cat rap: it's the next big thing.

...after the success of the genre shortening of j-pop we are considering a similar move. Cat rap shall be known as c-rap from here out. Catchy, no?

Order up: short letters...

2011-08-10T07:00:00.004-04:00

Dear Turntable.fm,

I knew there was something missing from my online music experience and you nailed it. The ability to make a tiny representation of myself rock out via offbeat head bobbing. High five. Rock on.

Sincerely,
Danielle
---------------------------------------
Dear Throngs of IKEA Shoppers,

Do you always walk like assholes? Seriously, there is no way that you walk like this in the rest of your life. You would be hit by a bus in under a fortnight. This is like remedial walking too. There are freakin' arrows on the floor. All you have to do is follow them at a normal pace and try not to stop in the middle of the dang aisle.

If you cannot accomplish this then I fear furniture assembly may be way out of your league. Get a bean bag.

Sincerely,
Danielle
---------------------------------------
Dear Church's Chicken,

How do you do it. I have never eaten your food and I know it is probably gross, but every time I get tipsy I crave you like Cher craves questionable fashion. Some day I shall know your chicken-y bounty.

Or, you know, not. Funny, sober I don't really care either way.

Sincerely,
Danielle
---------------------------------------
Dear Star Trek: The Next Generation,

I heart you like Picard hearts tea. I want to have your immaculately conceived, aging 4 years a day, radiation emitting babies. It is sad that I went so long without a #startrekucation.

Please don't let Whoopi Goldberg eff it up.

Sincerely,
Danielle
---------------------------------------
Dear Jay-Z and Kanye,

New album you say? Oh let me check. Let me, oh here it is. Yeah, yeah, still don't care.

Sincerely,
Danielle
---------------------------------------
Dear Driver Who Tried Fording the Flooded Road During the Downpour Last Week,

Your Kia is not a submarine. I think we both know that now. All of your oxen have drowned.

Sincerely,
Danielle

...postage comes on the side. Don't forget to tip your lettercarrier.

Maybe i'll just pick up some spackle and spray paint at the home depot...

2011-08-08T07:00:00.001-04:00

I was just watching this vlog from Laura over at Delicious Diva and I was reminded of a run in that I had a few weeks back.

Now if you have been around here for a while, or to be honest even if you haven't, you may have noticed that I am not the most genteel lady ever to grace God's green earth. I'm not so well versed in the finer points of being a girly girl. Unlike many other areas, on this subject I am also willing to admit just how much I don't know. So, when I found myself facing a weekend were I would have the opportunity to meet not only the esteemed folks of Bizzy (which I am totally all about) but also the very funny Rachel King (Let me shorten that story for you: that encounter is the reason the verb "to fangirl" exists. Smooth move fail.) I figured I should maybe put some effort into not looking like a dang hot mess. Add on top of that a coupon sitting in my inbox from a friend who works for a major beauty retailer and it would seem like we have both a problem and a solution, yes?

Not so much.

Apparently, when I said to the salesgirl "Listen, the last time I bought more than one item of makeup Bill Clinton was President. I know nothing. Mold me into a passable woman." she heard "I have a damn clue." Did you know foundation and concealer are different things? Because I didn't - and it seems you need both of them if you have acne. Also, primer is a different thing entirely. That's not to mention regular or matte finish. And pale, fair, or fairly pale color...yeah, fairly pale...that's a thing. What the hell. There is finishing powder and bronzing powder and blush and mineral veils and 17 other kinds of junk that you can brush, blend, and trowel onto your face to look like a civilized human being. Oh and bee tee dubs, that coupon ain't good for any of it.

Dang.

I ended up going with some all in one kit that cost far too much for my liking and that I returned the next day before I left for the encounter. You know what I used? My Bill Clinton makeup. And it didn't make a bit of difference because it was 110 degrees and the AC at the bar we were at shit the bed.

I suppose there was some point where I was supposed to have learned all that makeup jazz but really, when was that? I did not get whatever memo was sent with the date and address. I have no sisters. All my friends in high school were dudes or just as clueless as I. My mom maybe?

Oh wait, Dahling still swears by applying powder blue eye shadow directly with her finger. There goes that.

So consider this a preemptive apology to anyone I meet in the near future (and since it looks like I'm headed to the 20sb Summit, there may be quite a few of you). I will look like a hot mess. A hugely hot mess. And you know what, I'm not sorry, because I don't know any better, I know I don't know any better, and you are lucky I (probably) have pants on.

...now if you'll excuse me I have to go make sure the bridge of my glasses still covers my impending unibrow.

The only thing I may fear more is what my desk will look like on monday...

2011-07-11T07:00:00.003-04:00

I am the 'fraidiest kind of cat. Particularly, I have a petrifying fear of home invasion. So much so that the creaks and cracks that our old house lets out in the night routinely keep me up until 4 in the morning when Indie Jake is out of town. And this is despite the fact that we had our alarm system set up even before our gas service was.

Last year on the weekend of my birthday IJ was supposed to be traveling so I decided that rather than spending my birthday alone I would go up to Jersey to see Johnny. When I returned home I expected the house to be empty. Little did I know IJ had returned home and gathered a group of our friends to wish me a felicitous birthday (and to eat cake). What resulted was me opening the front door, hearing a mans voice, seeing a small group of people come around a corner, screaming, cursing, ducking down into a ball, screaming, and screaming. My home invasion fear…mammoth.

Luckily, the crazy in our house is not without balance. The way I feel about home invasion, Indie Jake feels that way about being underwater. Except replace the screaming, ducking and screaming with freezing and taking deep breaths in. For this reason, the idea of going to the shore over our week of vacation was about as appealing to him as putting gravel in his undershorts.

"But, hun, my parents just moved less than half an hour from the shore…"

"And I haven't been in 2 years…"

"And I love the shore so very very much…"

"And we can go to the Dogfish Head founding brewpub?"

Bingo.

So Tuesday we got to go to the beach. I got to share with Jake all my favorite things about the shore: laying on a blanket reading a book all day, Kohrs Brothers ice cream, walking along the boardwalk, absolutely not going in the water above ones knees, skeeball. The works. Then we rounded it out with some of the tastiest craft brews you'll ever taste. It may not have been the trip we originally planned for our time off, but I'm not hesitant to deem it a success.

…now if you don't mind, I'm going to go back to hanging out with my new best buddy, Senor Soothe-a-caine.

For the man who originated the claim that we are genetically uncool...

2011-06-19T18:08:00.000-04:00

It's Fathers' Day. Happy day to any of you who may have caused a woman to birth a baby, married a woman who had previously come by a baby, chosen to adopt a baby or have a furrbaby (aww so cute!). It is your day and I assume you will use it to do something the merits of which I wholly do not understand because I have lady bits.

By this I mean play golf.

Every Father's' Day Daddy goes out and plays a round of golf. This is generally at Dahling's insistence so I'm not entirely sure he even always wants to go but none the less, this is what he does. The problem is that he only plays one or two other times a year so most of his day is spent wandering into the brush, hitting the ball into water traps and usually injuring a muscle or two. Happy Fathers' Day to you, with earlaps.

I know there are women who enjoy golf, but the phenomenon overwhelmingly an affliction of men. What exactly is it that makes a man desire to take a slim stick and hit an odd looking little ball very far away forcing themselves to go chase after it over and over again I will never understand. I get the having drinks at the clubhouse afterward bit, but couldn't we just skip to that?

Daddy is an awesome man though, and if golf makes him happy then I hope he has all the golf he can stand (again, I'm pretty sure this is 1 round). He has always been there to support me and cheer me on, and sometimes to commiserate about how crazy, out of her gourd Dahling can get. He gave me my love of classic rock, my penchant for terrible jokes, and my understanding of what is important in life.

Happy Fathers' Day, Daddy!

... look, I don't have a ton of my own baby pictures, okay?!

Some people have worry beads, i'm going to need worry pants...

2011-06-17T13:26:00.000-04:00

Guys, it has NOT been a good week at our house. There has been entirely too few moments of laughing easily and entirely to many moments of crying hard.
In times like this I have two instincts. One is to circle the wagons and withdraw into the security of our little three being family. Except one of our wagons - it ain't gonna be circling any time soon. All of its oxen have died...in a collision with another wagon. There will be no mending of axles or changing of wheels and one wagon does a shitty circle make. But in the more figurative sense (the one that actually matters) the problem with my strategy is that National Sandwichery prefers that one of our members continue to do the job for which they pay him...with money...you know the kind you need to buy a new wagon. That job requires out most family circle-needing member to spend the better part of the next week on the road.

The second instinct I have when trouble brews is as deeply routed in my Italian/Eastern European lineage as my junk-heavy trunk and the fact that my eyebrows have been planning a merger since I hit puberty. When I am worried, I want to feed people.

It started normal enough, I wanted to thank Indie Jake's coworker for giving him a lift after the wagon incident. I was going to cook that night anyway. So we had tacos. And maybe I made waaay too much meat but I wasn't sure how hungry he was going to be. And the next day I made a lasagna. A whole big one...for 2 people. But we were both going to be home for a few days and I could take some for lunch and really who doesn't love lasagna...even if it's huge.

As the week got worse the pretense fell away though. When the same coworker was in our living room last night I walked in, looked at him, and in what only seemed like a natural slavic tone said. "I feed you lasagna."

"What?"

"I feed you lasagna. You eat." and I went into the kitchen.

I'm eating the last of the tacos and lasagna for lunch and dinner today so if you are feeling a bit peckish stop by tomorrow. You never know I might be digging a hole for a worry-pig roast.

...is good. Will put hair on chest. You eat.

Once upon a time it was 20sb vlog day...

2011-06-08T03:23:00.002-04:00

This video post is part of 20SB’s Vlog Day and the topic is “Introduce Yourself”…anyone can participate! Details are here.

20-something Bloggers is an awesome community so sometimes (and mind you it's just sometimes) when they say, "Hey lets all get in front of a camera and introduce ourselves on the same day!" instead of thinking that they must have a bag of rocks for brains I go along with it.

So if you woke up today thinking "Dang, I want to watch some girl talk about herself and her life for 3 minutes." you are in luck.

...you know, or if you woke up wanting 3 seconds of cat video.

Never let it be said that i didn't learn anything in college...

2011-05-24T23:39:00.000-04:00

For some reason, I seem to have a lot of friends who are still in college (because really 4 years is only a suggestion) or who are in grad school complaining about writing papers in the last week. This is kind of odd to me because I figured most classes would be out of session right now, but apparently I am wrong. It happens…a lot.

Unrelated to the paper griping, I have also seen a lot of links to articles about how to increase your productivity and the like recently. So I started to think.

I wrote papers for bunch of years. Got pretty good at it too. I should share my super effective She laughs too easily & cries too hard…Paper Writing Method (patent not-so-pending) with all the folks who are mysteriously writing late May papers.

You can thank me later.

Step 1: When the paper is assigned choose to address the topic in one of two ways. Either pick an approach in which you really have no interest whatsoever or pick one that is so personally relevant that it is distracting.

Step 2: No matter which option you chose in the previous step procrastinate writing the paper until at least 48 hours before it is due. If you went with option two you can make a few vain attempts at working on research prior to this but you should rapidly devolve into wet sniffles. (Bonus points if you cry on your research and it becomes illegible.)

Step 3: Read through your research and highlight all the points you think are important. At this point there should be at least 2 articles that you need to use but in which you have found nothing to highlight. Close your eyes, turn to a page and highlight three or four lines. It makes you sound complex and advanced if you incorporate points that have no obvious connection to what you are saying.

Step 4: Have a go at writing but be sure that you make your point in no more than 75% of the number of pages required. Your construction should be tight and logical so as to make expanding on your points to increase page length seem awkward.

At this point it should be late into the night on the evening before the paper is due.

Step 5: Pour over your research looking for some secret additional sections to add while consuming no less than 2 full pots of coffee. The caffeine high will expand you idea of what constitutes a valid, "additional section".

Step 6: Frantically throw in the extra pages you need, mostly from caffeine and sleep deprivation tainted memory. Citations should be questionable at best. It is preferable not to proofread these additions. Your writing should be completed with 15 minutes of your paper being due. For best results try completing the paper on public transportation on the way to class.

Step 7: Turn the paper in and pretend the whole sorded thing never happened.

…and that, my friends, is how you get a graduate degree.

Actually, the one about the stripper union was pretty good...

2011-05-08T15:59:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago, I decided that I had been watching far to much crap on Netflix. This is a very, very easy thing to do since Netflix rivals a sewage treatment plant in the amount of crap available. Want to watch the entire 6th season of Dr. 90210? "Sure!", says Netflix. Every British sketch comedy ever made sound like a fun weekend? "Well I sure hope so, cause it's all just so funny that the total lack of productivity won't bother you", it chimes in. I also may have watched roughly 20 hours of the original Addams family, a reality show about the Philadelphia Parking Authority, and a season of that decorating show starring the guy from Queer Eye.

I know the sane thing would have been to think that maybe I should stop watching so much dang Netflix, period. But I didn't really see that happening. Besides, if I did that when would I get in my recommended daily 3-4 hours of Bonus cuddle time? No, instead I would just use my addiction to teach me things. I would watch documentaries.

It started off well enough. I watched Freakonomics and a touching film about gay marriage. I even think there was value in the one about the MPAA. But, as it turns out, even documentaries can be trash.

So far I have "learned" about:

-why fast food makes you fat
-why fast food doesn't make you fat
-how to organize a stripper union
-how to run an S&M club in NYC
-really, how not to start an organic farm, unless you are very lucky and don't mind having all your neighbors think you run a cult
-how to live without toilet paper for a year and in the process really piss off your wife by refusing to have a second child
-how to brainwash a ton of kids and then brag about it on local radio
-how to shoot a film that makes me absolutely despise what is probably a perfectly lovely family in California, who happen to have an infant
-dirt

I think I need an intervention.

...but not before I watch the one about the parking lot in Charlottesville, VA. I've really been looking forward to that one.

I guess there are worse mental houseguests to have...

2011-04-30T15:56:00.002-04:00

When I was 12 years old I wanted to be a nun. This is particularly impressive since when I was 8 I wanted to be a witch and when I was 21 I wanted to be a sex therapist. I blame this desire entirely upon the goodly sisters at the Salesian summer camp in which my mother enrolled me every summer. (Side note: If you have never witnessed a swimming lesson given by a Sister who must remain in full habit and as such cannot actually get in the water, you are missing out.) They did their best to undo the bad rap that Catholic school instructors have been giving nuns since the advent of rulers.

While I am quite sure I would have been a terrible nun, they did leave a good imprint upon my heart and so, a week and a half ago when I saw Amanda Palmer retweet a Kickstarter project of the day which wanted to use an abandoned convent in Brooklyn as a space to display art, I was more than a touch intrigued.

Initially, part of me balked at the idea of using what had once been a house for such faith-filled women for a wholly secular gallery, but I soon realized that it was a far more respectful to repurpose the convent then to let it degrade. As you can see the project is almost (but not completely) fully funded so it looks like Ms. Sabuncuoglu will be able to go forward with her work. I'm pleased for her, and wish I could get up to Brooklyn to see the exhibit at St. Cecelia's but something about the project is sticking in my mind. It's not the art, or the fact that I'm glad to see this fantastic method of project funding succeeding...it's the nuns.

My mind is filled with the former Sisters of St. Cecelia's in Brooklyn, NY.

Were they recommissioned to a new convent? Were some simply very old? Did some realize that the life they had committed themselves to was not their calling and leave the sisterhood? I feel like they all just disappeared and now their home is empty, available for art.

...and I have an order of vanished nuns in my head.

Maybe the easter bunny will bring someone a nice new pair of earplugs...

2011-04-20T22:25:00.000-04:00

Aaannnnnnnnd we're back!

For those of you who may be checking in on the She laughs too easily & cries too hard Feline Space Program, i regret to inform you that our little catstronaut, when his mission was explained to him, seemed wholly uninterested, uncooperative and even did his wiggle of non-compliance. Even when I tried to bribe him with the promise that the moon was made of cheese, which was the delicious yellow stuff in his food, he was unmoved. So I guess it looks like another year will go by without cats on the moon. For shame.

You know what has absolutely nothing to do with cats on the moon but is proving to be causing just about as much trouble though?

Easter.

You see back in December, when I was at Daddy and Dahling's house I insisted that since I had gone up there for both year end holidays if they wanted a family Easter they were coming down to me. This, at the time, seemed like a phenomenal idea because I wouldn't have to go anywhere and I could force another holiday on Indie Jake, having proven irrefutably (at least in my mind) that holidays are awesome when I insisted that we put up a Christmas tree. (By the way, the Christmas tree is standing, still fully decorated in our unused upstairs ex-office. Every time I go up to look for something its like a festive power up.)

The problem with my plan is turning out to be that Dahling is a bit of a holiday control freak and the division of labor is a nightmare. As a result she is essentially bringing the whole easter meal down from Jersey/Delaware. I managed to convince her I should get the non-cured meat here, but other than that I'm pretty sure the only thing I am in charge of is greens. It literally took us 4 conversations to decide who would make the easter bread…hint, its not me.

Indie Jake seems to take great fun in my frustration over my mother's inability to make a firm decision about task delegation. That may or may not have something to do with my own complete and utter wishy-washiness. "Yes," I say to him, "the girl who took 2 hours to decide where we were going for dinner last night is frustrated at someone else's indecision." He'd better get his chuckles in now though, because in my family holiday's aren't fun till the screaming starts.

…I doubt he'll be laughing when dodging projectile kielbasa.

So this was originally supposed to be for the 20sb blog swap last month but my partner went MIA...

2011-01-16T23:20:00.000-05:00

20SB Blog Swap: All leaps are giant as far as cat-kind is concerned…

So apparently the topic for this latest blog swap is Things We Will Do Next Year That We Have Been Putting Off for Far Too Long. When I asked Indie Jake what I should write about he said "Writing in your blog consistently" but I find this neither funny nor helpful (besides he still has months worth of photos for another stalled blogging project that he is supposed to send me, so he needs to shut his dang mouth).

I guess the reason why it is so hard for me to think of some long abandoned goal to champion is that right now I feel like I'm in a good place. This year closes with me out of school (again), recently going permanent at my job, finally settling into my new-ish city, and getting cozy in a super domestic lifestyle with my little bf-self-kitty family. Sure, there is onward and upward to go, but seriously, right here would be an awesome place to rest on my laurels. Wait a minute...

onward and upward, eh?

That's it. I'm putting it out there right now. 2011 is the year Slte&cth... goes to the moon!

That's right y'all. I am starting a space program. For 25 years I have accepted the boundaries of this planet, but no longer. We shall initiate catstronaut training just after the new year. Bonus will go through rigorous drills and classes including, space shuttle piloting, low gravity preparation, and instruction in how to distinguish moon dust from litter. Sure we will need to schedule time for naps into the mission, but it is worth it to have the first kitty on the moon.

I will, of course run mission control, though I anticipate some issues with catstonaut compliance with my directives. I'm thinking in advance of the mission we will need to launch a series of lunar pods full of Seafood Feast in Gravy. Maybe then we can keep our on site "man" focused. We will need to conduct extensive testing as to the scratching quality of the moon and whether or not there is any potential in the over-educated, under experienced, lunar social services market. Also, Bonus will be in charge of scouting out a good spot for a sandwichery, so that IJs company can go inter-celestial body-al.

