The Collective

Human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together...mass hysteria!

2012-02-02T07:21:00.004-05:00

You know what really drives me crazy? When I completely lose track of what day it is and forget to write my Collective post. I lose track of what day it is almost every week, though, especially toward the end of the week, when my brain gets mushier and mushier. I’m usually OK on Monday and Tuesday and then by Wednesday, I’m all, “It’s Friday, right? It feels like it must be Friday so it has to be Friday because if there are more days in this week, I don’t know what I’ll do. DEAR GOD WHY ISN’T IT FRIDAY.”

So get ready for some crap, internets, because I have about ten minutes to write this! I wrote a little bit about this on my blog earlier this week, but the weather here in Ohio has been balls out crazy all winter. It was 60 yesterday. In February! I was outside, walking around with no coat on! What is happening? Is this the end of the world? I mean, that sucks and all, but if the weather is going to be this beautiful, I’m kind of OK with it.

What worries me is that today is Groundhog Day and the groundhog saw his shadow and got scared (pussy) so we definitely have six more weeks of winter (I mean, it’s science) but does that mean six more weeks from now or six more weeks of ACTUAL winter? Because I feel like we’ve only had a couple of weeks of actual winter so far. If that. I think I’ve only cursed the snow and ice once this winter, which is about ten times behind schedule so I’m not sure what’s going to happen. THE FIRST RULE OF WINTER CLUB IS DON’T TALK ABOUT WINTER CLUB OH JUST KIDDING WINTER CLUB POOPS ON RULES AHHHHHH!

You guys, if winter lasts until April, I really will go crazy. Like FOR REAL, set-my-name-on-fire-on-the-front-lawn, make-sculptures-out-of-my-own-hair, paint-the-walls-with-human-waste CRAZY. And I don’t think Joe wants to clean that up. We’d have to move and we just did that and if we had to do it again I’D GO EVEN CRAZIER.

Where was I? Oh yeah, Happy Groundhog Day.

BING!

DON'T TELL ME WHAT I CAN'T DO.

2012-02-01T12:00:00.001-05:00

“I’ll be back. You sit there and insult yourself,” she said. But to that point I had not been insulting myself, nor was I planning to.

Nor have I ever.

And later, “Well, thanks for the compliment.”

“You’re welcome! (And I’m amazed you took it!)” she said.

“I’m not THAT stubborn,” by which I meant, “sometimes it’s easier to agree than disagree.”

“You are indeed complex,” she replied. “Many layers. Much intrigue.”

But even I am not that stubborn.

I don't need to know which dracula I am to be a dracula. Nerd.

2012-01-30T10:35:00.001-05:00

The thing I am about to do is a real cheat, but also it's the truth. This week's Collective topic is: What drives you crazy? The answer is obviously political pundits, people who loiter when they step off escalators (You're creating a people pile, morons! This thing is moving!), the way commercials are ten times louder than the show I was just watching before the commercial came on, folks who use Twitter or Facebook to act like passive-aggressive cry babies, Christians who use the Bible as a weapon without ever having read more than 20 random quotes from the Bible, Christians who use the Bible as a weapon without ever having read any other book in their whole entire lives, that on guy on the plane who always talks so loud, Ryan Murphy and his minions, YouTube commenting culture, and when anyone besides me or Amy tells my dogs what to do.

But also the answer "A Discovery of Witches." I finished it ten days ago or something and it is still making me crazy nutso batshit bonkers. I wrote about it on my Tumblr this morning to try to exorcise it from my life, but it just agitated me even more.

This is where I really lost it with “Discovery of Witches.” Page 192. I highlighted all the parts that made me want to explode in a fury supernova. For example: “We were prey and predator once more.” (Guess who is the one doing the attacking and who is the one getting attacked?) And: “With Matthew in bodyguard mode, I didn’t have much choice.” (When a man tells you do to a thing, you do that thing or he gets violent, OK? You don’t have a choice.) And: “I'm letting you go,’ he said, cutting me off. ‘But don’t bolt for the door.’” (He was just being aggressive because it’s what was best for her. He holds her against her will because he cares.)

Should I mention that the dude who's being a twat is a vampire? Does that make it more acceptable? Because if so, THAT MAKES ME CRAZY TOO.

Another thing that makes me crazy is when a person writes a thing on one blog and also posts it on ten thousand other blogs. Like I just did. But: a) I want you to know how much I HATED that book. And b) I want you to know I'm reviewing 100 books and 100 beers this year. (But mostly the hate, hate, hate of that motherfucking vampire.)

Phone It In Friday: help us waste time

2012-01-27T09:48:00.000-05:00

So we shared some of our favorite apps and websites and whatnot...please do the same in the comments! Some of us, not saying who, might need some time-killers today.

It's also how I study for Movie Quote-offs

2012-01-26T07:07:00.038-05:00

Like, Kat, I was confused as to what this week’s topic was and so was complaining to Joe this morning about having no idea what to write. This happens pretty much every week, FYI. I was all, "This week’s Collective topic is favorite apps, I think? I don’t have any favorite apps." He logically suggested I instead write about my most used apps WHICH IS SO SMART but you guys, those are, like, Facebook and Twitter and Gmail. That’s pretty much it.

Except. EXCEPT. I might use the IMDb app even more than any other. And even if I write about my most used websites, IMDb is RIGHT UP THERE.

You guys. Do you remember when IMDb didn’t exist? NEITHER DO I. Not really. I don’t think I became aware of it until college. Before I even knew it existed, my goal was to become a living, breathing IMDb, so when I stumbled upon it during one magical web journey, it was like I’d discovered The Holy Grail. Or opened The Ark of the Covenant, only instead of melting my face off, it EXPLODED MY BRAIN WITH MOVIE KNOWLEDGE.

Like most college students, I spent an inordinate amount of time watching movies with my friends. And, oftentimes, while watching these movies, someone would say, "Who is that guy?" and I’d be all, "Joshua Jackson," and they’d be like, "What else has he been in?" and I’d be all, "http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0005045/" because back then I spoke in URL only.

Note: these were the days that Joshua Jackson was on Dawson’s Creek, but apparently none of my friends watched that? I don’t know. And, yeah, we were watching Urban Legend DON’T JUDGE ME. All I remember is everyone was super excited to learn that Pacey was also Charlie Conway from The Mighty Ducks, which they would have known if, like me, they’d spent most of their tween years reading BOP magazine.

Anyway, IMDb only made me more obnoxious. If, for some reason, I blanked on an actor’s name or why he looked familiar, I could go straight to IMDb and my curiosity was instantly satisfied. (Hey It’s That Guy helped, too.) What did people do before they could look up any piece of information whenever they wanted? Just NOT KNOW STUFF? THE HORROR.