That's it my frinds! (Well technically, Kristina's friends probably.) Action! You heard it here first. In 2011, I am putting a cat on the moon.

...now who wants to fund us?

NaBloPoMo, its oveeeeer...

2010-11-30T23:57:00.000-05:00

Well, I missed 6 days (it may appear that I missed seven but one post apparently saved to drafts instead of publishing and I just now noticed since it was when we were on the road). That is either piss poor or a B-.

I'm going to revert to my high school standards and say that a B- is okay with me.

Just to let y'all know, I have plans for a sort of re-intro video if I can figure out how to put that business together. Should be a good time...or a hot mess. Who knows. In the mean time go back and read last night's post if you are craving more.

...it's actually funny for once.

Generally i'm against airing ones laundry but in this case ima do just that...

2010-11-29T22:40:00.000-05:00

Dudes, peace out for a second. I need to talk to the ladies.

Girls, I wanna talk for a second about fat draws. Maybe you call them your granny panties or bra & underwear in one or something else that I can't think of right now, but by God you know you have them. We all have them. They are there waiting to come out when boyfriends and fashionable clothing are nowhere in sight.

They are like a girlfriends that always call when you are feeling low. Like a bf that doesn't care if you sit around in his tshirts and eat an entire container of Ben & Jerrys while watching 2/3s of a Say Yes to the Dress marathon ( the whole thing is pushing it even with the best of mans).

Fat draws don't care if you are all bloaty because at 25 your life is still nowhere near a place where you want non-fur babies. They don't judge you because after a weekend that literally included a full day worth of car time you managed to give your grown ass what can best be described as diaper rash (I swear I did not soil myself!!). They just sit there, a size too big and in the side of a house cut, and say, "It's alright, girl. You look like you could use a little extra room. We'll get through this together."

So, on this Monday after thanksgiving, when I'm sure some us are still feeling fat and not so sassy and when theoretically about a quarter of us are on the rag, I thank you, fat draws.

...let your big cotton freak flag fly.

Happy thanksgiving y'all...

2010-11-26T00:00:00.001-05:00

And I hope you have better connectivity than we do!

I got nothing, y'all...

2010-11-23T23:31:00.001-05:00

I should be packing right now. Or you know, doing something thats not playing an exciting game of chase the cat with a lint roller. I always think that its kinda funny that I love going places and packing usually takes all of 5 minutes but I avoid it like the plague.

Maybe I am just genetically destined to live in a nudist community.

...nah, too chilly.

Greener pastures are just the result of more bullshit...

2010-11-22T23:50:00.000-05:00

Yes, I missed two weekend days. I am bad at this. Moving on.

Well, Daddy and Dahling officially moved today. I was told the process was going well at around 230. The movers had the truck packed and they were ready to head out. I'm happy for them, I really am. Obviously, a big part of me is sad that they no longer live in the house I grew up in and that I am running low on reasons to legitimately call NJ home. Really, though. Dahling has been talking baout wanting to move to Delaware for eons. I am happy for them. (It doesn't hurt that they now live in the same town as the Dogfish Head brewery either.)

I'm also kinda worried about how my mother is going to handle moving 4 days before a holiday. Dahling takes holiday entertaining very seriously. Not to mention the fact that IJ will be there to witness the moving disarray. It is certainly going to interesting. Not to mention the fact that anyone who has moved knows that you invariably can't find the one thing you absolutely need until you unpack everything. My bet is that the roasting pan ends up being packed in with the summer clothes.

...oh well, that's why God invented Boston Market.

If noone sees me in a week, send a st. bernard, preferably with one of those bourbon casks...

2010-11-19T22:44:00.001-05:00

Y'all I am trapped.

Ok, maybe trapped is a bit of a strong word.

I am really more coerced into not moving. By pleasant.

You see right this very moment I want to get up and do three things:

1) Hit the restroom.
2) Put on some PJs.
3) Grab some english toffee ice cream.

And I really, really like all of those things. PJs. Ice cream. Not soiling myself. But at present I am also penned in on our tiny couch between a sleeping kitty and an IJ who is clicking hyperlinks. I could get up, yes. I should get up. But that would ruin it. I think I'll just sit here a little longer.

...I knew I shoulda worn depends today.

Are you interested in making some hot drinks, perhaps...

2010-11-18T21:01:00.000-05:00

...I thank God that the folks at my DD are not this perky.

Postage for the attention depr-ooh shiny thing...

2010-11-17T23:25:00.000-05:00

Dear Company That Ships Us Our Fluff,

I am sometimes oblivious, but y'all completely read the schedule for the wrong day ALL DAY today. For this you shall be force to wear the village idiot hat all day tomorrow, while I mutter at you under my breath and do extra work. If this is repeated I will have your kidneys.

Sincerely,
Dani
_____________________________________

Dear Anyone Who Is Listening to Christmas Music Already,

STOP IT. The gun has officially been jumped. Chill out and make a hand turkey or something.

Sincerely,
Dani
_____________________________________

Dear Contractors Working on Daddy & Dahling's House,

Please, please, please stay on schedule. There might be a piece of Thanksgiving pie in it for you if you do.

Sincerely,
Dani
_____________________________________

Dear Rick from Pawn Stars,

It is pronounced "tin". "Ten" is the number between nine and eleven. You sound dumb. Say it with me. Tin.

Sincerely,
Dani
_____________________________________

Dear Anyone Who Has a Strongly Held Opinion on Whether or Not Four Loko Should Be Banned,

Seriously? You have got to find better things to care about.

Sincerely,
Dani
_____________________________________

Dear North Carolina Drivers,

Oh my dear sweet Jesus! The world will not end if you make a turn at more than 5 miles an hour. I promise.

Sincerely,
Dani

...now where did I leave my tiny postman?

Clearly we are not jedi...

2010-11-16T20:54:00.000-05:00

Lately our little family has been getting ready for a big adventure.

A big turkey-filled, loved one seeing, cat traveling adventure.

For thanksgiving were are going up to see Daddy & Dahling, hitting up Johnny, Blkmarketliver & Dumbdog, then swooping back south to see Indie Jake's mom (and possibly my college roommate). It should be fantastic.

Or, you know, a disaster.

Daddy & Dahling move into their house (theoretically) next monday, after returning from a week long trip. It took Dahling 2 years to pack up and she is now charged with getting enough unpacked for 4 adults and one curious kitty to able to celebrate a holiday.

Speaking of our curious kitty, we have been slowly preparing Bonus for his epic voyage. First we bought a leash so he doesn't have to stay in his carrier the whole ride. Once he was adjusted to that we tried him out on a short ride around town. I feel like we have done all we can, but I also am very worried for the interior of IJ's car.

As far as New Jersey goes ::snaps her fingers:: oh darn, it looks like we are going to be up there on friday, not saturday. No day long DTH run for these travelers. But still a good old fashioned friday happy hour with the boys mehopes.

I've gone on before about what a character IJ's mom is, so that should prove to be a pleasant day as well...assuming we don't get eaten alive by DC traffic.

...if we don't make it back alive, you can have my IKEA lawn gnome.

Its my party and ill get all sentimental if i want to...

2010-11-15T23:43:00.000-05:00

Perhaps its silly but I have always subscribed to the idea that things are the most sound and stable when they are under tension or compression. You pull a rope tight so that it holds whatever it is supporting (i am envisioning a tent) up. An arch is strong because all the weight presses down on the supporting curve. People who are not conflicted or stressed become lax and are not at their peak.

Y'all, I would like to take this opportunity to renounce that position as an absolute.

There is stability in comfort. Not always, true. But lately, I have been feeling, for lack of a better word, just that, comfortable. For the first time in a long time I am not wracking my brain or heart or nerves over anything. There is not some seemingly barely attainable goal that I am struggling towards. And you know what? It feels good.

It doesn't always make for the most exciting times, no. Excitement in itself is a form of tension. But it's all starting to make sense. From a comfortable base I can ADD appendages of tension and stress. I feel like it's not all wing and a prayer, totally draining endeavors and if I fail, I have a nice comfortable place to come back to to lick my wounds.

...actually, Bonus will probably try to lick them first.

You want a little help with that?...

2010-11-14T23:49:00.000-05:00

Tonight IJ and I watched some Scott Pilgrim and I found myself thinking that Wallace was a pretty cool sidekick type character. Perhaps even top 5 list worthy. So without further ado(since our wifi is out and I'm blogging from my phone) I present the top five hero support characters in my personal opinion:

5.Joseph Gordon Lovett's sidekick in 10 things I hate about you whose name currently escapes me but I heart.
4. Wallace from Scott Pilgrim
3. Val Kilmer as Doc Holiday in Tombstone.
2. Randall in Clerks/Clerks 2
1. Macaulay Culkin as Roland in Saved

...so who are your favorite movie backup guys?

No worries, he did not actually roll on the cat (too much)...

2010-11-13T20:30:00.000-05:00

"What should I write about?"

"Write about our awesome day."

"Tell me about our day."

"So we woke up at three and I was like noooooooooooo im going back to sleep so we went back to sleep and woke up at seven. We woke up, we had coffee and didn't really have a plan after that so we just kinda went to ikea because thats what you do on the weekend you go to ikea. i wish they would tell me how big the letters on the side of their building are because they are very big. so we walked around and sat in some chairs and there were lots of people and we sat in lots of chairs. we avoided eating swedish meatballs for the first time in recorded history because we were full from coffee and wanted to go somewhere new for lunch. after ikea we came home i think. did that happen? ok we came home and read the tweets and discovered mellow mushroom had opened in charlotte a new place for them because it wasn't here for a while so we went to Mellow Mushroom and it was really really good so i told the manager so. god damn that was good! DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYum good. and it was the best possible time after that to go to costco because you dont go to costco hungry and we were the opposite of hungry by the time we got there. once again costco was full of all people. Dont question me. Dont write that. Dont write that either. ::turns on drum machine app:: how are you still typing i havent said any thing. our main goal in going to costco was to get some crab stuffed salmon for dinner tomorrow. we did that and got things like vitamin water and i dunno you got some cereal thats like super rare and only available in certain locations at certain times or something."

"you told me to get it"

"I had to force you to do something nice for your dad. FORCE. How are you still typing!? we got some other things and went to the check. out and bought them and then i got the 17th compliment on my VA tech colored shoes at the checkout door. we drove back home and unloaded the goods and made the cat very excited because it was almost CAT FEEDING TIME. cat feeding time is any time that there is not currently food in his mouth. AH THERES A CAT BUTT IN MY FACE! shortly thereafter we decided it was time for a CAT ADVENTURE this cat adventure took place before cat feeding time because a post fed cat on an adventure may poop in interesting locations. so we leashed up the cat and went into THE CAR! The car will be in all caps. bonus was very confused in that this room did not have food in it but was interesting none the less. he experienced motion and speed bumps. the speed bumps were very interesting because he could not see them but the car went up and down. this will be your longest blog post ever. bonus's favorite locations in the car include 1) the cover over the trunk section of my car 2) as close to the window as possible with any part of his face 3) the dashboard. this location was the most cause for alarm as he simply does not understand an unobstructed dashboard is important for the safety of its occupants and ITS THE LAW. in conclusion, do not let your cat on the dashboard unless your car is not moving. in which case its probably okay. after his ordeal we returned the cat to home and he was given his choice of 5 delicious wet cat food flavors and petted in copious amounts. I mean thats where we are right now, then weve been lying here for like 2 hours and theres a cat under my butt, right now, a cat, i think i just rolled onto him a little bit. oh and i got a 4sq badge."

"we watched the game too."

"yes, theres a lot of other things that happened."

...so, um, yeah. Indie Jake on our super exciting life. ::slow clap::

There is totally video of the monkey on the tiny pig, i looked it up...

2010-11-12T22:05:00.000-05:00

I am a bit of a craft beer nerd.

Back in Jersey, every friday was local brewery tour night. The owner was one of those guys who seemed on hinge pin away from losing it. I heart Rick.

So when I came across this video parodying a video made by some of he larger craft brewers in the US, i was intrigued.

...go on, ask me how many times I've said "Fuck corn!" to IJ since I've seen this. A lot.

Wat wah...

2010-11-11T20:19:00.000-05:00

So, as those of you with mad calendaring skillz may have noticed, I have officially lost at NaBloPoMo. I don't even have a good excuse. Two days ago I had told a friend that I would drive her to a club and go out with her. Yesterday, I wasn't feeling it so I was laying around in my sweats watching episodes of Pawn Stars on my phone in bed, because the couch in front of the perfectly good, much larger tv was just not bed-y enough. It was like 10pm and I figured I had plenty of time to come up with a good post.

Then there was knock on the door. My friend had just shown up without calling and was all, "I thought we were going out." So I put on my big girl pants (literally, they had a zipper and a button and all) and out we went. I could have posted something lame from my phone, but I forgot until 1230. Plain and simple, I fail.

But I'm not giving up. There is still room to A- this shit. So daily posting will continue.

...with all the highly thrilling cat/youtube/bad joke content you have come to accept, i mean expect.

Jokes, jokes the musical fruit...

2010-11-09T23:33:00.000-05:00

What do you call a dog with no legs and steel balls?

Sparky
-----------
Did you hear what happened to the blonde ice hockey team?

The drowned during spring training.
-----------
How many hipsters does it take to change a lightbulb?

3, one to change the lightbulb and 2 to argue about who was a fan of changing lightbulbs first, before it was popular.
----------
what did the pirate say about the steering wheel he kept in his pants?

Arggh, it's driving me nuts.
---------
What is the official title of Santa's elves?

Subordinate clauses.
--------
Where did the on legged waitress work?

IHOP.
--------
A city slicker was driving down the road when he noticed a local farmer broken down on the shoulder. He pulled over to give the man a jump. The farmer was so thankful that he offered to give the city slicker one of his sheep as a reward. At first the city slicker was reluctant but when the farmer assured him it was a good investment he agreed.

They went to the farm and the farmer told him to pick out any sheep he wanted. The city slicker looked around for several minutes and decided on the animal he wanted. He put it in the car and drove away.

Three months later he came back angry as all getout. He complained to the farmer that it had grown no wool and the butcher he went to would not even buy it from him.

The farmer looked at him and began to laugh.

"Sure" he said. "Go ahead and pick a better sheep, but in the mean time, can you give me back my dog?"

...no, they aren't that funny, but if you want better jokes leave them in the comments yourself.

Its like discovering rejected cartoons all over again, and with slightly crisper circles...

2010-11-08T23:18:00.001-05:00

Blkmarketliver sent this to me tonight. Instead of thinking of thought provoking, insightful things to blog about I have been watching it over and over. Maybe you would like to watch it over and over too?

...hey, at least he doesn't like turtles.

Maybe one day i can rock a hair flower of my very own, but not likely...

2010-11-07T23:05:00.000-05:00

Netflix recently added season 7 (yes, only season 7, if anyone can figure that out for me please share with the class) of Clean House to their Instant Watch library. I don't remember whether I have mentioned it but back in the days of this blog's infancy, when I was still living with the Ex in Pennsylvania, we were fairly enthusiastic Clean House viewers. We saw their mayhem, shook our heads at their foolishness, and were awed as Miss Niecy told them to take off their blindfolds and open their eyes. Netflix gained 5 points in my book for this addition.

As it turns out, Indie Jake also had an ex with whom he used to watch Clean House so it became fodder for communal television watching at night. One of the episodes on this particular season was the 100th show, during which they had an awards show. Families from previous episodes were nominated for awards like Cleanest Room and the Relapse Award. Towards the end of the show they gave out what they called The Dirty for the family who had the dirtiest house overall even after going through the CH process. After we watched the acceptance speech, IJ commented that at least the winners had owned their slobishness in their speech.

Y'all, I would like to do just that here and now.

I am not now, have never been, and will never be a neat person (despite being super anal retentive). I will never say that cleaning calms me down or relieves my stress. I am perfectly capable of working in a cluttered space, it doesn't bother me. Of course there are limits. I don't aim for pig sty, but I guess sometimes it gets there. And apparently it gets on someone(whose initials may or maynot be I and J)'s nerves.

And he has a point.

I swear before all of you, internet friends that I'm going to try and reel in my sloppy ways. It will start withthe no dishes in the sink policy that we have instituted and maybe, just maybe, will eventually extend to the bed-containing walk-in closet that I call a bedroom.

...it will not, however, extend to vacuuming any room that is not the living room or music room since my vacuum currently completes the circuit that keeps the power on in that half of the house.

So sorry, not in...

2010-11-06T21:52:00.001-04:00

Normally I would just post an "out drinking. Be back tomorrow." sign here. Instead I will give you a reason to laugh at me. IJ & I are at the local frat bar looking for some Yelp! friends and I, in true me fashion, tripped on the patio step. The following text coversation ensued:

Me:I just completely wiped out on the patio of a bar and managed to only lose about a half inch of the full beer I was holding. Booze hound win.

Johnny: WIN. Can I be a boozehound?

Me: Too late kiddo, that ship sailed months ago and you, my friend, are so on board.

Happy daylight savings Saturday, kids.

...and have a beer for me.

Sweet little sixteen, man i was dumb as all getout...

2010-11-05T23:51:00.000-04:00

Recently on Twitter there was hash tag regarding advice to give your 16 year old self. Most of the advice i saw was light hearted and trivial, and my first though was that this was because it had to fit into about 120 characters. Surely, the adults we have become, having seen how things turn out, must have some sage nuggets for the teenagers we once were. But as I got to thinking I came back to an idea that I have always been amazed by.

Maybe, if we were to give our teen selves the answers we intrinsically know that we would be flapping the proverbial butterfly wings and washing clean all the good things that have happened. It's always been crazy to me how small the things that make huge changes in our lives can be. The Ex and I dated for a total of nearly 6 years as a result of the fact that I had a headache one afternoon at band camp. I went to the college I did because I misread a flyer in high school. My parents lived in the house they are currently moving out of after 30 years because Dahling's friend rode the train with the former owners. Maybe, we don't want to give our naive selves a hand and give up all that we do love.

But at the same time, the trivial advice I was seeing was pretty safe, so maybe there are a few things I could tell Teen Me.

1. Sweetie, whatever you are doing with your hair is not working. Seriously.

2. You will eventually learn to love brussel sprouts. Just accept them now.

3. For the love of God, learn how not to hit your head on things! (cause I'm still working on this one)

and finally,

4. Whenever you think your body has really betrayed you as much as it can, know that some day, and I'm not saying when, you will have a migraine, a UTI and a yeast infection at the same time. If it is not that day, suck it up, you will be fine.

...so, we have this play along at home tag, what advice would you give your 16 year old self?

My uncle used to say all you need is one clean joke and one dirty joke, he never said how many bad jokes you need...

2010-11-04T23:40:00.000-04:00

Were you around for NaBloPoMo last year? If so, you know that some times, when I can't think of particularly good story I tell a joke. Here is today's joke:

A burglar was breaking into the house of an elderly couple when he heard some motion behind him. He shone his flashlight around the room and realized what he had heard was the rustling of a parrot in the corner. When the parrot saw him it squalked, "Jesus is watching you!"

The burglar didn't think anything of it and went about looking for valuable. Again, he heard the parrot warn, "Jesus is watching you!"

"Stupid bird." he muttered and went about his unseemly work.

A third time the parrot said, "Jesus is watching you!"

This time the burglar was so irritated by the noise the bird was making that he whipped around only to be stopped when the beam of his light landed on a huge doberman sitting beneath the parrot's cage. He froze, unsure of how to make his getaway.

The parrot flapped his wings, looked at the burglar and squalked, "Sick'em, Jesus."

...you see, it's funny because...and the dog... yeah...yeah.

I'm kinda excited by all the money i'm gonna save by eating at early bird specials though...

2010-11-03T21:53:00.001-04:00

Something a touch unsettling has recently come to my attention. I mean, I guess I should have been noticing the signs for a while, but the other day it really struck me...

I am an old person.

And before the outcry about how I'm not old at all and how I need to appreciate my youth starts, let me just clarify. I don't actually think I AM old. I am just behaving old.

The first sign came in correlation with becoming employed. Where once I would routinely see 5 am, I had a new bed time of midnight...and sometimes I barely made it. My parents, one of whom collects social Security regularly see the end of the late show, but not me (and not just because we don't have real tv).

With the job came some lovely coworkers, one of whom is the oh-so-proud grandmother of 2 kids under 2. I'm not saying having a 30 minute long conversation about "grandbabies" makes you an old person, but it sure doesn't hurt the argument.

My main piece of evidence, however, has to do with the high school that is located a block from my office and which I need to pass to get to work from my home. Oh my stars, I am ready to whoop the everloving hell out of every one of those GD teenagers! I may have even hurt my writst the other day from shaking my fist at them too hard. Stay out of the road, where your uniform like it was meant to be worn, and for God's sake IT'S 1 O'CLOCK GET YOUR ASS BACK TO CLASS!

Yeah, its official. I am an old person.

...now where are my crochet hooks? The cold is coming in and I know some folks that don't have appropriate scarves.

Day two, or seriously this is why i haven't been writing...

2010-11-02T23:48:00.000-04:00

It's choose your own adventure time, kiddos!

If you want to hear about the exciting time I had making label to ship fluff for make-your-own-bears from NY to Ohio, turn to page 3.

If you want to hear about how IJ managed to perpetually shock himself while pushing a shopping cart about a Walmart, turn to page 57. (That is pretty much all i have on this though. We are not at all sure how the hell that happened but that cart had it in for him.)

If you want to watch a White Denim video, you are in luck, turn to page 256.

Page 256:

... page 57: Seriously though, that cart shit was funny.

It's the most wonderful time of the year?...

2010-11-01T23:37:00.000-04:00

So this is a fitting way to announce that I'm doing NaBloPoMo again...at 11:30 at night on November the 1st.

I have been sorely neglecting this blog for the last month or two under the explanation that I was actually doing real life things and that while they were really keen, they were not terribly interesting. But you know what, that is garbage. I have a responsibility to bring dumb stories, incredibly corny humor and cat stories to any of y' who happen to still be reading. So that's what I'm gonna do, for at least the next 30 days straight.

Until tomorrow, from twitter, I bring you:

cat on a leash.

...or Indie Jake on a leash, depending on who you ask.

Ya know, just in case you were wondering...

2010-09-27T21:43:00.000-04:00

Hey, you know what didn't happen?

Books.

Summer reading books definitely did not happen. So don't hold your breath, because there will be no whirlwind book review post covering the rest of the list. Sorry, kiddos...kinda...I guess.

Honestly, not really. Usually I feel very down when I don't achieve the goals I set for myself but not even a public shaming is doing it for me this time.

...I'm considering this a mature reaction.

Write a letter, it'll last longer...

2010-09-11T18:18:00.000-04:00

So the reason why I have been kinda noticeably absent from this space lately is because I finally found a job. One that doesn't afford me a lot of time sitting around surfing the net. And when I get home I generally find a very excited kitty who would like to detail the injustice that is having noone home to pet him ALL DAY! Much as I love to blog regularly, I'm okay with a downgrade in posting if it comes in exchange for a paycheck and spending quality loaf around time with my happy little pseudofamily. I'm trying to work out a motivation schedule, so we'll see.

In the mean time, I always have the motivation to punch out some short letters!

Dear Insurance Guy who Came to the Office Yesterday,

There is a difference between overcompensating and just straight up compensating. If you are going to show up without an appointment, standing knee-high to a grasshopper, being kind of obnoxious and not even knowing whether this is our corporate headquarters you could do with a little compensating. A lilac shirt is the opposite of that. Man up a touch.

Sincerely,

Dani

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Pumpkin Flavored Everything,

Lilu may be on record as hating the very fiber of your soul, but I think you are the bees knees. Especially you Cottonwood Pumpkin Spiced Ale. Why don't you come over here and snuggle for a touch. I promise I'll be gentle.

Sincerely,

Dani

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Everyone Who Makes Tramp Stamp Jokes About Other People to Me,

You don't know it, but I'm not laughing with you, I'm trying not to punch you in the face. One day I will fail.

Sincerely,

Dani

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Bonus,

I know my necklace is shiny and you think it's a food, but stop trying to eat Jesus! Not cool. I don't want you bringing divine wrath down on this house.

Sincerely,

Mom

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Fall,

You have always been good to me. As a less unemployed, less miserable person, I just want to say thanks.

Sincerely,

Dani

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Yelp!

Charlotte Elite Squad, eh? I think you think I'm a lot classier and less cheap than I actually am. Whatever. Let's see if we can't make this the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Sincerely,

Dani

...P.S. Thanks for the legit excuse to visit more bars.

There are only two in there so i'm assuming PennDOT sent a troll to eat the third...

2010-08-24T02:32:00.000-04:00

According to Google Analytics, in the last month 7 visits to this site have come from the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. Six of those visits were from the town in which I used to live. To the visitors from PA, let me say that the following point should not be taken as a reflection on your land as a whole. As a person who comes from New Jersey, quite possibly the most oft-mocked state in the Union, I understand how this might get your bristles up. I know I am not always the nicest to Pennsylvania, but that is for my own capital P Personal reasons. Pennsylvania is a lovely place. Go visit it some time.

That being said, PennDOT is the most awful, hateful organization on the whole of planet Earth.

No, I am not exaggerating.

Back when I did live in PA, The Ex and I had a running joke that no matter when you got on a highway or which highway it was, you would find that PennDOT had oh so thoughtfully placed out a bunch of cones blocking a lane or rerouting traffice, but never once had they bothered to employ anyone to actually do roadwork. They just came around and set out cones for a while, then came back a week or so later and picked them up to be deposited elsewhere.

I am still not sure this is entirely untrue, however, it is no longer my biggest issue with PennDot. You see I am of the opinion that they are currently on a mission to singlehandedly decrease the world population. On my drive up to Jersey I encountered some construction that, in addition to establishing the most ludicrous combination of traffic lanes ever conceived, decided that lanes dont really need to be as wide a vehicles. No sir, not at all. Oh did I mention that the road it is on is a truck route? And that I was driving through it at 5 am? My life does not make a very good slideshow, particularly not when set to the mental soundtrack of "Jesus, Take the Wheel".

On my way back down to NC, I was unsurprised to hit several patches of traffic due to closed lanes, but I was also impressed to note that PennDOT have also set up some kind of arrangement with the weather gods. Apparently, no matter what the weather is doing before or after a construction zone in Pennsylvania, the actual work zone will experience torrential rain. Seriously, if these PennDOT guys subcontract with Satan, I had better start saying my rosaries now.

While (completely) stopped at one of these cone-filled monsoons, I happened to glance up at the bed of the pickup in front of me. This is what I saw:

...oh Pennsylvania, 10 points for surprise but what did those poor goats ever do to you?

For those of you wondering about the red text, no Bonus is not a robot cat...or is he?...

2010-08-20T17:45:00.005-04:00

Every now and then I stop and wonder why I don't blog as often as I would like to. Well, last Thursday as I was getting ready for my trip back up to Jersey I was presented with a physical manifestation of an answer.

I made this list at around noon and my goal was to be done, eating dinner and preparing for a pre-drive nap by 7. Plenty of time. And if you will notice, most of the list got taken care of. Except for one glaring omission. One that I had plenty of time to do but just didn't. Oops, my bad.

I would like to direct your attention to one of the items that did get crossed off, though. Tucked up there in the top right corner all unassumingly. Do you see it? There is one innocuous enough looking item that has been the bane of my home existence for the last few months. That nasty little R-word.

It's not that I dislike recycling. Far from it. In my parents' town recycling is mandatory and they wont pick up your trash if there is anything that looks recyclable in it. I'm all for that. We make enough garbage as it is, we don't need to add to the problem and stamp our future existence as a species "Totally Fucked" by not recycling what we can. So don't think I'm complaining about having to sort my recycle, but my love of the third R (not 'rythmatic) is actually part of the issue.

You see, IJ and my lease started in february. When we started bringing boxes and boxes of his stuff over there was this delightful, huge, brand new, green recycle bin from the town next to the house. We filled it up quickly. And then we started making piles of recyclable boxes for the next fill. And then we bothered to check when our recycle day was. The answer: July.

It seems that these fancy new bins were part of a program that Charlotte had yet to institute and the elementary school-style re bin we were supposed to be using for the next 5 months was nowhere to be found. But there was no way I was going to be okay with throwing out that much cardboard.

So the box piles from all of Indie Jake's stuff stayed in our hallway from February to May.

And then I moved my junk in in May. And the box pile became a box hill.

And then we noticed that we were missing some furniture; furniture that could be bought at IKEA. And the box hill became a box mountain.

Add to that the cardboard from our normal grocery and healthy beer consumption and it becomes a little bloody ridiculous.

Back to the white board. On thursday, we had finally had enough recycle pickups that the last of box mountain went into the big green bin. The natives rejoiced. (read: I danced around the living room with the cat.)

Our house was now recycle pile free. Except for those boxes I brought back from my parents' house this weekend with the last of my stuff so it doesn't get lost in their upcoming move...and the box for the printer that IJ got to replace his that shit the bed...

...Damn it.

I'd been planning to redo 24 but maybe being 25 won't be so bad after all...

2010-08-18T15:26:00.005-04:00

I'm sure I've mentioned before that Indie Jake does quite a bit of traveling for work. About a week and a half ago he was tweaking his schedule and it became apparent that instead of being in town on the 16th, which happens to be my birthday, he was going to be on the road. I was a touch bummed but staying out of town that night was saving him 4 hours of driving and work is work. Put on your big girl pants, Dani, and get over it.

The thing is, that weekend was also the tail end of another big trip for him and the result was that I would be by myself in the house with my broke, unemployed self and Bonus for pretty much the entire week before and day of my birthday. This was depressing. And it made me miss Johnny and Mike up in Jersey. Hey...I still need to get a bunch of my stuff out of my parents' house before they move this fall. My parents live in Jersey.

Decision made: Operation Birthday Roadtrip was set into motion. I told the staffing agency I am listed with I would be out of town for a few days. I enlisted a buddy to feed the fur-baby (since 10.5 hours each way in a car with no breaks is not particularly cat-friendly). I threw some junk in a bag and at 930 Thursday night I hit the old dusty trail.

The weekend itself was great. I'll spare you the in-depth review since it would just be pages and pages of me gushing, but here is a highlight reel:
-Good old fashioned Jersey Friday night happy hour (That's one part $2 Cricket Hill Brewery Tour and one part Irish pub dinner.)
-A Trip to THE bar. (Because every good drinker has a bar that is THE bar, even if they don't necessarily live by it any more.)
-Ran into some guys that used to be on my stage crew in HS who I haven't seen in forever.
-Had traditional sunday night coffee with Mike.
-Ate ALL THE SEAFOOD with Daddy and Dahling at one of my favorite restaurants down the shore. (Bonus points for getting to smell shore air.)
-Went to the NY Renaissance Faire, which is keen enough in and of itself, but is made all the better when it includes photo ops of Johnny getting forced into the May Pole dance by a friend of his who was playing the village idiot.

So needless to say I was in no hurry to leave but, like most inevitabilities, it could only be put off so long and at just after noon on Monday I left for NC. About 3 hours from home I got a call from Indie Jake just checking in and seeing how my trip was going. I told him all was well and It looked like I would get into town at just around midnight so Bonus wouldn't have to wait too much extra for his dinner.

After I got off the phone I started thinking about how the house had been empty a lot lately. You see, we have had a few burglaries about half a mile down my street and I have been known to be just a touch paranoid (I crashed a car when I was 17 because, due to copious conversing about The Shining that evening, I was convinced Jack Nickleson was in the back seat ready to stab me.) I have also been known to have a weird sort of ESP when it comes to talking to Indie Jake. Put these two things together and I was none to happy about the weird vibe I was getting after our conversation. In my head I started picturing walking in the door to find an ex-Bonus and a very angry, very stabby criminal waiting for me. I shrugged it off. I was just being ridiculous, and anyway, I would be going out on a good weekend if I was right.

As I pulled into my driveway I looked around. No obvious out of place vehicles and the porch light was on like it was supposed to be, maybe I was in the clear. I was a touch uneasy when I looked at our trash cans which were still sitting (overturned) on the curb from that morning's trash pickup. As I was retrieving my key from where my buddy the catsitter was supposed to leave it, I looked in the windows of my front door and noticed three very unsettling things. 1) The alarm wasn't set. 2) IJ left fucking dishes on the stove again. 3) Hey, wait a minute, he never leaves the kitchen light on when he is out of town.

While thing 2 was annoying, things 1 and 3 made me pretty sure my end credits were about to start rolling. But it was midnight on a Monday, I had nowhere to go and damn it, if that cat was still alive I needed to feed him. I finally got the key free, opened the door and got inside.

At which point I heard a voice behind me.

I consider it an accomplishment that I did not need to change my pants, though I did drop all my stuff and scream "Holy Shit!!!!" at the top of my lungs.

Turns out the weird vibe I had gotten was not a home invasion warning, it was the signal that I have an awesome roommate who got a group of our friends together for surprise birthday cake.

...you know, and an impromptu cardiac stress test.

I promised you i would read these books, internet, and by God i meant it...

2010-08-05T07:00:00.000-04:00

The other day, when I found myself staring at a book whose stay on my night table had lasted well over 2 weeks for the second time in a row, I started to get a little worried about the progress I was making on the 2010 She Laughs too Easily & Cries too Hard... Summer Reading List. It seems that when I picked authors that I didn't really know much about I may have given myself more of a challenge than I was anticipating. I'm sure you've all read books that don't exactly grab you and refuse to let go until the last word has been happily gobbled up. Well, both of this installment's books were like that for me and, bless their hearts, they show the two ways that can turn out. Sometimes, you do end up eventually getting swept up in the book and sometimes you end up, you know...not.

The 3rd SLtE&CtH Summer Reading book is Diary by Chuck Palahniuk:

and the 4th is Hummingbirds by Joshua Gaylord:

By the way, I feel like I've addressed this before, but I can't find it so let me put it out there again. I realize these reviews tell achingly little about he plots of the books in question. That is because I have confidence that anyone reading this blog has the capacity to read an Amazon summary or a book jacket. I feel like y'all benefit more from reactions and opinions than from objective plot summaries. Also, I am lazy and don't feel like it.

Next on the docket are a few old standby authors who rarely leave me uninterested, so hopefully the reviews will be a-flowing and I can get back on track.

...Summer Reading Challenge, I shall vanquish ye yet!

Well, at least I don't have to worry about finding places for too many essential items in my house...

2010-07-27T16:42:00.008-04:00

So, this weekend, as you may have already figured from last weeks short letters, Daddy and Dahling came down to NC to visit. Well, that is not entirely true. They came down to NC to peruse the giant furniture mart in Hickory for a massively gigantic dining room table for their new house. Dahling is under the impression that even though holidays only happen 2-3 times a year and our family is rarely ever all talking to each other, she needs to be able to seat all of the people who might come to a holiday dinner. IMHO, this is sheer silliness, since that is why God created laps and folding tables. But she wants a table that can expand to seat 14, so they were here looking for one.

When I came down here 2.5 months ago, I brought most of my stuff but my car is only so large and since I planned on driving back up in June for a wedding I left a bunch of it there. Well, my car was a bit fakakte in June so I ended up flying to Jersey for the wedding, and as anyone who enjoys more than 3 oz of liquid can tell you, airplanes are not the most convenient ways to move a bunch of stuff. And generally this would be fine. I mean tons of people have stuff at their parents house. However, as i mentioned up there in paragraph one, my parents are moving soon, so having a bunch of my crap just lying around is less okay.

Dahling called me the other day to ask what I wanted them to bring down for me. You see she is perfectly okay with moving the junk that is still up there to their new house. I, on the other hand, think this is stupid considering the amount of their own stuff they have to move. (My parents have lived in the same house since 1981 and are devout packrats.) I told her that there were two specific things I wanted: one was my Mamoun's hot sauce, the other was...was...Aww cats! I couldn't remember what the other thing was. Never fear though! There is a great solution, after they pack their stuff in the car, fill up whatever space is left with my stuff, that way they have less of my stuff and the more junk they bring the higher the chance that whatever the second thing was will get thrown in. ::points to her head:: Not just a hatrack.

Skip ahead to Saturday morning when they get here. Bless her heart, Dahling is not so good at listening. They had brought me a single box full of stuff and it contained the following:

~ 1 t-shirt that I only use when painting rooms, which I will not be doing in this house since all our rooms are the same color.
~ 3 sweatshirts I very, very rarely wear and as such will probably end up donating to Good Will...once it gets cold.
~ 1 sweatshirt that actually belongs to a friend of mine who is spending the summer with her parents...who live 5 minutes from my parents.
~ 4 bras from the Fat Dani collection (To explain: I have a habit of rapidly loosing and gaining the 50 pounds between 145 and 195. Since I have done this repeatedly and bras are expensive, I decided to hang on to them, but they totally don't fit and I really should just throw them out.)
~ 1 cookie sheet which is technically Dahling's, is identical to one I already have down here, and which I will not need until christmas cookie season.
~ 1 of 2 pairs of torn-to-shit jeans I refuse to get rid of because they are 100% cotton and therefore vastly superior to most jeans

However, the box did not contain:

~ Mamoun's hot sauce
~ Office clothes which compose about 70% of the stuff I left up there and would have been kinda helpful since I am looking for office jobs
~ Mystery item #2

Dang.

But, hey, these torn jeans are kinda comfy and they make my butt look pretty good...maybe I'll just wear them around the house. And maybe to the library. I mean the hole just below the back pocket isn't that big.

...by the way, on monday I remembered that Mystery Item #2 was a VHS recording of the original Merlin miniseries that is sitting next to their VCR.

Is the ASL version of hand-talking randomly moving your mouth to add to your point?...

2010-07-23T17:56:00.001-04:00

I had a friend in high school who was completely incapable of talking if you held her hands at her sides. Presumably this is not because she was wondering why she was being manhandled while she was attempting to have a conversation, but instead because she was such a "hand talker" that if you immobilized her arms her verbal skills went to pot. I also imagine that this is partly to blame for the fact that she was unable to leave a comprehensible voicemail message. Enunciation was apparently the first thing to go when one of her hands had to remain still so the phone stayed by her head. Being an annoying teenager at the time, this used to amuse me to no end. I would sneak up behind her, catch her wrists and then chuckle to myself about how she immediately ground a halt.