After I got a smartphone, I immediately downloaded the IMDb app. Now when Joe and I watch movies together, I can look up the movie as we’re watching it (not in the movie theater, though, I’m not a complete asshole...only partial) and astound him with trivia about the movie, which he hates because he likes to look up trivia only after the movie is over. Me? I don’t even care if I get spoilered, I just like to know everything first.

I will use any excuse to post a Community gif.

When the sun shines, we'll shine together.

2012-01-25T12:49:00.000-05:00

I do not own a smart phone; what I own is Lindsay Weir after her summer following the Dead around. I own wasted brain cells and wasted potential. I own a one-season wonder. I own obsolescence.

This week's topic is our favorite phone apps I think? But needless to say my phone does not support apps. It barely supports phone calls. Barely, but it does. Texts as well, and super-grainy pictures of Winston sitting in my lap. Like this one!

Oh wait. I have just been informed that this week's topic is, in fact, favorite websites. Well, that's a horse of a different color! (Brown. I've always wanted a brown horse.) So, without further ado, here are my top five favorite websites for your clicking pleasure.

The Facebook

The Facebook is this place where you connect with your creepy former high school classmates who are now all tea baggers inexplicably obsessed with the fact that Casey Anthony lives two doors down. It is also the medium in which my sister chooses to pick fights with me. It is also where I play Farmville.

Yahoo!

Did you know that the Internet is home to an almost endless supply of information? Because it is. And Yahoo! is the website I use to search for information on the Internet, especially now that Google is evil. It is also where I manage my fantasy hockey team.

Amazon

Amazon is where I buy things. ALL THE THINGS.

The Weather Channel

Did you know that some television stations also have websites? No, really, they do! And did you know that some television stations show nothing but weather? And that these television stations also may have websites? I know, WHAT A WORLD. Well, this is one of those websites. It's perfect for finding out when you need an umbrella-ella-ella or a winter coat. Except for when it's wrong.

in kat's kitchen

And for my final "Did you know?", did you know that I have my very own website? Well I do! It's where I share lots of my very own recipes on how to cook food. It's also where I curse a lot. I'm classy like that.

Alt-Tab

2012-01-24T16:45:00.003-05:00

I told you guys about my favorite iPhone apps a few months ago, so I thought I'd share my favorite websites today.

Pinterest
I hate to be thatgirl but I can't help it. It's fun, it's pretty, it's (p)inspiring. Plus the recipes are amazing.

Pandora
Internet radio that you tweak until it plays all music you love all the tihttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifme. And it shows the lyrics so you don't have to get attacked by pop-ups when you try to google them. And it saves a list of all the songs you thumbs-up so you can make a road trip mix really easily.

Young House Love
I've professed my love for Sherry and John before, but it's still burning just as strong as it was when I first saw them. Their site continues to be well-written, beautiful, interesting, and motivating. Plus, they're funny and committed to each other. I'm getting super exciting about their forthcoming book due out later this year!

I was reading an encyclopedia and I tripped (or "fell over") and hit my head (or "brain helmet")

2012-01-23T18:39:00.002-05:00

If I had known how much having an Android was going to change my life, I would have bought one AGES ago. Actually, that's probably not true because it only became apparent to me in the last year that if I didn't institute some kind of calendar/list/task situation into my world I was going to destroy myself. I actually went to the Verizon store to buy an iPhone, but the customer service guy was like, "Girl, no. You can't get insurance on an iPhone. You want an Android." Which was correct because sometimes it's like I invent ways to thrax my mobile devices. So the Droid X2 is what I bought and I love it and here are the five apps I use the most:

1) Astrid

Pretty much the greatest thing in my life. I use the app and astrid.com in equal measure; the sync is seamless. I use it for task lists, books-to-read lists, movies-to-watch lists. It has made me so much better at not running around in an inconsolable frenzy trying to meet a deadline in ten minutes. It reminds me of things, encourages me to do things, and gently shames me when I've spent three hours playing Zynga poker instead of working. Plus I can share lists and tasks with people if I need them to help (like if I need Amy to pick up groceries) or if I need them to hold me accountable (like if I need Amy to come to my office and stand over me while I write recommendation letters or whatever). My favorite feature is the little pink Astrid guy who sometimes pops up to say stuff like, "Remember how you said you were going to write your Collective post this afternoon? Why don't you do that while I fix you a snack!"

2) InstaFetch

InstaFetch is InstaPaper on Android. It autosyncs with my InstaPaper account, so I can save from my Droid or my laptop. It's super easy to use, super easy to read, and super important to me because if I had to try to remember in my brainspace all the things I want to read later, I would be fuuuucked.

3) GoodReads

I pretty much abandoned writing GoodReads reviews because of being lazy, but I still use it every single day to keep up with what you guys are reading and also to evaluate the worthiness of every book I ever hold in my hand, pre-purchase. (I wish one of you had read "A Discovery of Witches" before me so you could have warned me about how I would want to MURDER the vampire guy.)

4) WikiDroid

The Droid-friendliest Wackopedia app. Remember when Wackopedia was blacked out the other day? I kept a running tally of times I tried to look up shit anyway. 31 times. 31 TIMES.

5) Gmail

Duh.

And now, a moment of silence, for our old friend Google Reader.

*SOB*

I want to believe (that there was only one X-Files movie)

2012-01-19T06:35:00.001-05:00

I was 16 when the first X-Files movie came out and I was determined to see it with my friend, Andi. There was one problem. Andi lived in North Carolina, I lived in Ohio, and we had never met. And my parents, being sane, didn't fancy their first-born daughter flying across several states to possibly get axe-murdered by a fifty-year-old pedophile who had been pretending to be a 16-year-old X-Phile.

This was way before the trustworthy dates of the Internet, the days of TequilaCon, the Thanksgiving Miracle, and Match.com. This was during the dark ages, a strange world filled with AOL chatrooms (a/s/l?), forums, and email fan-lists for every variety of nerdery. The X-Files, for one. Joe also tells me he belonged to a comic book email list SURPRISE SURPRISE.

I'm not sure how exactly Andi and I "met," but we soon spent hours talking to each other on IM. IM! We discussed everything from boys at school to how Chris Carter was going to bring Mulder back from the dead. Again. We shipped Mulder and Scully (4EVA!) and hated Diana Fowley with the fire of a thousand suns. So when the first X-Files movie was set to be released, we came up with the crazy idea that we should see it together. Obviously.

I can't remember how I broached the subject to my parents, but I can't imagine it was well-received. I mean, right? I'm sure my parents were already worried about how much time I was spending online, and now I wanted to go meet some imaginary friend in North Carolina? They said no, I hope I (maybe?) tried reasoning with them before pouting and crying, but who can remember?

Now, because my parents are far better to me than I deserve, they eventually offered to DRIVE ME to North Carolina. We'd make a family trip of it, they could meet Andi and her parents, they'd get to hang out at a hotel pool, and everyone could live happily ever after knowing that their darling children were not going to be horribly murdered by Internet monsters.