Lately, I've been going on job interviews (you know, since I am currently not so much with the employment) and I have two noticed things. First, when I am nervous, I have also become a hand talker, and second, I don't think people in North Carolina are particularly used to gesticulation accompanying speech. (It's possible that I've always acted out my words this much, but seriously, have you been to Jersey? We gesture...a lot.) I think one lady expected me to produce a rabbit out of thin air every time I rolled my hands around each other to symbolize a process. Sorry, ma'am, the only rabbit I might have access to is really not appropriate to bring to a job interview.

Up until today, I had found this propensity for hand talking completely separate from another habit I've picked up lately: watching a shit-ton of YouTube. I just figured I'm home a bunch and I have adopted Bonus's attention span thus creating an "entertain me in short enough form that I don't lose interest" niche that badly needed filling (oh yeah!...I mean...no, not at all. you people are sick). But today I was watching a Charlie McDonnell video, and I couldn't help but notice that the hands...they were a-moving. As were the hands of the Pixar director who was with him. And then I checked out some Vlog Brothers and, oh my, John and Hank Greens' hands are all over the place. Holy cats! Mystery solved. The reason I have been watching so much YouTube is really and truly to get in touch with my hand talking bretheren!

...you know, that or because I have a lot of free time on my hands.

I'm going to claim to have been out of e-stamps for a while and y'all are gonna go with me on that one...

2010-07-21T18:59:00.003-04:00

Time for another batch of short letters:

A while back (read: in May) I told Mr. Apron that I would include him in my next batch of post, and while I certainly have taken my sweet time getting around to it, I am true to my word.

Dear Mr. Apron,

I looked up from my screen to think about what this letter should say and was greeted with the sight of the cat licking his own ass. I can not help but think this is probably some kind of metaphor for how you express what you want no matter how it may be looked upon by others and how even though some of those things may be distasteful you still do it with a flair that makes you generally enjoyable. Or maybe the universe is trying to tell me that you are on Rosario Dawson's side of the ass-to-mouth argument from Clerks II...and I'm not sure why the universe thinks I need to know that.

Sincerely,
Dani
----------------------------------------------------------
Dear Bonus,

I know you think it is really awesome to wake me up with headbutts to the nose every morning so I get up and feed you. I do not agree. I am bigger than you and I have the Purina. You may want to reconsider your position.

Sincerely,
Dani
----------------------------------------------------------
Dear Harris Teeter,

There is no way in hell I am paying you 2 bucks for a damn bell pepper. No. Way. In. Hell.

Sincerely,
Dani
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Dear Whoever Is In Charge of Recently Viewed Lists at Netflix,

I swear to God I do not have Dissociative Identity Disorder. It really is possible for one person to watch that much Mythbusters and then decide to watch The Doom Generation. I was kinda expecting an email asking if the account had been hijacked. Discover would have sent me one. Why'ya slacking?

Sincerely,
Dani
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Dear The South,

You know what you need more of? Sour cream and appropriately shaped blocks of mozzarella cheese.

Sincerely,
Dani

cc: Earth
----------------------------------------------------------
Dear Daddy and Dahlin',

Go easy on me when y'all come to visit this weekend. The level of batshit in my life has been significantly lower for the past few months. I'm not sure how I will react to it immediately being jacked up to 11.

Sincerely,
Dani

...how 'bout them "strong communication skills", charlotte-area employers?

It's not even like i can use the excuse that i was busy, my sole responsibility just took an 8 hour nap...

2010-07-12T19:24:00.012-04:00

I must admit, I had fallen into one of the oldest procrastinators traps ever. I knew it had been ever so long since I had posted, but it had also been ever so long since I had kept up with my Google Reader. There it sat, languishing with nearly (and sometimes over) 200 posts completely unread. Surely, I could not write a post being so far behind on my knowledge of the blogosphere. That would be like trying to have a political debate having not glanced at the news since Carter was in office. But "Oh Lord, how could I ever get caught up? The enormity of the task was just overwhelming. Maybe if I just read a the current day's updates and then a day or two from the oldest end." Well you see the problem with that is that I was doing things like reading Rachel's pregnancy updates before I ever got to the post announcing that she was ovening a bun. Not to mention, I was racked with guilt over the unsightly number of posts that were in unread from some of my favorite bloggers. Seriously? 17 NTKOG posts? 11 AllisonWrites posts? 14 posts from the ever-awesome LiLu (for MTVTJ!) that I simply had not read? FOR SHAME!!

Clearly I needed a new plan.

That plan was actually way simpler than anything called a plan should be. Yesterday, after dropping Indie Jake off at the airport, I realized I had a whole Sunday to myself (and Bonus). And since Sundays are totally dead on the job hunting front I didn't have to worry about feeling bad spending the entire day hunkered down on our comfy, black with grey kitty fur accents couch and going through that darn reader subscription by subscription. By the time I was ready to pass out I was under 50 posts. By dinner time today (with some time off for job searching and pretending I was going to clean our bathroom & kitchen today so that when IJ's mom shows up on Wednesday for his birthday she doesn't think we live in a sty) this is what my Google Reader looks like:

Now I think I've earned some netflixed Mythbusters

...it's totally not a mythdiction, I can quit any time I want!

Next time maybe i'll take the screenshots with consistent title inclusion, maybe...

2010-07-01T07:00:00.000-04:00

I figure if you guys are coming along for this summer reading ride I should probably tell you what I think of the books, right? And there are two options on how to do that: 1) Wait till the end of the 101 days and bombard you with a barrage of book reviews or 2) Toss them out to y'all one or two at a time as I go, allowing you to not only not hate book reviews by the end of each post but also to use the reviews to advise your own summer reading (aren't I just an arrogant son-of-a-gun?). Sure sounds like the second one is the way to go, doesn't it? I thought so too.

And since I finished the second summer reading title Tuesday night, now is as good a time as any (mayhaps even better than most) for the first installment of 2010 SLtE&CtH... Summer Reading List: Reviewed. For the record, these reviews are copied from a personal library cataloging site I use and the star ratings at the end are out of a possible 5 stars.

First up: Backseat Saints by Joshilyn Jackson

And since I want y'all to get your money's worth, secondly: Cleaving by Julie Powell

...happy reading.

I am one step closer to being the crazy cat lady i dreamed of being when i was 14...

2010-06-28T14:48:00.008-04:00

Okay, first off, lets not try to evaluate the fact that I dreamed of being a crazy cat lady when I was 14 because, really, every time men frustrate the crap out of me, and all the ladies and gay dudes (Hope you enjoyed Pride Weekend!) out there will nod their heads when I say that that is frequently, I swear off people and claim I am going to become a crazy cat lady. Fourteen just happened to be the first time that happened.

But all that is SOOOOO not the point. The point is, well, the point is this:

Do you see what that is?! Do you see it?

That is a kitty. A real, live, moves and meows style kitty!

And do you know where that kitty is? He's here,

lookin' in my mirror, and here,

helping me do the crossword puzzle.

He was also here

jumping up the freakin' chimney (and less than an hour after I told Indie Jake that he seemed to like the fireplace, which I was not too happy about). IJ looked up from his work and asked me to get him, but all i could see was the little tiny tip of his tail hanging down into the fireplace while he somehow magically clung to the brickwork. The only even remotely appropriate response was to look back and say, "I have absolutely no clue what to do in this situation." As the sole prior cat owner and genetically appointed manly-dude in this house, I'm pretty sure retrieving cats from chimneys falls squarely in his territory. As you can see, the fireplace was promptly covered up.

But anyway, that is the big news around here. I'm sure Johnny and @blkmarketliver will forgive me for not making their visit this weekend the story of the day, but holy cats!. We have a cat!

Oh, and he shows affection with headbutts.

There is clearly no hope for me.

...if you've been following the madness around here since last November, it may not surprise you to learn that the cat is, in fact, named Bonus.

If anyone asks me about symbolism or motifs i may have to deck them...

2010-06-16T16:05:00.006-04:00

Last year, on this very day, some of y'all may remember that I announced that I was starting the lazy man's version of the 101 Things in 1001 days challenge. I was going to do 11 things in 101 days. Those same some of y'all may remember that I failed MISERABLY, bringing shame upon myself, the challenge and lazy folks everywhere.

Now, it may not seem like it, but I do occasionally learn from my mistakes. I am not going to attempt another 11 things in 101 days list, however, if I have learned anything in life it is that the proper response to failure is lowering your standards...or seppuku, and since I'm kinda short on swords, we will be going with lower standards.

Goal #5 from last year's challenge was to read 10 books, and like many of the other goals, I was not even close. I was ego-protecting enough not to record how many books I actually read over the 101 days but I vaguely remember the number to be 2.5. That is pathetic. So this year, I'm going to focus exclusively on that goal, and to keep the title of this activity consistent i will be bumping my book number up by 1. I'm thinking of this as a self-imposed version of those lists they used to give you over summer vacation in school, except this time I am not going to ignore the list until the week before class starts and spend the week before the deadline frantically searching libraries and bookstores and reading all night to be able to BS my way through the inevitable quiz.

So without further ado, I present you The 2010 She Laughs too Easily & Cries too Hard... 11 Books in 101 Days Summer Reading List:

- Backseat Saints by Joshilyn Jackson: Technically, I started this book yesterday and tomorrow is the official start date, but my power was out for a lot of last night so there was not nearly as much novel devouring as one would expect. Also, seriously, you all need to read Ms. Jackson's books. This is the literary highlight of my summer. I will try not to finish it before midnight so it makes at least some of the actual window.

- Diary by Chuck Palahniuk: I know so many folks who are gaga over Chuck Palahniuk that I couldn't help but pick this up when I saw it in the Friends of the Library book sale for 50 cents. The Gentleman informed me that I had, in his opinion, picked the worst Palaniuk book, but you know what? It's what they had and I want to know what the big deal about this guy is.

- Fragile Beasts by Tawni O'Dell: O'Dell has a gift for broaching the grittiest of issues and small towns without feeling the need to reach for her rose-colored glasses. Her books are not exactly the feel good kind of summer read you might take to the beach, but I loved the first three and am looking forward to this addition.

- The Godfather of Kathmandu by John Burdett: Burdett gives us the fourth in the Bangkok series about Thai detective, Sonchai Jitpleecheep. I originally started reading the first installment, Bangkok 8 because there was nothing that really struck my fancy in the store that day and it was delightfully neon pink and yellow. I judged a book by its cover and discovered a fantastically surreal series full or spirits, crime, corruption, sex and mystery.

- South of Broad by Pat Conroy: If you need me to explain to you why Pat Conroy is worth reading then you need to hang your head, go to the library and get yourself a copy of the novel Prince of Tides (no film cheating!).

-Cleaving by Julie Powell: I picked up Powell's first memoir, Julie and Julia (yes, the one that became the Amy Adams/Meryl Streep film), because I had seen it on the bargain shelf at Barnes & Noble so many times that I just couldn't fathom not buying it. I ended up really enjoying it and look forward to seeing if Cleaving is another Julie and Julia or if she gives it a fresh treatment.

- This is Just Exactly Like You by Drew Perry
- Hummingbirds by Joshua Gaylord

I have to admit, I don't really remember a whole lot about these two, they were on my Amazon Wishlist which means at some point I thought they were cool enough to read and they are available at my local branch of the biblioteca. From what I remember, the former is about a troubled family with an autistic son and the latter is about the goings on at an all-girls prep school. I'll let you know how they turn out.

- First Family by David Baldacci: Baldacci puts out a book just about ever 6 months, if not more frequently, but the only ones that ever caught my attention were the King/Maxwell series. This is the fourth in that series. I let Johnny borrow it when I first picked it up and he has assured me that I will enjoy.

-Iodine by Haven Kimmel: I have owned this one for the better part of 2 years and even though I love Kimmel's honest style in The Used World and A Girl Named Zippy, I have never actually read it. This must change.

- This is Your Brain on Music by Daniel J. Levitin: I had to throw something psychological and think-y (yes, I am aware of the irony of the "word" think-y) on this list, lest my brain muscles (not a thing) become soft and lazy. Plus I really do mean to read this book, it combines the discipline I spent 6 years studying with the media form that is pretty much omnipresent in my life. it's just never happened. So now I shall make it happen.

So that's the list. The deadline is September 25, 2010, 101 days from tomorrow. I'll throw up a tally in the sidebar so you can ~~kick my ass if I'm slacking~~ track the progress. Feel free to join me if you trust my taste.

...now if you'll excuse me, I have to go hide all of my traditional summer Wendy Holden books. That jazz is the literary equivalent of cotton candy.

You bleeding? Yeah, you're bleeding...

2010-06-03T19:55:00.000-04:00

I am a huge klutz. When I was 7 I broke my wrist from falling off my plastic Playskool chair while doing step aerobics. (There is, by the way, more frustrating to a 7 year old than breaking your non-dominant wrist. All the annoyance of not being able to do fun reckless stuff; none of the benefit of not having to write at school.) When I was 14 I broke my ankle while on a hike. This initially sounds pretty reasonable, but wait for it. I didn't break it on the actual hike itself, with its trails and rock climbing, no. I broke it on the walk back to the car by stepping awkwardly off the edge of the asphalt walkway. There is a chunk of my knee missing from when I tripped over The Ex's roommate's pants while getting up to go to the bathroom and fell on the edge of an open dresser drawer. I've had more unknown bruises and cuts than I can even begin to quantify. If there were a certification for klutziness yours truly would be their first recipient.

Lately, it hasn't been so bad though. i had been managing to stay on my feet and not walk into any furniture or drop anything...that is until about a week ago.

Friday night I was out at the local convenience store/deli/bar (yeah, wrap your mind around that one) and I stepped out onto the ~~artful dodging of the NC smoking laws~~ patio. Fun fact: When you go through a door, keep moving or someone is gonna open that sucker up into the back of your heal. But I wasn't too concerned at the time since i was half in the bag and paying attention to the voodoo curse removal that I was returning to watch. The next morning may have involved the phrase, "Hey I had no idea I was bleeding this much!"

I should have taken this as an omen of things to come. I should have but I didn't/

Tuesday, I decided that I was a lovely day to go out and ride my bike around the neighborhood. See, my parents neighborhood full of is rather large hills, so I could never really ride my bike to my friends houses. As such, I didn't learn how to decently ride a bike until my college roommate taught me. You know when people say something is "just like riding a bike"...I was the idiot that didn't apply to.

So, I'm out and about when suddenly I hear barking...a lot of barking.

I look to my right and there is a large, black dog coming at me. I had two options: 1)speed up and almost definitely cause myself severe harm or 2) hope that if I got up on the other curb he would stop chasing me and maybe I would escape unscathed.

The funny thing about 2 is that it does not take into account the likely possibility that you will fall off the bike while trying to ditch it to aid in your distancing.

That's right my friends...My klutzy ass fell off my bike and cut up my knee because I was being chased by a dog that got through the electric fence.

...I think this means that I am officially 12.

I'm hoping june plays out more in line with this trilogy's first film's title...

2010-05-23T14:56:00.003-04:00

Well, Holy Cats, my friends.

What isn't different now I ask you? And I bet I know what you'll say. You'll say, "Gosh, we don't know...because you haven't told us." And you'd have a point there. You would have a point indeed, and it would be a valid one. So let's get about to remedying that.

Mid-May: The good, the bad and the ugly-

The Good:

-I graduated. I am officially no longer a graduate student. It feels just a tad amazing and let me say, thank whatever karmic force didn't send me into a PhD program, because Lord knows I don't have it in me.

- I moved to North Carolina. I currently live in a lovely little neighborhood in Charlotte. It is beautiful and warm and within walking distance of a jumping neighborhood center-type of zone. I miss Jersey, but maybe this is what I need.

- Blkmarketliver is back in the US! Hooray! Our worn out little expat has made his return.

- On Friday, for the third year in a row, I got to go to a Jen Lancaster book signing. It's always a fantastic time and I'm glad i could make it, even though my car was less than cooperative in the actually getting there process.

The Bad:

- Finding a job is a bitch. I may have something in the works (fingers crossed) but it is not in my area and a significant pay cut from what i was making up north (though the hours may be better, I'm not entirely sure). At this point I need income so send me good vibes, kiddos, por favor.

- With the exception of a wedding he's attending with me in the middle of next month, y'all should probably not expect any more stories about The Gentleman. Charlotte and Albany are 12+ hours apart. Things are what they are. Time to be a big girl about it.

- Through a combination of both my overestimating how much folks would eat and people not so much showing up, I have been eating taco leftovers from a dinner get together since tuesday. Indie Jake is out of town this week so its up to me to play beat the food expiration clock. I'm pretty sure if I eat one more taco I have to officially switch teams.

The Ugly:

- Did you know there was a thing called "race traffic". I did not. Because I am from New Jersey. Apparently there is this thing, maybe you've heard of it, Nascar. Damn, kiddos...race traffic, she is an ugly thing.

- Apparently my immune system got the memo that I was done with school and moving and decided to take a bit of a vaycay. Today is the first day in a while that my neck doesn't look like I half swallowed two golf balls. Ill does not look good on me.

So that's where I'm at. Hopefully, now that things have settled down a bit we will return to our regularly scheduled programming. As an endnote, I feel the need to go on record as saying Alec Baldwin was a far better commencement speaker than I anticipated.

...which isn't really saying much.

Get me a fake jamaican accent and a 4 am infomercial and i'll be set...

2010-05-13T07:00:00.000-04:00

I should start this post with a disclaimer that I am getting the distinct feeling that I have told y'all about this before, but I can find no record of it so I'm going to bring it up now. If this is old news then lo siento.

For a while now I have claimed to have a sort of psychic connection to my best buddies. When something is up with them I get something akin to spidey sense. Something in this mess of a head of mine tells me, "Yo, you need to call ____. Now. Get on it."

I can sometimes do this with Johnny, but really it is clearly strongest with Indie Jake. When he and his last girlfriend broke up, I got the tingle (no, not like that, you creepos) on the way back from spending the day with Johnny. Phone call. News. Eerie. We used to have a joke that I had some kind of chip implanted that kept me on the up and up, but lets be serious folks. Do I look like I have the kind of capital for that jazz? No sirs.

I have always chalked this up to the idea that I take cues from conversations and implicitly get the social signals for what is going to happen. If this were true it would be rather unremarkable. I have basic social skills. Go me. Maybe though, just maybe, it's more vulcan mind meld than that.

Tonight, we were chatting and he mentioned his car needed oil. "Okay, man, pull in to a service station, get some 10-30 and go on your way." I went over to Johnny's, we watched some NCIS. Nothing more to it. (In hindsight, maybe Johnny is the key. Who knows?) But when I got home and I immediately got the feeling his car had died.

Check the onlines. Not on adium. Not yet at the hotel. Do not check twitter, because that would make sense. Phone call.

The freakin' car was being towed...because dead.

Maybe it is just common sense, or maybe there is a totally rational explanation...all I'm saying is that someone whose name may or may not start with IJ should think twice before thinking any nasty thoughts about yours truly.

...also, I could totally rock the Spock eyebrows.

"I looked up that philosopher, Jagger, you mentioned"...

2010-05-10T11:21:00.004-04:00

Y’all,

Can we talk about character flaws for a moment? (Mine, not yours. You are glorious and wonderful and I love you tons. Will you be the maid (or dude-maid) of honor at my wedding (which is not happening in the foreseeable future so it’s a fairly low responsibility position)?)