I was giddy (giddy!) the entire way there. Andi and her mom met us at our hotel and then we went to dinner. My parents were assured that Andi's family was normal (just like us!) and I was allowed to spend the night at Andi's house, where we stayed up late talking and giggling and watching our favorite moments from our favorite X-Files episodes. We were still giddy, both from finally meeting each other and because The X-Files movie was the next day.

You guys, we saw the movie like four times on opening day. It was ridiculous. Our parents came with us the first time, even though my dad hated the show, hated David Duchovny's bland (his words) delivery and Gillian Anderson's wooden stoicism (SHE WAS A SCIENTIST, DAD). They took my sister to do something vacationy after the show, I think, but Andi and I (and her friend) went to Target to get snacks and then settled back into the best theater seats we could find for the next showing.

You can imagine how excited I was that there was going to be a second X-Files movie, right? I mean, I went to North Carolina to see the first one. Four times. In one day. I promised my sister that we would go see it, but she couldn't go until the weekend after it opened, and since I am super impatient, Joe and I went on opening night. And...you guys. It was so boring. I don't even remember what it was about, only that it wasn't very X-Filey, and I was so, so sad when it was over. Not BECAUSE it was over, but because it wasn't what I wanted. And, you guys, Mulder and Scully LIVE TOGETHER in the second movie! There are no bees to get in the way of their smooches! And I was still miserable! It wasn't even that it was the worst movie ever made, but it was BORING, which was almost WORSE. Maybe my expectations were too high (probably) but even with normal people expectations, it was still the Biggest! Letdown! Ever!

The worst thing was that I'd already promised that I'd take my sister to go see it. So I saw it again the next weekend. I was so sad and bored that I tried to play my favorite X-Files episodes in my head instead, but did you know movie theaters are really loud? Makes it really hard to concentrate.

Looking upwards with wonder.

2012-01-18T10:48:00.000-05:00

In 2011 I saw exactly two movies (I'm predictable; I bet you can guess which ones), and for both I walked into the theatre with no expectations. So in 2011 I was never disappointed!

Har har.

So I guess I'll flip this bitch upside-down and present the following list of things which will likely disappoint in 2012:

The Hunger Games
I'll Be Your Mirror
Tim Tebow
Barcelona
Me

Things that probably won't:

The new season of Game of Thrones
My fantasy hockey team

It's a good thing I get free upgrades on my soda size at the concession stand.

2012-01-17T10:46:00.005-05:00

My life is full of disappointments. Insignificant ones that I’ve forgotten by the time I trip again on the same wrong-fitting shoes, and bigger ones that make me want to take to my journal, scribble how the world has wronged me, and devise plans to fix it all. Perspective is often something I lack in the moment.

I’ve actively boarded my walls against such free falls. I lower, and lower, and then when I think I can’t care about something anymore, find a way to lower my expectations some more. Instead of journal-scribbling, I strategize and my perspective has become infinity times what it was even three years ago.

There are still many places I could use improvement, but by golly does it take a lot for a movie to rattle me. I now expect all movies to be solid gold shit (maesto). Regardless of the plot, the actors, the adaptation, I still assume it will be terrible, just terrible.

Usually, I’m right. Rarely do I leave the theater and think, “Wow, just wow, what a great piece of entertainment and art. Let’s do it again!” Usually, I think, “Yep, another terrible tale from the silver screen! Let me look this up on Rotten Tomatoes and make sure all the critics agree with me.”

Which is what I did after I saw Drive. Based on the description of the movie and the photos of Ryan Gosling, I thought I was going to see a actiony heist movie with a romantical subplot. I did not think I was seeing something I would haaaaaaaate more than anything in the world.

I hated the characters. They were boring, lifeless individuals who spoke in uncompelling glances and smirks. I hated the story. It was uninteresting (as it revolved around these individual and the mafia) and took itself so, so, so seriously. Ryan Gosling actually said OUT LOUD that this movie was his superhero movie. As though Captain America was Chris Evans just selling out. I saw both movies. I will watch put Captain America on my bookshelf and make my mom watch it and get excited (but not my hopes up) for Avengers.

And I will rue the day Drive was made and I will tell everyone I know that it’s the worst thing, that they’ll hate it, that it’s pointlessly 75% insane violence (and I watch a lot of shoot-em-action movies so I’m not real sensitive about loss of life). And I’ll carry this torch until the day I die because critics wet their pants over their love for the movie. Rotten Tomatoes has it at 93% love. This is the WRONG OPINION.

You can trust me, or you can see the movie for yourself, kill yourself, and then, for the rest of your short life, remember that the most often stated lines in the movie (because there isn’t any dialogue to be found) are “a real human being and a real hero” and it’s describing a character who actually stomps the life out of someone’s face in an elevator.

The library is the worst group of people ever assembled in history. They're mean, conniving, rude, and extremely well-read, which makes them dangerous.

2012-01-16T00:30:00.000-05:00

One of my favorite things about The Collective (the four of us guys, plus you guys) is how we're the kind of people who prefer to read the book before watching the movie. Which means: a) We're the greatest kind of people in the world (the informed kind!), but b) We're the most likely people in the world to have our childhoods despoiled (by Jim Carrey, usually). Because we know how the story was REALLY supposed to go, and HOW DARE HOLLYWOOD ruin it with their grubby, money-hungry hands!

This week's topic is: Most Disappointing Movie, and so here is my list of the five most disappointing book-to-movie adaptations.

5) Lemony Snicket's a Series of Unfortunate Events/The Grinch

I'm grouping these together because they both star Jim Carrey as a life ruiner and I don't want to give him any more thought that I absolutely have to. Did you know Dr. Seuss' wife hated The Grinch so much that she walked out of the premiere? Four for you, Mrs. Seuss. You go, Mrs. Seuss.

4) The Invention of Hugo Cabret

Brian Selznick's book is -- and you know I don't say this lightly -- actual magic. It's one of the most gorgeous things I've ever held in my hands or gazed at with my eyeballs. Martin Scorsese's film adaptation absolutely soulless. It's the exact opposite of the book.

3) Eragon

I've got plenty of issues with Christopher Paolini's Inheritance series (née trilogy), but Eragon, his precocious little origin story, was excessively fun. Great world-building, exciting questiness, plenty of pathos. The movie was maybe the worst thing I've ever seen in my life. I don't only mean the adaptation was bad (it was); I mean the entire movie was terrible. Terrible screenplay, terrible directing, terrible acting, terrible effects. Just all around worst, worst, worst.

2) The Golden Compass

You know everything I just said up there about Eragon? Exact same thing down here about The Golden Compass.

1) The Tale of Desperaux

I almost can't even talk about this. My favorite (non-Harry Potter) book in life, and it was butchered in an animated film starring Emma Watson. Betrayed by Hermione? It's almost enough to make a person give up on living.

Phone It In Friday: What's new, Internets?

2012-01-13T12:11:00.000-05:00

Happy Friday the 13th, you guys. Hopefully nothing crazy has happened to you. YET. Ooooooooooh, spooooooky.

Anyway. What's going to be different in 2012, Internets, now that you've said good-bye to 2011?

hopes, not resolutions

2012-01-12T06:54:00.018-05:00

I turn 30 this year, which isn't really that big of a deal except that I think it satisfies Abigail's love for even numbers. I have to say I prefer 30 to 29. I say that not having yet turned 30 but as a 29-year-old, I often forget how old I really am. For whatever reason, I've not been able to get past saying I'm 28. It's not fear over getting older, not at all, it's just that I have this block in my brain that doesn't allow me to notice that time is passing. Sometimes things slip past this block, things like my friends having babies or becoming an aunt or buying a house, but most of the time I drift through life with no idea how long I've been in the world.

I don't know what will be different this year, not really. I'd be scared to guess, which brings me to my hopes for the year, I suppose. I hope to be braver. I hope good things for me and I hope great things for my friends and family. I hope to write more and travel more and maybe write about traveling more. I hope to meet some of you I've not yet met. I hope to see some of you I HAVE met, but who I haven't seen in far too long. I hope to be more active but save plenty of time for (quality) TV-watching. I hope to make good, informed decisions about everything from my job to what to eat for dinner. I hope to see my family and friends more often, hang out with Joe whenever possible, take Max on lots of walks, and...I guess just leave Phoebe alone, since that's what she likes.

Mostly, though? I hope that I stop this crazy bullshit habit I have of typing all blog posts into a Gmail drafts. Why do I do that? Google Docs is RIGHT THERE. Blogger is RIGHT THERE. Why do I type posts in Gmail drafts and risk losing them to the accidentally-hit-Discard void? Because that's happened before. Oh, yes. It's happened. And like most of my problems, it's due to my own stupidity. So I guess I hope to have less of that this year. FINGERS CROSSED.

One more thing. I hope to celebrate more milestones, both big and small. Milestones like this one: The Collective began four years ago (give or take some days), which is basically a high school amount of time, and not a day goes by that I'm not thankful to have found all of you wonderfully strange people. I love you weirdos. Yay!

Out of the darkness, and into the fire.

2012-01-11T10:39:00.000-05:00

The future is distressingly inscrutable and to my woe I've no knack for prediction. But this year began exactly as did last year, namely inauspiciously. And this year continues as last year, in that I still can't figure out how to write. So what is going to be different about 2012? I'm not buying any more goddamned houses, that's what.

we two have run about the slopes

2012-01-10T03:14:00.000-05:00

I have preferences when it comes to numbers. Please be even. Be symmetrical. Be curvy.

2011 was not a great year, visually.

2012 just looks right.

2012 is even. It's nearly symmetrical. It's curvy. It's ripe. It's full of potential. It's making me nervous.

2012 is going to trample 2011:

New house. New office. New cities. Promises of new boys and new friends.

But mostly because this is the year I get a kitty to call my own.

the dragon's ire more fierce than fire

2012-01-08T22:47:00.000-05:00

I heart beginnings, Hufflepuff through middles, and whimper over endings; so January always tests my loyalty. Do I mourn the old year limping away or cheer the new year with so many fresh start-overs? 2011 was the weirdest year of my whole entire life. It offered up such crushing defeats I can barely stand to glance at it in the rearview mirror. Actually, that's a really good theme for 2011: My inability to look in the mirror. 'Cause dayum, y'all, it doesn't feel so good to see your face after your worst suspicions about yourself have been confirmed. But there was a quiet hope about the thing too. I tripped into storytelling work, pedaled into sunsets, melted into love. I don't begrudge 2011 for the noggin knocks, but I'm not going to miss it either. The treasure I stumbled over is coming with me to 2012, and anyway "The Hobbit" and "The Dark Knight Rises" are on this side of the solstice.

Which sort of brings me to my point. I pulled a dusty copy of "The Hobbit" off my bookshelf just the other day and remembered why I love rereading things so much. It's fun to revisit worlds that enchanted me in my past, for sure. But also, if the book means the same thing to me as when I read it the first time, I haven't really grown. But if it tells me a different story, it means I'm really living. The first couple of times I tackled "The Hobbit" I was aching in my bones to go there and back again. "There" being anywhere, but mostly western Europe. And I did and it was wonderful and it molded me more than I can say. But this time when I read "The Hobbit" I kept clinging to the very first chapter: "This is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, and found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost his neighbours' respect, but he gained — well, you will see whether he gained anything in the end."

2011 for me was mostly about learning to stand in the Heather Anne-shaped space in the world and halt the perpetual apologies. Part of it is my protestant upbringing, part of it is the circumstances of my childhood, part of it is my southern heritage, and part of it is just an innate inability to purposely offend. But I realized last year that I had to stop saying "I'm sorry" to everyone and everything for simply existing in my natural form. I've pretty much spent my entire life contorting myself into the most apologetic shapes imaginable, trying to be the very thing that everyone needs. Non-threatening, non-confrontational, playing down my desires, my successes, the structure of my soul.

I have a deep faith in the common thread that ties humanity together, a firm belief in our responsibility to one another. I will crave an existence that binds up broken hearted people until the day I die. But also, in 2011, I realized I have a responsibility to myself too. To fully embrace the shape I make in the world.

That's going to be my 2012. Occupying my own personal space without remorse. I may lose my neighbours' respect, but I will gain — well, we'll see whether I gain anything in the end.

That’s life. One minute you’re on top of the world, the next minute some secretary’s running you over with a lawnmower.

2011-10-30T19:19:00.001-04:00

Hiiii, guys! So maybe you've noticed Collective HQ has been a little disheveled lately. Some of us are moving and some of us are traveling and some of us are saving the world and some of us are getting chomped up by our careers like little dots in Pac-Man. So we're going to take a tiiiiny vacation. We'll be back some time in December to celebrate the holidays with you. If we DON'T come back it's because Google really did kill Reader and none of us could go on living.

xoxo,
Canards

Warewolf bar mitzvah, spooky scary!

2011-10-24T17:56:00.000-04:00

Last week's Collective topic was: What are you putting off doing right now. Get it? Because I was supposed to post about what I was putting off doing, but what I was putting off doing was writing my Collective post? Is that even a joke? Is it like that time Alanis Morissette got confused about irony and then got stoned and made out with Carrie Bradshaw, and no matter what, that had to be better than every single time that Carrie Bradshaw made out with Aidan Shaw because he is the worst person on earth? Does anyone have any idea what the heck I'm talking about? ME NEITHER.

Anyway, so this week's Collective topic is: Halloweiner stories!

And here's mine:

Once upon a time, a family went on a train ride to a pumpkin patch.

The greatest aunt in all the world tried to help the greatest nephew in all the world pick out the greatest pumpkin in all the world.

Like usual, the nephew was all, "I can have one? Awesome. I'll have two."