Normally, I come around here and I talk to you lovely people, and I like to think I’m a fairly confident lady. Sure there is a dash of self-deprecation here and some cheap ploys to make you think I’m funny there, but most of what gets tossed up here is just, “Hey, how’s it going? I’m gonna be me, you be you and let’s go grab some coffee and talk about the last time each of us woke up ALMOST sure we had clothes when we left the house last night.”

Here’s the thing though. Like most of people I’m sure, there is another version of me. There is the me that doesn’t want to make waves and will agree to just about anything. For the sake of conversation, let’s call her Doormat Dani.

The second time around with the Ex was for Doormat Dani what 1931 was for Clark Gable. You couldn’t turn around without running into her (for the record, according to IMDB, Gable made 13 movies in 1931, which is a completely ridiculous number). That is not to say that we didn’t argue or even to blame him entirely. What it did mean was that I kept very quiet about things that bothered me and squashed down any urges to make waves. Much of the cause, I imagine, is that I feel the peace and preservation of effort that is to gain by shutting up is more important than standing up for what I want. (Anyone who watched last week’s episode of House will find this predicament fairly familiar.) Well, since the end of that relationship dang on 2 years ago, I’ve been pretty good about not slipping into that persona. ::high fives::

Last night I was talking to The Gentleman, who is back in town this week (and for a few more I think, but since I am moving on Sunday beyond that is not particularly relevant to me), and I asked him about some tentative plans we had made to see each other today. He had forgotten about them (in all fairness they were made during a super stressful time and at like 3 am, so that is not so huge a fault) and had other things slotted. And I slipped right into Doormat Dani (twss)…

“Oh ok, no problem, I’m kinda swamped mid week with convocation & graduation but we can hang out some other time” I’m pretty sure I used the sentence, “I get that I’m low priority since I’m going to see you on Saturday so don’t worry about it.” Really, self? Are we going back there? You sure?

And then something awesome happened…he called me out on it.

Told me to stop it. Said that I hadn’t even asked if he could move his plans, I had just accepted it.

I hemmed and hawed about not wanting to be a pain. Because that’s what Doormat Dani does (say that 5 times fast).

The response I got was that in the few minutes I had been making excuses the plans had been moved and we were going out, and that he did not feel, in fact, like I was a pain in the ass.

So today, instead of feeling like a doormat, I feel good. I don’t feel like I’m slipping down into a cycle of feeling worthless. And most importantly, I am aware that I need to keep vigilant about being the me that I try to be with y’all in real life.

…because old character flaws die hard.

Stop, oh yes, wait a minute, mister postman...

2010-04-27T12:26:00.005-04:00

Ok, radio silence has gone on long enough. To get back in the swing of things, and because gosh darn it I feel like it, let’s have some short letters!

Dear TAP NY,

You were phenomenal. So many tasty beers and delicious barbequed meats. Such an adorable tiny beer glass. I get the feeling we will meet again.

Sincerely,
Dani

Xc: Anyone in the NY tri-state area who likes a good brew.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Whoever Decided to Put Towns & Ski Resorts & Beer Festivals up on Top of Hunter Mountain,

You are clinically insane. Did you see that road you had to build that makes the driver think they are surely going to die before reaching the top? God doesn’t want people up there! Get yourself to your nearest Mental Health Services center ASAP.

Sincerely,
Dani
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Dear the Political Lobbyist Posing as a Small Business Association Rep that Came into Work and Got My Boss All Riled Up in Republican Soap-Box Mode the Other Day,

There is a special place in Hell for you.

Sincerely,
Dani
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Sean, the GPS Voice in My Phone,

I’m sorry I yell at you so much. I know you just want to make sure I don’t go the wrong way. But seriously, I got it, turn left.

Sincerely,
Dani

P.S. I love it when you tell me to “Take the Motorway” in your delightful brogue. ::awkward purr::
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Funny People,

No Adam Sandler movie should be 2.5 hours long, even if it does have Seth Rogan in it to distract me with his sexiness.

Sincerely,
Dani
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Masters Degree,

One more friggin’ week and it will be over. This is my sad face…no really it is…okay, no it’s not.

Sincerely,
Dani
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear The Wire,

What I have learned from the 2.5 episodes I watched with my girls the other day is that money should always be carried in a large black garbage bag; the more likely to tear the better. I had been under the impression that one should use a wallet or perhaps an envelope. Thanks for letting me know I was doing it wrong.

Sincerely,
Dani

…although seriously, y’all should maybe consider switching to ForceFlex®.

Three years...

2010-04-16T07:00:00.001-04:00

For those of you who are on foursquare, they would have you think that today is foursquare day.

But today is not for celebrating.

Today is for remembering.

Today is for 32 people who should still be with us.

Today is for the people I am so glad to still have with me.

Today is for learning that we need to pay attention to the warning signs.

Today is for supporting friends, family and those who thought it would be another Monday morning.

... today, we are all Hokies.

Just call me Sister Mary Tanqueray...

2010-04-15T12:59:00.003-04:00

We haven’t had a New York City geography lesson in a while. Luckily (just go with me on that one), this story requires a bit of one, so put on your visualizing caps and start thinking big city thoughts. (If you don’t care and just want the point of why I’m telling you this, skip down to the *)

I’m sure y’all know that NY works on a grid system. The Psychology building a Big Pretentious University is located at what is not called, but could be approximately described as 5th street and Broadway, which is between 4th and 5th Avenues. I take the train out of Penn Station, which is located at 34th street and 7th Avenue. The subway stop I have to walk to in order to get from Big Pretentious University to Penn Station is at 3rd street and 6th Avenue.

Google Maps estimates the walk to the subway at just under half a mile. My iPhone estimates the subway ride uptown at approximately 7 minutes. Time between trains is usually about 5 minutes at the hour that is relevant to this story.

*Now, my Monday class lets out at 8:10 and my train home is at about 8:30. This means that after class, in order not to miss el tren, I need to haul patoot.

Cue this past Monday. I am doing just that, hauling patoot through Penn Station. Amidst my bobbing and weaving through tourists and folks who are not in a hurry and think that the top of the stairs is an excellent place to hold a conversation (it is not, numnuts!), I spy something that warms the very cockles of my heart. There is an elderly nun thoroughly engaged in a conversation with a homeless woman.

I personally have the utmost respect for nuns. When I was small, Dahling used to send me to a summer camp run by Silesian Sisters and it really left an impression on me. For a while I even thought it would be splendid idea to become a nun.

It was this long abandoned life goal that I began to reflect on when I passed the Sister on Monday. I would clearly make a terrible nun. I am fantastically vicious (in the having vice sense, not the mean-nasty sense). Was my life a huge wrong turn from a once noble goal? How could I be sure? Had I somehow made a terrible mistake?

And then, as if a sign from above, a young woman in a yellow shawl caught my arm as I rushed by her.

I stopped, half out of confusion and half because I thought she needed directions to the subway.

“Do you know about God?” she asked.

“Yeah go down thos…oh, God?” I held up my crucifix necklace. “Yeah, we’re aquainted.”

“But have you heard of the mother god in Genesis?”

“I really need to catch my train. Bye.” And I rushed off.

Sign received.

…the secular life suits me just fine.

So about that thing i told you...

2010-04-14T12:49:00.003-04:00

Hey guys...remember how I said there was going to be a blog swap today.

Well I eventually did hear from my partner, but he/she was swamped and couldn't really find the time on such short notice to do it. Sorry to say, no swap.

Personally, I feel like I should write y'all a consolation post, but right now I am livid (not about the swap about an actually important real life thing) and it would just turn into a big rant. So, later this week, maybe tomorrow.

...right now I'm going to stomp angrily around the empty house.

I doubt this is what they were referring to when they said you learn something new everyday...

2010-04-12T13:26:00.004-04:00

It’s the beginning of the week so let’s do a little Old Business, New Business:

Old Business: Y’all are just absolute dolls for opening your big ol’ blogger arms and welcoming Johnny into the fold with your comments. I adore you all. Seriously, were you here, there would be hugs…except for those of you who aren’t vouchers, for you there would be big smiles and the implied intention of hugs.

New Business: Wednesday is the 7th 20sb blog swap. I am scheduled to swap with the writer of Rock & Bacon. I’m currently having a bit of trouble locating a name or email for this person, but rest assured I will do my best to ensure that y’all get more content I didn’t write this week. Also I am super jazzed because his/her blog has a strong music focus. Since Earmarket has been a touch stalled lately (read: pretty much since New Years) the swap is an exciting opportunity for me. So yes, Blog Swap…Wednesday

Well, glad that’s all out of the way.

Now I can go on to tell you that I have had a very educational weekend indeed and without further ado I will present to you…

Interesting Lessons from this Weekend

~ The Gentleman posted this story from the NY Times on Facebook, I believe, as a justification for why he is correct to never want kids. The conversation that followed began discussing said article, meandered through cross-dressing, and finally ended on the assertion that post-funeral drinking is preferable to wedding reception drinking.

Lesson: I suppose the technical lesson here is that babies are bad for the environment, but I’m going to choose to take a more personal and smile-inducing lesson about my taste in men.

~No matter how many times it is said, the fact that a lady-interest invited Johnny to a taco party never fails to elicit a laugh.

Lesson: Never use the phrase "taco party" unless you are prepared to inspire countless dirty jokes. Also, unintended double entendre is the best kind of double entendre.

~If Dahling goes to a bridal shower, she should not be allowed to drink the Sangria. She will begin making ridiculous suggestions with no foundation whatsoever. The more innocuous of these was that I should wait a week longer to move to NC. The more disturbing was that I should be wanting to have a baby. I think she meant at some point in the future, but she was not very clear on this point. I told IJ about this in a casual rundown of my weekend. He is now very worried because Dahling adores him. I find this amusing as all getout.

Lesson: NO SANGRIA FOR DAHLING!

~ Speaking of Indie Jake, as of last Wednesday he is the proud owner of an iPad. I am told it is the future and I will be blown away by it…or at least that’s what I am told now that I have been told about it at all. Apparently, he was keeping this information to himself as payback for me not telling him when I chopped my hair off last fall.

Lesson: When you change the part of speech on the word “lie” you use all kinds of vowels. Also, IJ only recognizes lies of commission.

…lesson across the board: we are huge dorks, and I love it.

TMI Thursday: When you've not got a story of your own just borrow a dear friend's...

2010-04-08T07:00:00.000-04:00

Well, kids, I have a bit of a treat for you today. (Hooray, a treat! Everyone loves a treat.) You see, as this Thursday is said to be Lilu's departure from TMI Thursdaying (which is totally a word) I felt like it should be special. Only problem is that I couldn't really come up with something adequately awesome. So I have done you one better. I asked the always beloved Johnny to write a TMI Thursday story. So here you have the blogging debut of Johnny (who by the way now has a twitter - @johnnycanfixit since I am not so creative at usernames)!

As LiLu always says:
***Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

In this great tradition, I present you with a story you probably never wanted to hear. If you really need to continue to have a good impression of me (or in this case Johnny), are related to me in any way, or are easily skeeved out I suggest you go else where now...like right now...inmediatamente!***

Heeeeeere's Johnny!

Hey all. When Dani first asked me if I would consider contributing to her TMI Thursday this week, I was both honored and confused. She knows all my stories and most of 'em are a couple years old. Throw in the fact that this is LiLu's last TMI week, and we're supposed to pull out all the stops, and I had just one thought: "Where the fuck am I going to get a good enough story to live up to this?"

I racked my brains. I drank another beer. I even consulted Dumbdog, who was no help at all.
I came up with 2 stories that probably wouldn't stand to do alone, but together...

The first is a tale of 2 exes, let's call them A and Z (they were quite opposite, now I think of it). About 5 years ago, I was informed of a kegger to be held at a friends new apartment. A few weeks prior I had run into Z at a bar, and told her of the upcoming party. The next week I invited A as well. We picked up a few bottles as any good party guests should, and headed down. I lost track of Z for a while, and A and I played a couple games of beer pong and Kings. (I was pretty well alcohol enabled by then, so now the limiting factor is my memory.) Anyway, before I know it, I'm guiding A to the front porch where she proceeds to revisit that nights dinner in reverse. Back in the apartment, I lead her to my friend's bedroom where she curls up on the floor and passes out while I rejoin the party. Some time later (again, blackout) I'm watching another game of beer pong, chatting with Z about who-knows-what. Next memory I have is making out with her (which is as far as our high school romance had ever got.) After that, slamming and locking my friends bedroom door. I remember flashes of getting down to business once or twice, IYKWIM. We finish up, and I have a look towards the other end of the room, where I see A still passed out on the floor. Oh, and about 6 months ago I found out that she had been stirred back to consciousness by our, um, noises, and had been awake for nearly the whole thing. Oops.

TMI part 2 is a more recent experience, involving another ex, who shall remain nameless, mainly because it has nothing to do with her specifically, it just so happened to be with her. Yes, another get down to business occasion. I don't recall even telling her this as it occurred, so it may be completely new, even to Dani (whom I tell damn near everything.)
I really don't possess any musical or speaking talents. I have trouble with public speaking, I tend to stutter, and need to remind myself to think first, then speak. I'm also damn near tone deaf, so I can't sing worth a shit either. But I like to think that I put my efforts into other, ahem, oral talents. I guess I got a little too into it, and as I was hard at work, I felt a pop in my jaw. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that I've got a touch of TMJ. As in flatten my sandwiches, don't yawn real big, half my jaw'll jam open, causes great pain LOCKJAW. Yeah. My jaw locked open on one side. While I was happily eating. Luckily it popped back into place before she noticed and we continued on our sweaty adventure in the sack. It also hasn't yet stopped me from any similar experiences. I'm just more careful.

I only hope we can be as cool as the yellow jacket boys...

2010-03-30T02:00:00.005-04:00

Piece of info you need to understand this conversation #1: our house in NC, along with having many other perks, is literally right around the corner from a very run-down looking bar.

Piece of info you need to understand this conversation #2: Indie Jake travels quite a bit (approximately 40% of the time) for the National Sandwichery.

Also, I l took the time stamps off, but this conversation happened at 1AM. This is seriously what we talk about at 1AM...

Dani: i have decided that i am going to frequent our very local bar
IJ: [name of the rundown bar]?
Dani: si
IJ: why that?
Dani: cause its right there...and because im hoping its full of grizzled old dudes...i want to hang with the grizzled old dudes
IJ: hahahah
Dani: in my mind its awesome
IJ: [guy] goes there
Dani: [guy] was cool
Dani: and seemed semi grizzled
IJ: yes
IJ: he will be your grizzled old dude
Dani: i will accrue a posse of grizzled old dudes...that shit could come in handy
IJ: hahahaha
IJ: at least, if you need to fix anything
IJ: or need to remember sports statistics
Dani: i mean a girl's gotta have a backup plan, you wont be around to fix things 40 percent of the time
IJ: hahah yes
Dani: if you come home one day to 500 years of experience in our living room and the first words out of my mouth are "naw guys, this ones cool" dont be surprised
Dani: thats all im saying
IJ: hahahaha
IJ: I dunno that's 10 fifty year old guys
IJ: that would make me uncomfortable
Dani: i was thinking like seven 75 year olds
IJ: also uncomfortable
Dani: fiiiiiiine
IJ: I really don't think there's any combination of people that would make 500 years of experience in our living room comfortable
Dani: we had almost 20 twenty five year olds there the other night
IJ: nah not quite that many
Dani: not at once maybe
IJ: and not all in the living room
Dani: fine...no 500 years of folks
Dani: i promise

Take away lessons:

1) Indie Jake thinks I am very funny indeed (Not actually true but shhh). He is apparently also kinda a buzzkill.
2) I have terrible grammar in instant messages.
3) Don't mess with me and my posse.

...oh and guys, I still need a twitter name for Johnny. Help a sister out.

Is it just me or does this feel a bit like the lyrics of "once in a lifetime"?...

2010-03-23T12:45:00.003-04:00

This morning, when I finally dragged my lazy hump out of bed to get ready for work, something felt odd…and it wasn’t just the fact that the bed I was laying in, which had formerly been my parents' spare bed still smelled like Grandmama (who had used it when she was with us until she passed away last fall). Though that was really creepy.

Either way, I didn’t have time to think about what it was since I had ignored all three of my alarms and needed to get up.

It actually didn’t hit me until I was downstairs checking to see if there was any yesterday-coffee left in the pot.

This was not my kitchen.

My kitchen is cheery and yellow with a bright red coffee pot and a faucet that sounds like a screaming mouse.

This was hardly even Dahling’s kitchen.

Her kitchen is in pieces strewn about the house. A cabinet sample here, a folder of selected appliances there.

This kitchen, which I have been bustling through for 24 years…it wasn’t anyone’s.

The next two months are like limbo for my family. The ‘rents are in the process of getting approvals for their new house and I have already, emotionally at least, made the shift to NC.

Surprisingly though, it feels kind of good. In these two months we will wash off the sins of the past life time and come out the other side ready to start fresh.

...with coffee from the bright red coffee pot.

P.S. I’m taking applications for a Twitter name for Johnny. He maintains that he won’t use it, and this may be true…but when has limited practicality ever stopped me before? Besides, then y’all could bug him and tell him how much I you want to steal his dog.

Other outdated jobs i would rock at include rope maker and early 1900s Chicago Levee madam...

2010-03-18T13:54:00.005-04:00

I have been having the devil’s own time trying to remember what day it is this week. This is possibly because I came back into town from Albany very early in the morning Monday after a weekend with the most ridiculous sleep schedule I have clocked in a while (A “night” sleeping 7am -2pm should not be followed by a night sleeping 3am-5am. Brains don’t get that.) But it is actually more likely to be due to the fact that I moved my work schedule around this week to accommodate leaving Friday morning for what I am, as of right now this very second, deeming “The Great NC Expedition of Johnny and Dani.”

It is going to be fabulous.

It is, however, also requisite of a little extra planning. You see, when I drive down there, bless the heart of my fantastic, ugly, green Subaru, it takes me two tanks of gas and I always stop at the same stations and at the same place for food (because hey, a girl’s gotta eat!). Johnny’s truck, especially when laden down with my furniture, does not get such kickass mileage.

And so, I switched into anal-retentive overdrive and began to plan. Where, oh where could we stop for gas to ensure that we still needed to stop at the same exit for food? Because, kids, there wasn’t anyway I was giving up a stop at the oh, so delicious National Sandwichery (you know, the one IJ works for that we don’t have in Jersey).

I my memory and the internet. I found addresses. I checked mileage interims. I occasionally looked at whatever my boss put on my desk. And finally, I came up with it. The perfect itinerary.

Do you know me? Because if you do, you know how freakin’ jazzed that made me. Some people say perfection is a newborn baby (Heck, the census even says babies count as people); I say that perfection is an exactly cataloged and calibrated list. I may have needed new slacks when I was done…maybe.

I was, in fact, so jazzed that I started thinking about how awesome it would have been if I was one of those folks who planned the routes of ships back in the days of yore. I would have been the best ship-route-planner in all of England (no, I am not English at all, but that is where I assumed I would be route-planning…because of Muppet Treasure Island, I think)

Since I still had anal-retentive mode switched on from the mapping, it really bothered me that I couldn’t remember if that job would have been called Cartographer or Navigator. Like, super annoying, made-me-kinda-itchy botherd me. So I presented Google with the following query:

“who would plan a ships route in the 1700s”

Google’s biggest issue with this is that I forgot to put an apostrophe in “ships”. Seriously, guys? That question should simply return a white screen that says “You are an idiot. Don’t ask stupid crap.”