But they were too heavy and so he just got one.

But even carrying one pumpkin is exhausting for a tiny, little lamb. Good thing the greatest aunt in all the world was there to carry him back to the train.

The end.

Phone it in Friday: Wait, do we still do this?

2011-10-14T08:38:00.000-04:00

How is there not a mashup between BNL's ("Oh, okay, they're BNL now?") Who Needs Sleep?:

And that episode of The X-Files where those soldiers can't sleep. It's called SLEEPLESS. It is relevant to our interests.

Anyway. What do you guys do when you can't sleep (besides cry and curse the world)?

YOU GUYS

2011-10-13T04:49:00.002-04:00

We close on our house on Friday. FRIDAY. FRIIIIIIIDAAAAAAAAAY. That's tomorrow, for those keeping track at home. I keep saying it but it still doesn't feel real. I mean, it did a little earlier when I transferred a gajillion dollars from savings to checking to cover the down payment on Friday but still. No keys, no reality. Or something. I don't know.

I feel on the verge of hysteria, if that makes sense. I'm a planner, a list maker, a collector of worries and what-ifs, so for the next two weeks, I'm afraid I will be totally balls out crazy, even though I don't have any balls to get out! What? I don't know! When I get like this I just feel bad for everyone around me because I am in Planning Mode 24/7. Yes, that's right, even if I'm sleeping (HAHAHA AS IF I CAN SLEEP), I'm making To Do lists or something equally boring in my dreams. Which pisses me off, because who wants to waste dream time PLANNING? I don't. If you do, great, you can have my list-making dream. Throw me back into that dream I was having about Iron Man saving me from aliens, PLEASE AND THANK YOU.

Anyway. I have a sneaking suspicion that I won't be sleeping well until we're in the new house. And even then, I won't sleep well until every last box is unpacked. Until then, I'll just continue waking up at 3 AM, sure I forgot to call someone or do something important and I won't be able to fall back to sleep and I'll lie there and get angrier and angrier at Joe, who never seems to have trouble sleeping, and I'll count the hours until I have to get up and then I will cry all the tears ever teared because I'M JUST. SO. TIRED.

So that'll be fun. At least I know all of you will be awake, too, and AS YOU MAY BE AWARE from, like, life and stuff, misery loves company so HELLO COMPANY I AM MISERY.

Here is a picture of a baby penguin:

LOOK AT ME I HAVE WINGS

What's fixed can always be broken.

2011-10-12T10:20:00.000-04:00

Timely, this, for I've not slept in many nights, and tired I am. When one shares one's bed with another the insomnia is doubly stressful, for not only does one fret about not falling asleep, one also frets about keeping the other awake. Oh, I am weary, and since seven this morning a steady stream of contractors has marched up and down my stairs, and all last night I thought with relish how I'd like to blow this house to smithereens.

So that's how you can spend your wakeful nocturnal hours: taking a sledgehammer to these hateful, hated walls.

wynken, blyken, and nod one night sailed off in a wooden shoe

2011-10-10T23:43:00.003-04:00

I've never been a napper, even when I'm exhausted beyond belief, so when it gets dark out and I'm all situated I fall asleep pretty painlessly.

Unless, of course, I've done something stupid.

Like drink Diet Coke after 2 pm.

For the longest time I thought that the caffeine didn't affect me? Like I didn't feel the difference I thought? And then I entered a period of my life where I was having the hardest time falling asleep and I don't think DC is entirely to blame, but it certainly wasn't helping. So I stopped the night time consumption and things seemed to get better. And now, when I break my rules, I don't get tired for hours ad I lay in bed BEMOANING my situation.

And what do I do? Where do I direct my rage?

First I use the excuse to do stuff on Heather's list that I normally might feel too guilty doing. Like watching a lot of TV or starting a Stieg Larrson book when I know both things will keep me up much longer than I actually would be.

If the conditions aren't right for that or I feel above it then I tell myself I should be doing all the stuff that I say I don't have time for or I'm too tired to do. Because staying up is the gift of time. So I try to tackle my work email but it's too haaaaard and I tell myself I should do laundry or clean the bathroom or take a shower but the thing is, I'm not less tired now, I'm just still awake. So they still feel impossible. And so I throw myself back into bed and turn the lights off again. And make myself wait 20 minutes before fiddling with my phone some more.

And then I go back to my vices. To playing on my phone. To finding some show on Megavideo I haven't mainlined yet. To reading a scary scary book. Eventually I fall asleep for a few hours and then I have wake up and act as though I've had a full night's sleep. Because adults are supposed to foolishly stay up all night for fun. And that's what it becomes. Instead of suffering the consequences of my bad decision, I just make it worse LIKE A MORON!

But I'm not the only one, right?

You’re cozy and warm in your bed, my dear. Please go the f*!k to sleep.

2011-10-10T11:37:00.000-04:00

I hail from a family of Olympic-caliber sleepers. It's my grandpa's genetics, I think, the way we Hogans can sleep on planes and trains and hot air balloons and on the floor and on the couch and occasionally at traffic lights. When I was but a wee lass, I was too terrified of burglars to even shut my eyes, but my dad finally stuck a fan in my room as loud as a jet engine, and after that, I became a champion sleeper too. I don't just like to sleep; I've got to sleep, or else I am the absolute worst and you'll end up punching me in the head before lunch time.

I gave up caffeine (again) about six weeks ago, and so I've been sleeping better than ever lately. Except for last Saturday night. See, last Saturday night I took some kind of time-release nasal decongestant and every time it time-released (like every seventeen seconds) it jolted me into wide-awakeness. I knew as I was lying there that this week's Collective topic is: What do you do when you can't sleep? And probably I should have just gotten up and written my post, but I couldn't, because the thing I do when I can't sleep is get angrier and angrier and angrier and ANGRIER AND ANGRIER AND ANGRIER.

BECAUSE WHY CAN'T I SLEEP? IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE! IT'S NIGHT TIME! I'M TIRED! I HAVE A SHIT TON TO DO TOMORROW, AND I WON'T GET ANY OF IT DONE IF I FEEL LIKE A POOPHEAD! OH, MY GOD, IS IT REALLY 4 A.M.? OH, MY GOD, IS IT REALLY 5 A.M.? OH, MY GOD, IS IT REALLY 6 A.M.? MY LIFE IS RUINED! RUUUUUIIIINNNNED!

And then, instead of just being mad at the night, I start getting mad at everything. TV shows that ended when I was like 11. Third books in trilogies that didn't live up to the previous books' hype. Companies that discontinued my favorite snacks. Commercial jingles that get stuck in my head. People who cut me off in traffic back when I had my learner's permit a hundred years ago. Just ... everything. All the things.

Anyway, last Saturday, I finally just got up and went for a hike so I could take some sunrise photos, and while I was waiting on the mountain bike trail for the sun to do its morning thing, I made a list of things it's worth staying up all night to do:

1) Make out
2) Read Harry Potter
3) Re-read Harry Potter
4) Or maybe read other excellent books
5) Midnight movies
6) Marathon TV
7) Explore new cities
8) Pub shenanigans
9) Night time kayaking, mountain biking, hiking, etc.
10) To win any kind of competition

Otherwise, brain:

"Taste bud orgasm"? Sure, OK.

2011-10-06T14:09:00.000-04:00

2011 has been a real quest-y year for me. Mostly it's been about the quest of keeping my genetic predisposition for anxiety from clobbering me every time I turn around. Or, like, lassoing in my ADHD. But also I have been on a journey to find The Perfect Sandwich. And I haven't been passive about it, either. It's not like I'm sitting around waiting for The Perfect Sandwich to fall into my lap. I've been out on the street asking people where to get The Perfect Sandwich, and then visiting that place to see if they're right. (They're usually not. Subway, sir? Really? Punch yourself in the face.)

So earlier this week, I'm in a restaurant in Queens that only serves grilled cheese sandwiches and beer, and I ordered myself a grilled cheese with Gouda with black bean hummus, guava jam and pickled jalapeños. It was — I don't even know how to describe it. Wait, yes I do: It was a taste bud orgasm. And not like, "Thanks. That was nice. Hand me the channel changer, will you?" But more like, "Just give me a second; I think I might be paralyzed from AWESOMENESS." You know?

It was maybe the most delicious thing I have ever put in my mouth. I had to pep talk myself to finish it because halfway through, I nearly had a meltdown about how I didn't deserve something so perfect.

So anyway, my current favorite sandwich is this guy:

Because it is THE GREATEST SANDWICH IN THE WORLD.

Current Favorite ___________

2011-10-05T14:23:00.001-04:00

Yeah, I got nothing.

(She swings, she misses)

Abigail's Top Favorite iPhone Apps

2011-10-04T10:35:00.011-04:00

My homescreen where I have the most often used apps organized.

In honor of today's forthcoming iPhone announcement (!!!), I figured I talk about my favorite apps. There are over 20 apps I access on a daily basis and while I can't live without some of them, I can't recommend them all either so this definitely is not an app tour. It's a Schilbo-curated list.

Flixster
I no longer look up movie times on the regular internet on a computer (or in the newspaper, but I haven't looked them up in the newspaper since 2001). Flixster tells you the movies and show times for nearby theaters as well as the theaters on your "favorites" list. You can view trailers, Rotten Tomatoes ratings, and box office figures all within the app. You can even buy tickets within the app if you're really nervous about getting a seat.

iFitness
This health and exercise app has exercise tutorials, workout logs, routines, food & calorie tracking, weight & measurement tracking, etc., etc. It does everything and takes your data to show you beautiful charts. Since my health drama of this summer I've been on a strict diet to keep my tummy happy. This app has been super helpful in tracking both what I've eaten and what shape my body is taking. I've used the fitness stuff in the past too and it's super easy to log in 45 crunches or look up a good arm workout (I'm currently not supposed to be active so I haven't gotten to use this part recently).

Goodreads
I've always loved the concept of Goodreads--a place where you can review and track books you've read and see other reviews including insight from your friends. But I found the website clunky and annoying. Now that they have this easy click through app, I'm more involved. I've finally deferred to using their to-read-shelf function instead of keeping a google doc with that info. Plus, you can barcode scan a book when you're at the library or bookstore and instantly see what people are thinking (kind of like checking Rotten Tomatoes before renting a movie).

Chipotle
Bet you didn't know Chipotle was my favorite restaurant. OH WAIT, of course you know that. Chipotle's online app will tell you where the nearest location is but will also let you order and pay online. The order interface is super easy to use and regularly on my work trips we pass around my phone so everyone can put it their own order. The app can save all your credit card info securely so you don't even have to have your wallet handy to place this order. When you arrive at the store they have your food waiting for you so you get to skip the line, plus everyone's names are written on their burritos.

ScoreMobile
I rarely pay attention to sports but am almost surrounded by people who do. And since I understand the need for information, I'm happy to use my magic phone to look up scores, penalties, start times, and other important sports details. This apps has every type of collegiate and pro sport and more features that I've ever been able to even explore. I usually just use the score check feature, but a few years ago I was able to use their play-by-play posts to keep up with an Angels World Series game. It only lags about 20 seconds behind TV and works in a pinch when you're sitting in an auditorium unable to actually watch the game.

She would like to go out with you for texting and scones.

2011-10-02T21:14:00.001-04:00

Since I didn't get to babble about television last week and since one of my favorite things to babble about is television, I'm using this week's topic (Current Favorite WHATEVER) as an excuse to babble about my current favorite television shows. I don't know why I keep writing television instead of TV...what am I, fancy? I don't think so.

Also, I like to make lists. So here is a list of my current favorite TV shows and by current favorite, I mean shows currently airing even though my ACTUAL list of current favorite TV shows would include Mad Men and Friday Night Lights and whatnot but since those aren't ACTUALLY CURRENTLY AIRING, I left them off of my list, which I think makes this the first time I've never cheated at making lists and omg can you believe this sentence hasn't ended yet?

Favorites!

1. Downton Abbey

I'm so excited this show is (almost) back. I watched the first season on Netflix Instant because Kat told me to and I watched it all in one weekend, probably putting off other important things I was supposed to be doing, like laundry and cleaning and showering, but it was worth it.

2. Doctor Who

Although I'm not as emotionally invested in the travels of the 11th Doctor as I was in the 9th and 10th (I hardly ever cry until I can't see when I watch the Moffat-era episodes also I'm not the biggest fan of the River Song storyline YEAH I SAID IT), I'm still completely obsessed and feel very sad face that the latest season is over. I very much enjoy Matt Smith's antics and am looking forward to next season's Amy-and-Rory-less shenanigans. Still:

:(

That's me right now.

Also, Joe and I just had a long discussion about why we prefer Davies-era Who to Moffat-era Who but still like the Moffat episodes of Davies era Who the most and I thought about sharing all of it but didn't want to alienate everyone who has no idea what I'm talking about right now.

3. How I Met Your Mother

This show feels like I'm hanging out with my friends. Even when it's bad, I still find it comforting to watch. Sort of like Friends. I no longer give a shit who the mother is, only that Barney marries Robin and they have lots of scotch-loving babies.

4. Community

Community makes me happy in ways I can't describe. So I'm not going to try. When I watch Community, I feel like this: WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

5. Parks & Recreation

I think Parks & Rec is a more consistent show than Community, and still I think I like Community more. On most days. On days after episodes like The Fight, Parks & Rec is my favorite shows of all the shows.

6. Fringe

We finally caught up on past seasons and are now watching the show live, which probably means it'll be cancelled soon. SORRY. That's just what happens. Much like How I Met Your Mother, even when I don't like what the show is doing (omg Bellivia wtf), I still enjoy watching it. (I also love The Soup.)