…perhaps I should have my google privileges revoked.

You see, this is why we can't have nice conversations...

2010-03-13T08:00:00.002-05:00

I wasn’t going to write about this.

It seemed fairly silly and insignificant at the time. Just something said to irritate me. But then I read this empowering post from Sarah Von and it started to eat at me again.

The other day I was sitting at the table with Dahling, eating lunch and chatting. She mentioned something about people who are bad parents. My response, which is an opinion I know I have made public before, was that I wish more people who are really not cut out to be parents would be able to admit that, both to themselves and to everyone else, and then go ahead and not have children.

Not everyone is a natural mother or father. Just like not everyone is an artist or a teacher. Being a parent uses a certain skill set. Some people are not particularly strong on that skill set.

I am not particularly strong on that skill set.

I said to Dahling, what I have said to other people, what I will say to you now. I am too selfish to be a parent.

Her response: “Well, change!”

And that really got my goat. Will I probably change, maybe as my life settles, maybe as I get older…yes. But why should it be expected that I want to change who I am so I can fulfill a role that I’m not looking to play?

“There are plenty of perfectly happy adults who never have children”, I responded, trying to keep the discussion levelheaded. “Are you telling me you don’t know anyone who never had children who is happy?”

“Yes.”

It spiraled into a bad place from there.

Someday, maybe I will want kids enough to develop the skill set they deserve a parent to have. But if I never feel that way I am okay with that.

…either way, I will allow myself to be happy.

Somewhere over the airwaves and the perks of being a responsible adult...

2010-03-12T12:03:00.005-05:00

I’ve been having a lot of dreams lately. Well, technically, that isn’t true in the objective sense, but for me, who rarely remembers dreams, it is most assuredly the case.

They started out last week and were about encounters with real folks I really know that I just don’t want to encounter. They were unpleasant and put me in a bad mood when I woke up. I suppose I should be happy that they have started to take a turn for the fantastic (in the “What the hell?” sense, not the “Man, this is awesome!” sense).

The most ridiculous happened one night last week. Apparently, my brain thinks I need to dream about Judy Garland, in her prime, giving a radio interview. She was perfectly charming and the interview was going along swimmingly until the interviewer asked about her recent marriage to a Hasidic fellow. Dream me is sort of perplexed by this. Real Judy had 5 husbands, none of them Hasidic; but whatever, good for imaginary Judy Garland.

She went on at length, gushing as any newlywed might about how happy they were and how fantastic their life was. But then, bless her heart, imaginary Judy Garland got a little too graphic from mid-century radio. The radio interviewer got all flustered, the producer cut the mic, and I woke up.

Any dream interpreters out there want to take a stab at that one?

Unrelatedly, I am on spring break from school this coming week and, yesterday, I was remembering back to times of yore, and to what that particular phrase means to different types of students.

In high school, spring break meant one thing: no homework for a week. It was a simple and pure joy (probably the only simple, pure thing about high school).

In college, for me spring break always meant a chance to go home. To see the Ex (who was not at that point). To be in Jersey again. For other, it meant a chance to go somewhere warm and behave in ways that are advertised on late night MTV with poor quality footage and black out bars.

Do you know what makes spring break exciting as a grad student? There are still assignments to get done. There is work, so epic travel is right out. (Though I am road-tripping both this weekend, to see The Gentleman in Albany, and next weekend, with Johnny to NC.)

No, no, my friends. What I was genuinely excited about yesterday was the fact that I don’t have to pay commuting expenses next week.

…take that, NJ Transit! WOOOO! Spring Break!

I remember minesweeper being way more fun than this...

2010-03-07T04:30:00.003-05:00

I am discovering that there is a trickiness about moving.

Not in the spacial challenge of getting all your stuff to fit into the inevitably non-your-stuff-shaped boxes you have or in the packing 10 pounds of life into a 5 pound capacity moving vehicle. That part I adore. Spacial reasoning challenges are what I live for. The issue stems from the fact that I have occupied the same room for just over two decades. Over that time, I have created for myself what can best be described as a series of emotional land-mines.

I'm sure we all have them, for better or for worse. They are the items that I put away in this drawer or that shelf so that I don't have to deal with them practically. Standing in the center of my room next to a half-empty bankers box, I know exactly where they are.

There's the poems from my first boyfriend, in the hidden section of the bookshelf. The ones I originally kept to chuckle at back when we wanted nothing to do with each other. Now, when we are friends again, when the Navy is sending him half way around the world in a few months because he is in the Reserves and got called up, I'm keeping them for a whole different reason.

There's the box of who-knows-what that got stowed away under my bed when the Ex became the Ex. There could be anything in there, I really haven't got a clue. I'm tempted to just toss the whole thing away without opening it, but I know I won't. I'll go through it and think about what a colossal shit show everything between us turned out to be.

In the filing cabinet drawer, there's the ridiculous birthday present and the last letter I got from the guy who used to be my best friend. It promises that I'll hear from him soon. It's been a year and a half. I wish I could just let it go.

There's the copy of UK Cosmo that has the interview with my college roommate about the shootings at Tech in my night stand. There's the picture in the desk, of a girl who is like a sister to me and is getting married this summer, taken when we were both 6 before everything changed for her.

I put them all away. And now they are all coming out. Getting packed. Sneaking back into real life. I'm sure we all have them and that mine are no more emotionally volatile than anyone else's. But they do bring a certain trickiness to moving.

...or maybe I just laugh too easily and cry too hard.

TMI Thursday: hey lady, your vanilla is showing...

2010-02-25T11:29:00.004-05:00

As LiLu always says:
***Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

In this great tradition, I present you with a story you probably never wanted to hear. If you really need to continue to have a good impression of me, are related to me in any way, or are easily skeeved out I suggest you go else where now...like right now...inmediatamente!***

I guess this story kind of qualifies as a TMI Thursday story, and since it is after all Thursday I figure why not, but mostly I feel like this is the way to get out of my posting laziness because of some quality TKOG I was just catching up on.

Go read that, learn why it is sometime better not to say anything nice at all even if you do have something nice to say, then come back. I’ll wait.

You back? Good.

First, y’all should know that outside my little posse that I’ve introduced ‘round here, I have some pretty interesting friends. This particular tale involves one of such friends who has some rather interesting proclivities. Proclivities that lie in the camps of polyamory and BDSM. Not my bag, but it doesn’t have to be. It does, however, mean I have a working knowledge of such things to the point where I can freak out acquaintances with delicate sensibilities.

A few months ago back before the time of cold and snow; I was over at this fellow’s house hanging out and talking geekdom with three of his other friends. I had previously met one of them, but the other two were brand new to me.

I tend to make it a habit, when I meet new folks that I need to get along with, to toss out a compliment. Gets the ball rolling on the right foot and softens them up so they may not notice that I’m actually not a people person. With guys this can be tricky, but with girls there is an almost surefire solution. Jewelry.

“Oh, I love your earrings/ring/bracelet made of teeth/necklace!”

Usually, since they are wearing it, they also love it and will tell you about why or if it has any special meaning. I’m just as guilty if you were to ask about the one piece of jewelry I wear.

So, while chatting with the lady among the 3 I noticed she was wearing a solid polished silver necklace. It was unique enough to hold conversational promise and I honestly did think it was attractive. I saw my in and I took it.

“By the way, I love your necklace. It’s really pretty.” (Yes, I really am that banal)

Silence.

Not just from her, but from the rest of the room. And the silence was accompanied by stares at me…and then chuckling.

And then obvious topic changing.

I was at a loss. How had my surefire, standby technique failed me? What had I done wrong?

The answer came to me after the three of them left when I asked my buddy what the deal had been.

Apparently, there is just no other way to respond when the oblivious, vanilla girl compliments someone on their BDSM collar.

…working knowledge fail.

How to take the sap and hallmark out of valentine's day so you can actually have a good time...

2010-02-15T13:56:00.004-05:00

The components of a great Valentine’s Day are surprisingly simple, and yet they have yet to be discovered by the majority of mankind. What we should have been including all along are as follow:

~Homemade Turkey Chili: Yum, yum! What is that you say? You don’t have an amazing recipe for turkey chili because you, unlike me, are not the queen of all things spicy? (Over-inflated ego much? I think not.) Well that’s fine; we can solve that right quick. Just pretend I have a magic wand:

Kickass Turkey Chili
1.5 lbs ground turkey
1 chopped onion
1 14-16oz can stewed tomatoes
1 16oz can tomato sauce
1 can black beans
1 can Mexicorn
1 tsp cumin
1 tbsp chili powder
.75 bottle of A-1 type sauce
hot sauce to taste (I used about 2-3 tbsp of Mamoun’s hot sauce for the batch, but I didn’t really measure. Throw some in, mix it up, add more if needed)

Brown up the onion. Add in the turkey, brown that up too, drain any excess liquid (or just cook it off). Add all other ingredients except beans and corn, bring to a boil, simmer 10 minutes. Add beans and corn, simmer 10 more minutes. Eat heartily.

~McSorley’s Dark: you don’t get the sawdust on the floor and the glorious atmosphere of the bar when you buy a sixer, but the beer is still tasty as hell and budget friendly for the cheap bastard in all of us.

~One of those gorgeous winter days that is cold but sunny and not raw.: I guess you kinda have to luck out on this one, but it was gorgeous yesterday afternoon in Jersey.

~Two of the best non-valentine valentine’s buddies ever.: I will let the picture speak for itself on this one…

…chocolates and flowers got nothing on watching vampire kung fu movies and G4’s coverage of AEE ’10 with these two.

For the record, my answer was "gimme three steps"...

2010-02-02T14:34:00.004-05:00

The other night at happy hour Johnny and I were grooving to the background music at the pub when that Kid Rock song “All Summer Long” came on. For two reasons, I happen to know all the words to this song. The first is that several people thought the couplet “And we were trying different things, And we were smoking funny things” was lyrical genius and should be made the chorus of a song. This is ridiculous…so naturally I had to learn what else made the songwriting cut into this magnum opus. The second, and possibly better, reason is that in this song Mr. Rock samples Sweet Home Alabama, which is a fantastic song and whose groove always makes me want to dance…badly. Our little band of rapscallions broke out into discussion of what our favorite Lynyrd Skynyrd songs were, as any group of classic rock fans would be wont to do.

So, it was no surprise to me that the next day while at the library switching out the CDs I had borrowed, I was compelled to choose the Skynyrd 30 year retrospective. I tossed Disc 1 in the ghetto-rigged cd player I have in my car and proceeded to rock out southern style through the first 13 tracks.

Track 14 (the final cut on Disc 1) came on as I was sitting in the parking garage of the train station, waiting to catch my train into NYC for class. I had arrived a touch early and had some time to kill so figured I’d let the disc run out, at full volume, before buying my tickets.

Track 14 is Freebird.

I nodded my head along with the first few notes then automatically, looked around quickly and halved the volume. Sitting there, I couldn’t really understand why I had done this, Freebird is a good song, and one I have known since I was knee high to a grasshopper. Why would I be embarrassed to be caught listening to it.

The answer, as far as I can see it, is that listening to Freebird has become one of those things that makes classic rock listeners (especially those who aren’t old enough to have heard the music when it first came out) caricatures of themselves. It was the same reason that I felt ridiculous buying PBR by the case, in the middle of a hipster neighborhood while wearing slim cut jeans (other than the fact that buying terrible beer should always elicit shame, even if it is the most practical solution, which it was). In that instance I was a caricature of a 20-something.

Sure, these stereotypes come about because to a certain degree they are true. And because, to a certain degree, they are ridiculous. They are like pieces of a mister potato head that people can affect at any point to be X kind of person when they aren’t. So maybe the reason it felt embarrassing to be actually doing them was that it implied that I was faking something. Maybe that was it…or maybe not.

Either way, I really own those pants because I think they hide my thunder thighs, my new address is really in that neighborhood because its fun and convenient and the house rocked and I still think Freebird is still an f-ing awesome song. That’s who I am and I’m going to own every inch of it.

…I’m still ashamed of the PBR though. Just a touch.

I'm pretty sure none of these would be scarlet, although one might border on vermilion...

2010-01-28T13:13:00.003-05:00

I’m thinking it may, in fact, be time for some short letters. Yes…Yes, my friends, it is definitely time for some short letters.

Dear PB & J Sammiches,

I had forgotten how much I heart you. Yes, you will multiply the junk which is in my trunk to the point where the PB will not be the only “Super Chunky” thing. Yes, I know there is fat and carbs and sugars and you are very, very bad for me…but this is me and I have a history of getting attached to things that are bad for me. Maybe just a few more lunches.

Sincerely,
Dani
--------------------------------------------
Dear Vendor Who Left the Promotional Magic 8 Ball on my Desk,

First of all, who told you that Magic 8 balls should be orange? I keep thinking there is a citrus fruit creeping onto my desk. Also, this thing is an asshole. The other day it was answering all my questions the exact opposite of how I would like so I asked it if it was just fucking with me to be a pain. “Absolutely”

Next time just leave a promotional $5. I promise I’ll remember you better.

Sincerely,
Dani
-------------------------------------------
Dear P.G. Wodehouse,

You are amazing! I seriously owe TKOG for turning me on to you. So many delightfully clever lines and such a fantastic vocabulary. You are Tom Waits’s only competition for “Person I Would Wan’t to be my Inner Monologue”.

<3,
Dani
-------------------------------------------
Dear Cardigans,

How did I go so long in my life without realizing how wonderful you are? With your buttons and your added warmth. I think it’s because you kinda make my arms look fat. That’s fine though. I forgive you. Let’s have a nice cozy make-up snuggle.

Sincerely,
Dani
-------------------------------------------
Dear Person I was Behind in Unnecessary Snow Traffic this Morning,

There had better be some joke behind your bumper sticker that said “5% of 1 is 1”. Even if there is, I still think you are an idiot for putting it on your car. Also, you drive badly. Just go home, some of us have to go to work and do math correctly.

Sincerely,
Dani
---------------------------------------
Dear Vegas,

The number of People Important to Me that are in you right now makes you rivaled only by this slutty girl I went to high school with. We don't talk about what happened there either. Just thought you should know.

Sincerely,
Dani

...yeah, I'm pretty sure all of those aren't worth 44 cents put together. God bless the internet.

Aren't y'all glad you aren't indie jake, he has to live with me...for sure now...

2010-01-22T13:31:00.005-05:00

Hey, kids! Just pretend you remember who I am, like that creepy Aunt that comes to holiday dinner once every five or so years when you are little and you know you are related to her but you aren’t so much sure how.

It’s been, shall we say, a touch busy around here (mayhaps even an inappropriate touch…for which the MTA tells me a crowded train is no excuse). I would, as I have often instructed others and in the style of Alice in Wonderland, start at the beginning and when I get to the end stop, but I don’t really 100% remember where the beginning is or whether I am even at the end yet, so instead I will tell this in the style of a chubby chaser at an orgy, touching randomly and quickly on the parts that are a little thin but really concentrating where the meat is. (10 points to anyone who can tell me if “chubby chaser” is supposed to be hyphenated)

I have heard from @Blkmarketliver. He is all ensconced in med school life and is happier than a pig in shit that he can get Guinness Foreign Extra in Grenada. One of his classes this semester is Abnormal Psych. He told me it makes him think of me…I’m ~~assuming~~ hoping this is because I study psych.

The Gentleman is back up in Albany. There is not much more to that bullet point except I am now lacking in someone to make me laugh by mocking me mercilessly and then giving me a hug…based on that dynamic I’m kinda thinking the Abnormal Psych thing might not be study related.

Dumbdog, is still a lovable little fatty. Too much beer and potato chips…not Bourbon though…he does not like Bourbon. Here’s a picture from Wednesday night because he’s cute and I can.

I am started on my last semester in school. It is all I can do not to check out completely…Senioritis III: This time, it’s ridiculous!

But the reason that it has become so hard to care is the big news that I have been walking around crowing about all week and that, my dear friends, is that Indie Jake and I have secured quite possibly the best rental we could have ever hoped for.

That’s right, I have a NC address. And I want to put it on things. But I can’t because I don’t actually live there yet.

The process of finding the dream rental was a bit of a laugh though. There was the first place we looked at, which held much promise despite the worst Craigslist listing ever and a Realtor that reminded me a lot of my uncle. The place was a dump but a newly empty dump, so he kept trying to tell us that the things that were wrong would be fixed by his crew when they came through. To me, this is the real estate equivalent of “That shit’ll buff out”…that shit usually doesn’t buff out.

We also saw a unit that had a gorgeously huge kitchen that made me want to roll around on the counter space and lay spread eagle in the middle of the floor. (I did not do either of these things because it was in dire need of a good cleaning and also because I didn’t want Indie Jake to run out one of the far too many doors and leave me there.) It, however, needed a lot of work and had a basement that I’m pretty sure has some bodies in it.

Place number 3 may have been very lovely. I don’t know. The realtor never showed up. YOUR LOSS, BRENDA!

And then there was the dream rental. (Which I will take this time to remind IJ we only saw because I was stubborn and made him. You’re Welcome!) See and be amazed at how awesome it is:

I’m pretty sure Indie Jake thought I was going to burn it down at one point because Daddy told me, over the phone, to check how many panes thick the windows are, which you do by holding a flame in front of the glass and counting the number of reflections. In hindsight I might have wanted to tell him what I was doing.

So that, kids, is what is up. Possessions are going in boxes, job searching is starting in earnest, and I am trying my very hardest not to flip a big ol’ bird to the next 4 months.

…also, a pool should be started as to how long it will take my injury-prone self to get a concussion from the slanted ceiling at the top of the stairs.
My bet is 2 weeks.

If i were north carolina i'd be starting to get a bit worried right about now...

2010-01-12T12:04:00.004-05:00

Well, I have come out the other side of the weekend no worse for the wear. @blkmarketliver’s going away party went fairly swimmingly. Beer was consumed, laugher abounded, and our dear friend was bid adieu in a style only so befitting of him.

I may or may not have lost my voice from trying to yell over the throng from 9pm to 430am. I have been telling folks that the gravely semblance of speech that has managed to return is my sexy voice, but in truth it sounds more like the audio from Phyllis Diller nailing Tom Waits.

For the last several weeks, it has worked out that every week has some large culmination that sort of drives how I spend my time. This is kinda kickass because they are all awesome things. Christmas week there was, ya know, Christmas, but also a rather ridiculous Boxing Day adventure. The following week was a New Years Eve trip to Atlantic City. And last week was the send off party.

All fabulously wonderful things. And this was supposed to be the weekend off. Class starts again next week and I was going to have a low key week before I get back into that swing (for the last time ever, thank the Lord).

As you may have guessed, the operative word here is “supposed”.

Nein, meine Damen und Herren!

This weekend, as it turns out, I am scooting off to NC to look at residences with Indie Jake. There is a whole list of reasons why it has to be this weekend, which can be boiled down to the phrase, “AAAAAH, scheduling!” It’s all good though, this is a much better way to spend a weekend.

It has meant one thing though, that the theme of this week has become real estate. You see, when I lived off campus at college our one “has her shit together” roommate took charge of finding the apartment we moved to. And when I lived in PA, the Ex and I essentially found our apartment by walking out of the only appointment we had set up and heading across to the grocery store, picking up one of those real estate fliers they have and looking at the least sleazy looking complex listed there.

This time, IJ and I are doing this process correctly. We know exactly the area we want to live in, what we need to have and what we want/don’t want to have, and most importantly (depending on if you ask me or him, but you are on my blog so you are asking me), what we are willing to pay for it.

So, since that is what I’m thinking about, that is what you are hearing about. For your approval…or not, whatever…

Stuff I Have Learned About House Hunting/Other Folks Should Learn about House Marketing:

~ Craigslist is a hell of a lot less sketchy when you get out of the NY area. I have been able to, on multiple occasions, look through the listings with out feeling like I needed a tetanus shot.

~ When you list a property, take a damn picture of it. No. Take a bunch of pictures of it. And I don’t mean of the outside. Or the living room only. Show me the kitchen and the bathroom. If you don’t show me the rooms where food and naked need to happen I’m going to assume it’s for a reason. (Although at least now I know my accommodations if I decide to eat dinner in the buff, on the couch.)

~ If you are a realtor and your last name is Hicks (y’know, like Dante) you probably shouldn’t call attention to the secluded nature of the property in your listing title. Self-important bitches from Jersey will mock you for it and then count it against you. (It was also secluded enough to be out of our target area, but that’s not the critical point here.)

~ Realtors keep interesting hours. One fellow didn’t answer his phone at 430 in the afternoon, but returned my emails at 730 and 1030 at night. Fair enough.

~ Dear Realtor Mentioned Above,
Please read your emails more carefully. I know sometimes information is superfluous, but you should pay attention to the important stuff, like the day for which I am trying to make the appointment. You can try to show us the townhouse today, but I am in Jersey and Indie Jake is in South Carolina. Will not work so well.

~ Rentals are much more pet friendly down there. Looks like someone will get to have her furry friend after all. Which is super excellent because I will miss Dumbdog muchly.

Who will sleep on my lap during Ghostbusters?

…unless I finally get Johnny to cave. ::fingers crossed::

"A Farewell to Liver" makes not only a good post title and a literary play on words, but also a safe prediction for friday night...

2010-01-07T13:57:00.002-05:00

Today is supposed to be TMI Thursday. I am supposed to tell you a fantastically oversharing story and you are supposed to laugh and judge and at the end of it we all hug and stay good friends because you, kiddos, heart me despite my quirks.

All that will have to wait for next week.

This week, I’m going to use Thursday for another, emotionally conflicted purpose. To say goodbye to @blkmarketliver. You see, on Saturday morning, in the very, very wee hours, he will board a plane and fly (via four different airplanes) off to med school.

“Why are you doing this on Thursday if he doesn’t leave until Saturday?”, y’all might ask.

The answer to that is twofold. One, it is my experience that if you post things on Friday or Saturday no one reads them. They sit there sadly while folks are out doing fun weekend things (as it should be). And he deserves better than that. Two, and more importantly, tomorrow after work I am going over to Johnny’s where we will make all sorts of merry at a going away party for the ages. I do not want or plan to be coherent enough tomorrow night or Saturday or write a proper post. So, that being said, onward!

I suppose now would be a good time to tell you that y’all already know a little bit about @blkmarketliver because he is my Scorpio friend. I have known him in different capacities since I was 12, first as the boyfriend/ex-boyfriend of a rather certifiable then-friend, then as my high school theater crew lighting director, and most recently as a dear friend.

And here, as tribute and farewell, are 5 things that I adore about him:

1) Kid can sweet talk his way around any situation and, as Johnny and I are fond of pointing out, half the time doesn’t even realize he’s doing so. We could all take a lesson in confidence (not arrogance, confidence) from him.

2) He wants to know. This is an unfortunately rare quality in people. When he sees that you know something he doesn’t he will ask you to explain and genuinely listen. We have had long, late night conversations about everything from psychological constructs to the basic outline of Catholicism. Your naturally inquisitive nature will serve you well, hun.

3) He appreciates the awesomeness of a terrible movie. Can we say Vampire Effect? Yes, yes we can!

4) He knows his way around a kitchen. Living on an island where food is expensive is going to be hard. I have seen him whip up some pretty tasty eats. I might as well tag on here that he is just about the only person I know that can give me a run for my money when it comes to spicy food. Well done, sir.

5) When he wants something bad enough he digs in with a kind of dedication I both admire and covet. The road to med school has not been smooth for him, but bless his heart he wants to be a doctor and he dug his heels in to make it happen, even when that meant months of studying ridiculously for the MCATs and a hoop-jumping performance to rival the circus when it came to financials.

Y’all should totally leave him some love and best wishes (because he does read this when I make him, and I will make him).

Good luck, puddle ducklin’!

…and if you don’t keep in touch I swear I will fly down to Grenada and find your ass. Will. Not. Be. Pretty.

Dahling would say this was a brick in my bungalo in heaven, but then again she says all kinds of weird shit...

2010-01-04T13:10:00.001-05:00

The Ex and I are no longer speaking. His call not mine and a relatively new development (about a month ago). At first it bothered me, but I was more irritated by the fact that it did than I was actually hurt over it. You probably don’t care. That’s okay, usually neither do I.

Except, it does give me a few allowances. It makes me feel less badly about telling stories in which he is involved (hello, TMI Thursday material!) because I don’t have to worry about him reading them or stepping on his toes. It allows me to know exactly where I stand.

And, most importantly to us today, when the background check investigator called my house as I was walking out the door to go to work this morning, it would have allowed me to be a bitch.

You see, for anyone who has never been interviewed for this kind of background check, while the majority of the questions they ask are factual, they are using you as a bit of a character reference as well.

The (very cute sounding) gentleman on the end of the line asked me if I was the Ex’s old roommate. I said, yes, we had lived together. He asked if we had met out at the University where he attended grad school. No, sir, we did not. We met in high school…and dated for almost six years.

Why, hello there. My name is Dani and I’ll be your unexpected background check goldmine today.

It is perhaps not best to ask someone whose last contact with your new employee was being told that she is too hurtful a person to maintain even a cursory friendship with what kind of person said new employee is. You also probably shouldn’t ask if that ex-girlfriend would recommend your new employee for a position of trust.

I could have been a bitch. But I wasn’t.

…but, damn, did I want to be.

TMI Thursday: it may be the dawning of a new year, but i'm the same old hot mess...

2009-12-31T10:40:00.001-05:00

As LiLu always says:
***Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

In this great tradition, I present you with a story you probably never wanted to hear. If you really need to continue to have a good impression of me, are related to me in any way, or are easily skeeved out I suggest you go else where now...like right now...inmediatamente!***

New Year’s Eves have typically been a smorgasbord of TMI stories for me, as I assume they are for most people. Since many of them are too brief to devote their own posts to, and because I would have had to have started in mid November and, friends, we all know I don’t plan that far in advance.

So without further ado, in no particular order, New Years Eve, She laughs too easily & cries too hard… style:

~Two years ago, when I was still with the Ex, we were a friend’s where we had rather routinely gone since High School. Johnny, being a generous friend, had brought with him a bottle of Dewar’s White Label which had been sitting in his parents’ house since the days before he was a twinkle. The Ex, being rather a fan of Scotch, decided to have at it…and finished half the bottle by 11pm.

At midnight, I was in our friends’ bathroom stroking his head as he prayed mightily to the porcelain gods.

Happy New Year.

~Last year, I was down in my old college town visiting Indie Jake for New Years. Things were actually going rather well, filled with drinking and dancing though I did get a martini tossed all over me at one point, indicating that the guy I’d been flirting with all night was a bit too far gone to be of use to me). We get back to IJ’s townhouse which is nice and quiet because his roommate (real sweet guy) was God-knows-where. I crash on the couch…and then proceed to listen to IJ and his new girlfriend get busy for the next hour.

Apparently, no one had told him in the two years he lived there, that his floor and bed squeaked.

Happy New Year.

~But the piece de resistance, the real winner, was a few years ago. My sophomore year in college, we couldn’t go to any of the normal houses that we went to so we decided to get a room at a sketchy motel on the highway in town and do New Years there. For $52 bucks (split between like 6 people) we could ring in the New Year in peace.

Well almost in peace. You see I was rather bothered because I had just found out, the week before, that my at-the-time best friend, whom the Ex hated with a passion (and perhaps good reason), had gotten engaged to his girlfriend and that sooner or later I was going to have to tell the Ex.

After copius alcohol enabling, we all decided that a game of strip poker was in order. Here’s a hint folks. I’m pretty sure a game of strip poker among friends who are practically family is never in order. I, luckily, don’t remember much of this, so while I have seen all my nearest and dearest in their birthday suits, I can’t dwell on it.

Then, with the help of our friendly DD, we decided it was time to get some Taco Bell, on the way to which I drunkenly and tearfully explained my predicament to my girls. They assured me it would be okay. We eat bad tacos.

Back at the hotel, I break the news to the Ex, but since I didn’t want to do so in front of everyone, I took him into the bathroom. Afterwards he is pissed, but we are both too far gone to care. I decide to make the fact that I had to break such unpleasant news up to him.

Another hint, all your friends will totally hear when you smash your head into the edge of the toilet because you are off balance through the bathroom wall…

Happy (almost concussive) New Year!

This year I am supposed to be going to Atlantic City (woo Monopoly) with Johnny, the Gentleman, my scorpio friend and two other boys, but right now it’s snowing so who knows what that means.

Anyway, wishing you and all yours a truly happy new year.

…and maybe a few TMI stories in 2010, just to keep it interesting.

The closest i will ever get to picabo street was that time i changed with the blinds open...

2009-12-29T14:14:00.003-05:00

I am clumsy.

No, that is a gross understatement. What I am is way more than clumsy. I have minimal fine motor skills and almost no hand-eye, its kinda pathetic and also to blame for why I gave up on both piano and sports as a child (although lack of patience may have also had something to do with the former). I tend to be a bit of a walking disaster.

The other day, walking down my front steps, I got my heel caught in the leg of my pants and took what probably looked like a flying leap onto the gravel driveway.

Smooth.

Let it also be known that this is not the first time I have gone careening headfirst down a flight of stairs. In high school, while taking my laundry down to the washer, I missed a step and with many a thump and bump introduced my skull to the cement block wall at the bottom of our basement stairs. Oh were there sailor words on that one.

This past Saturday has not one but two shining examples of my stellar clumsality (Word? Not word. Oh well.) While attempting to give The Gentleman a hug (which is apparently a rather dangerous activity) I managed to direct my forehead into his cigarette and burn a nice round red mark on my eyebrow (and also freak the fuck out cause, hello, almost burned my eye!).

If any of you are thinking that that is more his fault than mine (and trust me, you may not be totally alone on that one) don’t worry, I accidentally kneed him in the head getting up to go to the bathroom a few hours later. Kneed in the head…that shit takes a special kind of clumsy.

All of this becomes remarkably funny to me every year around this time. You see, I come from a skiing family. Daddy and Dahling met in a ski club that traveled all around the US, Canada and Europe. My cousin, who learned to ski when she was stationed in Germany, went to Utah last fall to try her hand out on their mountains and Dahling’s brother’s entire family takes a yearly ski trip. This year they are planning on teaching the 3 year old.

Every year, as winter rolls over us and drops snow on mountains, I am asked the same question…

Are you going skiing this year?

NO.

If I can not master stairs by the age of 24 I have no right strapping 2x4s to my feet and throwing my body down a mountain. I can injure myself well enough without adding skiing to the mix, thank you very much.

…y’all go ski, I’ll sit here and drink this hot cocoa. No, you don’t smell peppermint schnapps, now get outta here.

I feel like a proud mama, except child services can't take away a website...

2009-12-19T22:47:00.003-05:00

Okay, so remember a few weeks ago in my NaBloPoMo wrap up when I evasively alluded to another project that I had been working on? And I was really excited to tell y'all what that other project was, because I was just 16 kinds of jazzed about it and I hope you will be too.

But there was the tiny issue of the fact that we hadn't gotten all the sections of it worked out yet, and I wasn't going to come around here spouting off about it when it was still only half done. Because really, I have standards (no I don't) and you deserve better (yes, you actually do).

But now I am glad to say that all the sections have been figured out. All the bricks are falling into place.

And, tonight, yes this very night, there is new content up. So no time seemed better than the present to come back over here and spout off about how you should all take an internet mosey over there and check it out

...unless of course you don't like music.

Then you should go do something else because there is no point in you reading a website that revolves fully and totally around music if that just isn't your thing.

But for those of you who do like music, I present to you, that which is mostly the brain child of Indie Jake, but which I am taking partial credit for because I make it actually happen (and occasionally contribute content...very occasionally...i'll work on that):

Earmarket

...go, and behold the complete and utter limitedness of my site admining skillz.

TMI Thursday: There are some shames that cannot be washed away by cheap beer...

2009-12-17T10:40:00.003-05:00

A’right folks, so I’m sitting there last night trying, oh trying oh so hard, to come up with a TMI Thursday story that meets both the fabulous LiLu’s intent and my own personal rule, which is that I don’t want to bring shame to other people in any significant way. And quite frankly I couldn’t think of anything. Maybe this is because I am bad at thinking or because I tend to be fairly good at controlling my bodily emissions so I don’t have tons of stories, or maybe a combination of the two. Anyway, I thought until I got the phone call I was waiting for around 3 am, and I had nothing. Guess I couldn’t participate this week. SAD. FACE.

But then, on the way to work this morning, something was shaken loose (just like your mother, Trebek) and so in the true spirit of Better Late Than Never, I present without further ado, TMI Thursday.

As LiLu always says:
***Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

In this great tradition, I present you with a story you probably never wanted to hear. If you really need to continue to have a good impression of me, are related to me in any way, or are easily skeeved out I suggest you go else where now...like right now...inmediatamente!***

There is a wonderful bar in NYC called Down the Hatch. On Saturdays, this wonderful bar has an even more wonderful special where, for the pittance of $21 plus bartender tips, you essentially drink all the terrible beer and eat all the hot wings that ~~you desire~~you are capable of consuming between 1pm and 6 pm. Needless to say, this special is aimed at nearby NYU, but friends of mine also enjoy to occasionally trek into Manhattan and partake of the generic domestic beer and chicken bounty.

Now, drinking beer and eating chicken is fun but since you are pretty much parked there for 5 hours you will need ways to keep yourself occupied…namely, drinking games.

I believe I’ve told y’all before that my most favorite of drinking games is Kings…and as “luck” would have it, that is what we happened to be playing at the time. If you are familiar with the game you will know that many peoples’ rules involve some version of Never Have I Ever (in which you say something you have never done and anyone who has takes a drink, for those of you not familiar…for shame).

Playing are myself, The Gentleman, my Scorpio friend, and three other dudes with whom I was at the time fairly unfamiliar.

(At this point I would like to stress exactly how important it is that you leave if you want to respect me. Please.)

Someone, though the beer haze makes it difficult to remember who, draws the card that signals NHIE and says the following:

“Never have I ever done it in the ass.”

Shit. (Quite literally)

Unfortunately, I must admit that I have been young and eager to spice things up, and may or may not (but based on the story you can pretty much tell which) have consented to such things. And now I have a calculation to make. I can a) lie, leave my beer on the table and go on about my happy business or b) fess up, hope I am not the only one at the table and be true to my own conviction that it important to be honest about ones sex life.

Now, my Scorpio friend has a reputation for enjoying the company of the ladies. He once slept with an entire sorority house (or so the story goes). I joke that he will eventually have to switch teams since there are only 3.5 billion women on the planet. Somewhere along the line he must have, right? There is no way you bump that many uglies and don’t occasionally sneak in the back door. No. Way.

So I breathed deep picked up my beer and drank deep.

And I looked across the table at my Scorpio friend, hoping for a cheers of mutual shame…and his beer is still on the mother-fucking table.

And then I looked at the 4 other guys at the table…and their beers were ALL still on the table.

And then I tried to melt into the bench.

…honesty, not always so much the best policy.

It's a friggin' (extremely long-winded) christmas miracle...

2009-12-16T12:07:00.005-05:00

Okay, okay, okay...

So I was laying in bed (because I have off on Wednesday) trying to figure out why I had been having a dream about being forced to participate in some kind of anti-animal cruelty experiment that involved sleeping on poorly supported mattresses at band camp (yes I HAVE been to band camp...no I a not a flutist) and also willing the headache I had to go the hell away.

Inside my achy brain, there is a little voice, "You should check Twitter, its been almost 12 hours, soon the stored up tweets will overflow the 200 tweet reserve of your phone program and you will MISS SOMETHING!"

My internet conscience.

"But I don't want to. My head hurts and I have presents to buy and cookies to make." (Yes I talk back to the voice in my head. Deal with it.)

It responded exactly as I anticipated, "BITCH, GET YOUR WHINY ASS UP AND CHECK TWITTER." So I did.

And I'm reading all about what is up, top whosywhatsits of the decade, chuckles to be passed on, work frustrations being aired, new posts to be read...and then I come across a tweet from That Kind of Girl saying that she has posted the winner of her totally awesome giveaway, which I happen to have entered.

"I never win these things...but maybe I should just check...yeah..."

And then HOLY CATS! I WON!

After I finished doing my happy dance (which, hello, awkward white girl in pjs...not pretty) I realized that I had a decision to make. You see, the prize for the TKoG giveaway was a choice of three things: a P.G. Wodehouse novel, something from Lush or something from Good Vibrations. Winner picks...I pick...oh, dear.

I got a very charming email from TKoG clarifying my choices a bit:

Wodehouse novel (if you choose this, then: what Wodehouse have you already read or own? don't want to duplicate anything.)

OR

Lush goodies (if you choose this, then: which scents do you prefer (fruity, floral, toffee/chocolate/vanilla/dessert-mania, citrus, spice...)?; do you have a bathtub slash take baths?; if not, would you prefer soap or a massage bar? if massage bar: funtimes massage for two, or actually physically therapeutic massage?)

OR

Good Vibrations toy! (if you choose this, then: would you prefer something appropriate for solo play or geared toward couples?)

So to make a long story short (Too Late!) here is why I chose what I chose:

Option 1: I love a good book as much as the next girl. I love good books right from the very bottom of my toes up to the unkempt hairs on my head, but I own a lot of books I have been too busy to read. Also, I am a huge proponent of using your local public library, and mine has a veritable feast of Wodehouse. So I will take it as a personal quest that I must go to the WPL, get some Wodehouse, read it, and come back here to report how much I love it!

Option 2: Okay, so me...I'm a low maintenance kind of girl...according to someone, whose name may or may not have the initials I and J, perhaps a bit TOO low maintenance. I would rather sleep longer and just hop in the shower before work than get up an hour early and get all makeup, lotion, fancified out. So, chances are, even if I had some really kickass bath jazz, I wouldn't use it.

Then I pondered the option of, as TKoG put it, "funtimes for two" and I came to a realization...most of the dudes I have my funtimes with are really hairy fellows. You know what does not mix well with body hair...massage gel/oil/lather.

Its like greasing up a bear.

And on that charming visual I moved on to Option 3.

Option 3: So here we are looking at solo vs. fun times for everyone (in which "everyone" is defined as 2 folks). Well, I have my solo equipment department covered, in a story I have actually been looking to make a TMI Thursday post but have failed. It pretty much boils down to the fact that my ex-best friend (who is a dude) got me trashed on cognac and OJ, then gave me a vibrator for my birthday. Oh the (fuzzy) memories.

So that leaves "fun for everyone".