I've also been watching The Secret Circle, mostly because I double heart loved the books when I was but a wee tweenager. I tried watching Ringer (NO) and Revenge (VERY YES) but haven't watched any other new shows because those are the only ones TiVo recorded and I do what TiVo tells me. Duh.

Presenting the Class of 2011-2012!

2011-09-30T01:25:00.003-04:00

I broke the rules and wrote this myself since I had a lot to say. But I think breaking the rules is actually this week’s theme anyway!

Biggest Tease: Castle
I caught up on this procedural over the summer to help overcome my disappointment with the Bones finale. See, many comparisons are made between shipping Bones and shipping Castle so I mainlined all three seasons in about a week. I definitely ship Castle and Beckett, only slightly more so than Beckett and myself (Fillion is cool, but not my type). But last season’s cliffhanger finale written for shippers is--OF COURSE--not resolved in the way we would have hoped. And so I’ll wait all season for those two to get their act together. And pray it doesn’t get all wrecked Bones-style.

Class Clown: How I Met Your Mother
I’ve given up on this show ever going anywhere, but it still makes me laugh a lot so I don’t really care where it goes. Bang bang bangity bang.

Best Smile: Hart of Dixie
I will take Bilson in whatever form I possibly can. A Josh Schwartz show seals the deal. Lite and funny with some cute boys? I’m down.

Most Relatable: Unforgettable
Alright, I don’t have this girl’s crazy good memory (it’s a disease that only a handful of people in the world have), but I do have a bit of memory situation. I like to think I could fight crime with it. Especially when paired with my investigatory journalist skillz. Besides making it about me, it’s also interesting because there is one day she can’t remember. The day her sister was murdered. Intrigue.

Most Overrated: New Girl
New Girl is this year’s Glee which is to say New Girl is a completely overrated show that is being inexplicably darlinged. I could barely handle the pilot and it’s most likely going downhill and fast. And yet I imagine people will cling to it and that Zooey D. Eye. Roll.

Most Likely to Succeed: Modern Family
Make that already succeeded--with a near perfect sweep at the Emmy’s, this show is on the track for can-do-no-wrong backlash. In fact, I’ve already heard some retro-backlash. But I’m rooting for it anyway.

Most Anticipated: Revenge
This show is just the perfect kind of thing I want from TV. I thought the pilot was really, really strong and even though the second ep dragged in bits (Eric Van der Woodsen snoozefest) I still feel a lot of promise. This is the show I’m looking forward to each week. Emily VanCamp is an actor inside of an actor and the rageaholic inside of me is totally impressed and in awe of her character’s life-destroying actions. Bring ‘em all down, Amanda!

Cutest Couple: Up All Night
While I dutifully love Applegate and Arnett as sexy-funny-cool couple, it’s Ava that’s bringing me back each week. Maya Rudolph is simply genius.

Biggest Disappointment: Bones
While this won’t actually be coming back until November due to Emily Desch’s real life baby, I’m already filled with regret. Like I mentioned above, I found the finale really disappointing because it was important to me as a shipper to see Brennan and Booth get together. To see them choose each other instead of every other alternative that’s happened over the last six years. But we were robbed of that and everything I’ve read about the seventh season promises no paying of damages. Sad face.

Most Likely to Become President: Parks & Recreation
This is my favorite comedy on the air right now. Knope 2012.

Least Likely to Succeed: The Office
After appreciating Michael’s last season and feeling the show was out of it’s slump, I wasn’t super impressed with this season’s premiere. I’m hoping the show pulls itself together, but emotional women jokes should always be made by Michael Scott, not the actual writers of the show. I’m curious to see if the ratings tank sans the world’s best boss.

Most Improved: Chuck
This is more of a wish and a hope and a dream. I used to love this show and last year it was my most anticipated. But this last season was all over the place and a pretty big disappointment for me. It got renewed again despite it’s poor ratings (which were pretty good compared to it's timeslot replacement, the failing Playboy Club) and this is officially the final season. Show, please, please, please end well.

Best Dressed: Pan Am
This show is just delicious. I thought it was just going to be pretty ladies doing pretty things in the past and likely boring or enraging me a la Mad Men. But it’s actually really great! And there’s even intrigue! And the pretty ladies are totally bad ass!

Visit TV Guide for complete show listings.

When I forget about Guest Post week, I just make Joe write something at the last minute. I rule!

2011-09-29T08:56:00.001-04:00

No, Kevin Spacey, I RULE.

TV Talk, with Joe Baxenwald

So, TV, then. Let’s talk about television. Cathode ray tubes and what-not. Invisible information traveling through space and time, beaming into a machine in your home, displaying pictures and creating sounds for one to see and/or hear. It sounds like science-fiction, does it not? Like some fantastical product of The World of Tomorrow?

Don’t be an idiot, it’s just TV. Pretty much everyone has one. A lot people have more than one. Some people have a TV in every room of their home, and a few people even have them in their bathrooms. I consider this to be overkill – partly because I have a TiVo and can thus pause television when I have to use the potty, but mostly because I don’t want to ever associate episodes of my favorite TV shows with going really bad twosies. For forty minutes. Because it just won’t stop.

Ahem.

The Fall television season is upon us, and with it a veritable legion of new shows to watch and discuss. I have a confession to make: I don’t care. Most of those new shows can stick it in their twosies-holes for all I care. Sure, there’s The New Girl, which we’ve watched the first episode of and enjoyed. There’s Revenge, which was fun, and I could see being very good depending on where it goes.

I’m interested in a few new shows, for various reasons. I’m curious about The Playboy Club and Pan-Am for the reason that I’m pretty sure the networks want me to be – they remind me of Mad Men. I haven’t watched either yet, but may get around to it. I’m also planning to watch Prime Suspect. I’ve not seen the original series, but I’ve heard nothing but good about that, and after the disappointment of The Killing (watched three episodes, was bored, gave up), I have high hopes for PS. Plus I hear that Maria Bello absolutely owns it, which is awesome. I also hear that the new Thundercats cartoon, which premiered recently and totally qualifies for this, is pretty awesome. I’ve got the first episode of that TiVo’ed as well.

But then there’s Ringer. Oh, poor, poor Ringer. Or, I should say, poor Buffy. Maybe she gets paid twice as much for playing two characters? How does that work? Does anyone know? That’s the only scenario in which I can see Sarah Michelle Gellar reading this script and thinking, ‘That’s great stuff, I can’t wait to do this.’

Heh heh.

So Ringer, The New Girl, and Revenge are the only new shows that we’ve watched. Sure, we watched the season premieres of How I Met Your Mother (steady), Modern Family (great), Community (fantastic), Parks & Recreation (also fantastic), The Office (best it’s been in a while), and Fringe (buh-waaaah?), but those aren’t new, they’re returning, and thus do not count. Although I love them all, so go watch them. Community, Parks & Rec, and Fringe are definitely Must-Watch TV.