Now I don't really have an "everyone" right now, but as I said in my selection email...I am an optimist! So on that optimism I will say, "Someday, I will have an "everyone" and damn it...we will have fun!"

Also, this win was quite a stroke of good luck. Anyone who has ever asked me what I attribute all the good luck I have to, has received the same answer. You see, I, like many a lapsed Catholic, wear a cross necklace, and the only time I take it off is when I shower...the ONLY TIME. Jesus loves me because I give Jesus a good show. So this really, this fun for everyone choice is just an investment in good luck in the future...and thats just smart investing.

So thanks again to That Kind of Girl, and I'm sorry for anyone who had something better to do with the 4 hours they spent reading this.

...and seriously, did you think I was not gonna choose the sex goody...it's like you don't even know me.

Someone wanna get on killing this blogs fatted calf?...

2009-12-15T00:34:00.006-05:00

Oh hey! Hey it's you guys. I've missed y'all!

See the thing is, I've been a bit bogged down under end of semester work, but today that all ended. I am free of Fall '09 and now only Spring '10 stands between me and the end of this wretched endeavor.

So yeah, I'll be back around here tomorrow, but right now I've been up for 38 hours, which is far too many. I'm starting to see unicorns and there is this super nice talking kitty who is trying to sit on my head.

...okay maybe not.

But I am exhausted and all cozy from the brandy-nog I had after dinner. An appropriate beverage if there ever was one, since now I can officially accept that it's the holidays and that means one thing for sure.

Dani's gonna be a Christmas cookie fiend!

...unholy cholesterol count, here I come!

Of course santa is a scenester, have you seen that beard?...

2009-12-03T13:15:00.007-05:00

If you follow me on Twitter (and really, why wouldn't you when I give you gems like this in long format), you may have seen this little fellow last night:

First off, yes, I really do say "Holy Cats!". It is part of my ridiculous vernacular and you will just have to deal with that (or alternately see it as charming, in which case, come on over here and have a hug, Sugarbeet.)

However you see the wording, the point is that last night I downloaded about 170 indie holiday songs. And then I wiped my iPhone free of the delicious samplers, female vocalists and electro-rap-indie rock-whatever-the-hell-you-call-the-anticon-orgy-I-have-been-obsessed-with-lately, and loaded all the holiday biznaz on.

Upon listening, or at least starting to because I have other things to do than listen to 170 songs (like sleep, write papers, work and kill a sixpack while watching NCIS with Johnny and Dumbdog), I have come to a conclusion.

Indie christmas songs come in three flavors:

1) Covers of the old classics: Obviously. And I can kinda get behind these, because frankly, if I have to hear The Boss sing Santa Claus is Coming to Town one more time I am going to stab Clarence Clemons in the leg. Some of them are God-awful, but for the most part, they are unoffensive. Fair enough.

2) Whiny, sad, alone @ the holidays, nouveau-carols: Shit, son. Who the hell told you that you could market this as a Christmas song? You know what you need in your stocking? A set of nads! Pack up your emo and save it for Valentines Day or Memorial Day or Arbor Day...or better yet never.

3) Anti-holiday sentiment punk songs that are generally both terrible and hilarious: Here you have your Santa Has a Mullet

Santa Has a Mullet - Nerf Herd...

and your I Won't Be Home for Christmas.

I Won't Be Home For Christmas ...

They are mostly geared at people with the sense of humor of a 15 year old, which I am not ashamed to admit, is sometimes me (okay, I'm a little ashamed). They are good for a chuckle and I keep hoping that if I keep enough of them on there, they will somehow beat the shit out of the songs in group 2.

So I guess I'll keep listening through in hopes that I will find some spectacular new tunes to deck the halls to, but let's face it, you are probably better off just buying Sufjan Stevens's box set and Barenaked for the Holidays and calling it a (not so) silent night.

...as for me, I've said it before and I'll say it again, Christmas music for me will always mean Dan Fogelberg's The Innocent Age.

See, i'm not altogether as unreliable as you all imagined i was...

2009-11-30T22:39:00.001-05:00

Well, folks. Here we are. On the last day of November. The very last day of November. Over. National Blog Post Month is no more.

::tosses confetti::

Honestly, it was a good time and it made me focus on a goal. But come one, some days it was just filler...lame jokes and "I'm out on the town" messages. Thank God for my iPhone, otherwise this would have been blown in the first week.

I've also noticed that there were days when I wanted to be writing for the other project I'm working on that just got off the ground in October, but I didn't. Y'all'll (double apostrophe for the win!) be hearing about that soon enough.

So, i'm gonna say that mandatory posting every day will not continue, but there will be a new goal. Maybe, a post somewhere every night sunday through thursday or something.

I'll figure it out.

...in the mean time, if you are reading this on Tuesday, remember it's World AIDS Day.

It tastes like angst in here...

2009-11-29T23:24:00.004-05:00

Do you know what a twenty-something secretary/grad student/dork does on the final day of a long weekend, when the library search system for her school is down all day so no actual work can be done?

She folds sweaters and watches episodes of awesome old tv shows (I'm looking at you, Daria)

I must admit I spent a good deal of my mid-teen years aspiring to be Daria, what with her sarcasm and her lack of a need for social validation. Also her awesome glasses.

Well, now I have my own awesome glasses. I also had to laugh while watching. Apparently, some time in the growing up process I gained some insight. Now I kinda want to take Daria and give her a hug. Mostly because I know it would kinda tick her off and people who take themselves that seriously deserve to be shaken up a little. But also because I know that the shit she is all irritated by is so completely unimportant that it's not worth sweating.

Don't get me wrong, the show is still amazing though.

...and Trent may or may not still be hot, in a cartoon sort of way, of course.

Ladies and lords of the realm, please be sure to wash your hands thoroughly...

2009-11-28T23:36:00.003-05:00

Tonight we went to Medieval Times for the birthday of a friend of mine. For anyone who doesn't know hat Medieval Times is, its essentially a giant castle erected in the middle of a completely non-castle-friendly area, where, for the low low price of way too much fucking money, they will feed you food that you must eat with your hands and you can watch a ridiculously choreographed tournament/joust.

It is awesome.

Now, I hadn't been to MT since I was 8, so I wasn't really sure what I should be expecting. But it definitely lived up to all of the no expectations I had for it. I did, however, learn a number of things:

1) Pretty much two groups of people go to MT...children's birthday parties and the birthday parties of twenty-somethings that want to pretend they are children/watch jousting while swilling 8 dollar beers.

2) While utensils are not period accurate, and as such cannot be used, apparently polyvinyl gloves are totally medieval kosher and your server will wear them while giving you your half a chicken that you must eat with your hands. I was thankful for this.

3) Apparently, when jousting and sword fighting, you are not allowed to hit your enemy when he is down...instead you must gloat that you knocked him over. Also, weapons and shields should randomly be thrown away at the least opportune time. You certainly won't need them.

4) The green knight is a douche.

5) I know way too many people who have worked at MT. I kept trying to see the knights faces to tell if they were folks I had met at SCA (don't ask if you don't know) barbeques my friend threw.

and most importantly...

6) There is a dude who can put on his resume "Medieval Horse Pooper Scooper".

...and I am glad I am not him.

If you are laughing, i hate to tell you, but you are dork just like me...

2009-11-27T23:46:00.003-05:00

The other day, when I went to grab the mail I noticed that there was something odd. Lately we have been receiving a lot of mail for my recently deceased Grandmama, since this was the forwarding address we gave. But something even more untimely was in there. There was a solicitation addressed to my Grandfather who died about 13.5 years ago. Now, to me this seems like an egregious lack of record keeping, but no matter. In honor of my Grandfather, who is apparently still cool enough to get mail. I present you with his favorite joke. (For those of you who haven't caught on, y'all get jokes when i am pressed to meet my deadline.)

I apologize in advance to any native american readers...but its a great joke.

There was once an indian chief and he had three wives, all of whom were pregnant. Not wanting to live in a house with 3 pregnant women, the chief built each woman her own teepee.

When the time came for the wives to give birth, the first wife, who lived in a buffalo skin teepee, had a son. The second wife, who lived in a bear skin teepee, also had a son. The third wife lived in a hippopotamus skin teepee (Dont ask how native americans got hippo skin. I dont know.) She had twin boys.

So what do we learn from this family?

That the sons of the squaw of the hippopotamus are equal to the sons of the squaws of the other two hides.

...apparently corniness is genetic.

Totally phoning it in on thanksgiving...

2009-11-26T19:32:00.002-05:00

I'm totally only here for my NaBloPoMo. You shouldnt really be here either, prolly. So go eat turkey, talk to your relatives or drink heavily. See y'all manana.

...that is if @blkmarkeliver and Johnny dont get me forever lost trying to go have a beer tonight. I fear.

What color wrapping paper goes best with a big old box full of crazy?...

2009-11-25T23:05:00.003-05:00

So I may or may not have broken my (relatively) long standing hatred with the idiot box today to watch an NCIS marathon. Yes, I am a little ashamed, but you know what? Mark Harmon is kickass and I want to go have a Big Gulp with Abby, so whatever.

One of the things that I have been lucky enough to avoid by watching my few shows that I keep up with on Hulu is the time sensitive commercials. Hulu will give you three or four 15 second commercials during a show but they are generally fairly innocuous. Holy crap, I appear to have forgotten how ridiculous commercials can be. But today's commercials have a very special kind of crazy about them. That's right, since tomorrow Thanksgiving, today was National Advertise the Shit Out of your Black Friday Sales Day.

Now, as I have said before, I am a cheap, cheap bitch, so I'm all for a sale. And a completely insane, practically giving stuff away sale...oh dear, I may need to change my pants. But there is no way on God' green Earth that I am getting my ass up to be at Sears at 4 am. (I'm not even that fond of being at Sears at reasonable hours though.)

If we were supposed to wake up at 4am there would be a day...any day at all...during the year when the sun was up at that time. But there is not. And do you know why that is?

Because that is insane!

I have seen 4am from the other end of the night many a time in my life, but there is no sweater, DVD player, popular toy, computer, coat or riding lawn mower that is worth waiting in a line with a bunch of rabid soccer moms in the wee hours. Especially, not on the morning after a holiday that is specifically designed to make you sleepy, what with the tryptophan and all.

Tell you what?

Y'all can have your $10 microwave, just be sure to put the Asylum's return address on the package when you ship your gifts out. The USPS ain't joking around about that shit.

...oh, and Amazon MP3 store, stop trying to make me broke with your Black Friday deals. It's not nice.

Winston churchill would be proud...

2009-11-24T23:39:00.007-05:00

Today I have for you one of my favorite anecdotes (because attempting to write a post about how I am thankful that Kevin Jones no longer plays for the Lions so I don't have to root for the Detroit-fucking-Lions anymore had a bit of the wrong spirit about it).

One of the Ex's college roommates was a delightful fellow from Florida. He had a certain...shall we say... roughness about him that generally resulted in him telling women to make him a sammich.

Now, one afternoon, this fellow decided that he was in need of a book from the University Library, however, since the library was run in a Library of Congress style, you needed to bring the information about the materials you wanted to the desk and they would retrieve it for you.

Our boy walked up to the circulation desk and, in his friendly drawl, asked the clerk, "Where's this book at?"

The clerk, turned up his nose, put on a rather distasteful scowl and sneered back that this was a prestigious, Ivy League institution and that he should know better than to commit such a heinous grammatical error as to end a sentence with a preposition.

If there was one thing that this particular guy did not take kindly to, it was stereotypical, snotty, comes-from-big-money kids lording the fact that they thought they were better over him. So he looked the clerk square in the eyes and responded with what my be the greatest answer ever uttered.

"Okay, you're right. Where's this book at...., fucker?"

...and they say there is no class left in the world.

If you have nothing nice to say not saying anything at all is far less useful then sending folks to someone who does...

2009-11-23T23:34:00.003-05:00

Okay so folk, do you know VeryBadCat? From over at Cattails.me?

Well you should, because she has written what is probably one of my favorite expressions of thanks in the history of reading with my eyes.

Dude, you should totally go read it. Now.

...seriously, there is no more content here. Go read that up there.

The postman always rings twice, then knocks once, moos three times and does the chicken dance...

2009-11-22T23:23:00.004-05:00

I think it is time for another batch of short letters. It has been far too long since we have had short letters. So, away we go!

Dear My Body,

I know Mind has been keeping you under a bunch of stress lately, but this sore to the touch all over thing is for the birds. While you are at it can you have a word with who ever is in charge of Land Development and Expansion for my ass and tell them to use up some of their PTO. Kay thanks.

Sincerely,
Dani
---------------------------------
Dear Playtex,

Maybe putting that your tampons have plastic applicators in three different languages on the front of the box is not such a great idea. I understand that many people in the world speak French, but "plastique" means something very different in English. And it's not something I would put near my nether regions.

Sincerely,
Dani
---------------------------------
Dear Lady Who Gave Me a Disgusted Look Because I Was Buying Condoms at the Drug Store,

Yes, I realize it is before noon on a Sunday morning. I do not care. Also, I have a coupon. By the way those are three very lovely children you have running around terrorizing you. Maybe you should have utilized the drug store a little better yourself.

Sincerely,
Dani
---------------------------------
Dear My Neighbors,

If you are playing your music loud enough that I can use the Shazam on my cell phone to figure out what song is on from my room in the NEXT HOUSE OVER, it is too loud. If that makes me old, fine. Turn that as-sold-on-tv-dance-cd crap off before I borrow Johnnys BB gun and shoot out your speakers.

Sincerely,
Dani
---------------------------------
Dear Cold Stuffing Straight Out of the Fridge,

I would like to have your food babies. I look forward to the sordid love affair that is Thanksgiving leftovers.

Sincerely,
Dani
---------------------------------
Dear Semester,

Please end.

Sincerely,
Dani
---------------------------------
Dear Readers,

Thanks for putting up with my awful attempts to keep this interesting for a month straight when there is tons of other stuff going on. I wish I could give you all a big high five...especially you.

Sincerely,
Dani

...I wonder if this counts as overnight mail?

Nothing says 100 posts like a chicken joke...

2009-11-21T17:01:00.002-05:00

Well, I'll be damned. Apparently this is my 100th post. I feel like I should do something really amazing for it. Then again, I also feel like someone should kick Alex Trebek in the nads, so maybe we shouldn't always go with my feelings.

So I, in a stunning display of insight, am going to do the exact opposite of that.

Here is something really very unawesome for a 100th post:

Why does a chicken coop have only two doors?

...If it had four, it would be a chicken sedan

Just so you know, i can tell when you're lying, i see it in your eyes...

2009-11-20T23:21:00.003-05:00

I think, since like noone reads late friday posts, I will call upon those of you who do read this to play along at home, since we haven't had a play along at home activity in a while. So lets see, what am I curious about with respect to y'all?:

1) If you were to open a fortune cookie right now, and of course you would eat it all because otherwise no fortune cookie for you, what would it say?

My answer (because it's only fair): Don't let your thoughts and fears drive you crazy. Live with your heart.

2) The teleporter and the time machine have both been in the shop for ages and frankly that mechanic is on thin ice with me. Which do you want him to fix first?

My answer: The teleporter. I have made oodles of mistakes in the past that I would love to change (Poor Life Choice!) but I don't think I could use the knowledge I have now to fix them then...if that makes any sense.

3) I think we should all go have a drink, because it's friday night and y'all are the bees' knees. What can I get'ya?

My answer: A Victory Donnybrook Stout or a Manhattan

Yes, I think that will do nicely. So what are y'all's answers. Inquiring minds want to know.

...see those aren't too terrible painful. Now share, kids.

TMI Thursday: It's like a choose your own adventure with only bad decisions...

2009-11-19T10:57:00.004-05:00

As LiLu always says:
***Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

In this great tradition, I present you with a story you probably never wanted to hear. If you really need to continue to have a good impression of me, are related to me in any way, or are easily skeeved out I suggest you go else where now...like right now...inmediatamente!***

I thought about regaling y’all with another story about sick, but I figured I’d better switch it up lest it be thought that that is all I do. The trick is finding a story that I didn’t feel bad about telling for fear of airing my friends’ dirty laundry as well as my own. Because generally, I’m not terrible cool with that.

This one, however, it has quite a few delightful TMI moments. So I bucked up and decided that it needed to be told.

The scene is a kitchen table, covered in a twelve pack and a half of beer bottles, a few, currently empty but well used shot glasses and what used to be a circle of face down playing cards. Four of us are seated at the table and have clearly been playing Kings (which is the greatest drinking game under the sun as it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be world without end, amen) for several hours.

I have just drawn the make a rule card. Now, earlier in the night, I and one other guy at the table had made a deal to attempt to get our 2 friends hammered. This wouldn’t really be terribly difficult and we had been succeeding fairly well. There is just one more nail that needs to go in this and it’s done.

“Make a rule, eh? Let’s pull out an old favorite. Every time you get up from your seat you do half a shot.”

Three important notes: 1) It is late in the evening so we have all already broken the seal, bathroom visits have become inevitable. 2) All the drinks left on the table are fairly empty and the fridge is out of reach from the table, refills are imminent. 3) The only non-beer left in the house is tequila.

We continue playing for a little while and everything is going okay, at one point we all get up, do our penance, hang out outside for a little while to take a break, but then we realize it is time to put this game to rest. Except for one thing, that last shot that we all took is not sitting very well with our two target friends.

No worries they say they are okay and we all head to our respective sleeping spots…my co-conspirator and I on the couch, our slightly ill friends to crash in the bedrooms upstairs.

A little while goes by and, thinking that our poor friends are asleep, the two of us on the couch get to doing what is normally done when you leave two alcohol enabled, frisky young folks together on a couch.

Until we hear something. Definite motion from upstairs and it’s moving stairs-wards. We both immediately jumped up and did the only thing that made any sense to either of us... ran half-nekkid to the bathroom and locked the door.

The mover came down the stairs, went into the kitchen, got some water and then returned upstairs. Now we may have been dumb (and drunk) but we are not stupid, we decided that the best idea would be to continue this bumping of uglies in the locked bathroom. (At this point most folks probably would have abandoned the endeavor all together, but we were determined and frankly that didn’t seem like an option.)

This went along just fine and, since door locks are a glorious thing and shame was not currently in either of our vocabularies, we weren’t terribly worried when we heard another motion towards the stairs. Or descending the stairs. Or walking toward the bathroom.

The rattling of the bathroom door was a little distracting…but not much.

Apparently, the last shot of tequila finally caught up with one of our friends and wanted out in a bad way. And it got out…off the back deck because there is no way in hell that door was getting opened.

…there is probably a lesson here, but all I can come up with is “You don’t really christen an apartment, until you puke out the back of it because your friends are boning in your bathroom.”

I guess i'll never live out my dream of growing up to be rapunzel now...

2009-11-18T23:06:00.005-05:00

I think I will take this opportunity, since this post will only be at the forefront for a few hours, until tomorrows TMI Thursday post goes up at oh seven hundred, to post about something that has been big for me but I doubt anyone else will care about.

The hairbeast...it is gone.

Snip snip, chop chop, and many strokes of dye later, I am back to having short hair and being a redhead. I am thrilled and I look like an actual adult.

Plus, it's been fun watching people not realize who I am for a few moments.

So to recap, in case you care a touch...

Before:

After:

...apparently my edges become way less blurry when I chop my hair off. Go figure.