There is one show that I really do want to watch at some point, though. It’s not new, but it is returning. It’s The Good Wife. I saw one episode of it during its first season, and I loved it, but I never came back to it because I didn’t start at the beginning. It has great people on it (Carol Hathaway, Detective Mike Logan, and Dan Rydell!), and several friends have told me that it’s really good. That’s one I want to watch sooner rather than later. I know, a CBS drama that I want to watch! The world must be ending. As long as it doesn’t end before I find out what’s going on with Peter Bishop on Fringe, I’m okay with it.

2011-09-28T11:33:00.002-04:00

Well, things at Collective HQ are a little glitchy this week, as you can probably tell from Heather's post on Monday and Abigail's lack of post yesterday (don't worry, it's a-comin'). I myself have been trying to get a guest post out of Winston for the last two days but he's been a bit uncooperative on account of being real sick. So in lieu of any words from this kid here:

perhaps you'd like to read some of his antics here. And one day, ONE DAY, maybe we'll get our collective asses together.

I speak six languages, two of which you've never heard of.

2011-09-26T12:40:00.000-04:00

me: i need a giant favor
10:32 PM Amy: where are you?
me: in my office.
10:33 PM Amy: i thought you had to watch pan am so you can recap it.
10:34 PM me: i will in just a second, but i need you to write a collective post for me for tomorrow. it's guest post week and i totally forgot.
10:35 PM Amy: you forgot? that is shocking.
10:36 PM Amy: i hate writing, you know that. what do you need?
me: can you just write one teeeensy post about what tv show everyone should be watching this fall
10:38 PM Amy: isn't that your job? like your actual job?
10:39 PM me: yes, but it's guest post week, and anyway, i am fucking bored to death of my own opinions about tv. plllllleeeeeeaaaase.
Amy: yes, if you'll come down here and make me some brown sugar toast.
me: thank you! ok, how about something like "the five criteria for choosing which fall shows to watch."
10:42 PM Amy: okay. 1) is it bones?
me: lol, ok.
Amy: 2) does it have any australian guys in it?
3) does it have any australian guys in it who take off their shirts a lot?
4) does it have any australian guys in it who take off their shirts a lot and drive sexy cars?
5) does it have any australian guys in it who take off their shirts a lot and drive sexy cars while shooting guns?
10:45 PM me: so, hawaii five-0, is what you are saying?
Amy: and bones.
10:51 PM me: what if booth was australian?
Amy: he would live in the Commonwealth of My Pants
10:52 PM me: thanks, you've been a big help.
Amy: i'm sensing your sarcasm.
me: good, 'cause i'm laying it on pretty thick.
11:27 PM Amy: dude. where's my brown sugar toast?

get your shit together

2011-09-22T22:09:00.001-04:00

I feel like I've typed a million of these posts. You know the one. The "I'm going to cook more!" post. The one that turns into, "I love cooking!" that turns into "I haven't been cooking as much as I'd like," to "We've ordered pizza for dinner for the past six days!" to "My pants don't fit!" to "I'm going to cook more!"

It's a vicious cycle, is what I'm saying, and I'm stuck somewhere between "My pants don't fit!" and "I'm going to cook more!" only we're moving in a month so YEAH I'm probably not going to be cooking more for at least a month and a half. But I can try.

The first thing I do, before trying any recipe, is I Google the hell out of any and all variations of it because WHAT IF THERE IS A BETTER RECIPE OUT THERE. I have a problem, and the fact that practically all information EVER is at my fingertips is not helping. Eventually, I stop searching and decide on a recipe. Then I read it and Google anything I don't understand, like roux or braise. The Googling process can take a while. It's sort of like internet dating.

Anyway. Today! Today we are baking Pumpkin Whoopie Pies with Maple Cream Cheese Frosting. I know. Hold onto your butts. I was going to type the recipe for you but just click on that link instead, OK? Lazy.

Since I already picked out the recipe and I think I know what all of the instructions mean, the next step is to check the kitchen to see what ingredients I already have. Usually I have, oh, about none of them, so I have to go to the grocery store, which is one of my least favorite things to do on account of all the people there, all up in my business. The one thing I do like about going to the grocery is that I get to make a list.

Once I buy all of the ingredients, I head home and realize I'm too tired to cook anything because OMG YOU GUYS I WORK FOR A LIVING AND ALL I WANT TO DO WHEN I GET HOME IS WATCH RERUNS OF MAD MEN UNTIL IT'S TIME TO SLEEP.

Ahem. OK, this DOES sometimes happen, but usually I can shame myself into cooking by thinking about all the money I just spent and how the food might go bad if I don't cook it right then.

Time to start cooking! I learned from Kat that you should always start by getting your mise en place, which means "get your shit together," basically. I put all the ingredients on the counter (usually in the order I need them! nerd!), as well as any measuring spoons/cups I might need. Then I read the recipe like five times because it's usually at this point that I think I've forgotten something really important. But I don't think that I did this time. I guess we'll find out.

I made the frosting the night before the cookies because I can only handle so much cooking in one night. After I made the frosting, I had to restrain myself from taking a spoon and eating it all right then and there because it was SO GOOD. I mean, it's cream cheese, butter, a ton of powdered sugar, and MAPLE SYRUP, how could it NOT be good? I'm glad I made it early, though, because it was a bit runny and needed to be in the refrigerator to set, I think. Oh! If you do this, make sure to take the frosting out of the fridge so it can get to room temperature before you try and ice the cookies with it. Otherwise it'll be all hard and unspready (technical term). Although, I let mine get to room temperature and it was still too runny, so what do I know? Whatever, the first time you try a recipe, it doesn't count.

Time for the cookies! Wheeeeee! Actually, I'm not really sure they're cookies. They taste like muffin tops. But let's call them cookies because I'm not sure what else to call them.

After making the frosting, making the cookies shouldn't be all that hard, right? You just mix all the shit together that you didn't already mix together for frosting, bake it, and BOOM cookies. Midway through whisking all the shit together, I remembered that I have a super fancy stand mixer that I probably should have used but I was too busy pretending I was in Potions class so let's move on, shall we?

Don't be frightened if your batter looks like vomit.

Also midway through, I tried one of the cookies. This was a huge mistake because A) I hadn't eaten dinner yet and B) IT WAS DELICIOUS. So delicious that I wanted to eat the rest while I waited for more to bake AND I HADN'T EVEN ADDED FROSTING YET.

So after like a million hours, all of your cookies will be done. Let them cool and be careful not to burn yourself. If you're like me, when you do inevitably burn yourself, stick your fingers in the frosting that's still cool from the fridge. DOCTORED.

Burny. Except not really because these aren't cookied yet. BURN. YES. Nailed it.

The cookies will take what feels like forever to cool and you'll want to eat them all but DON'T. Or do. I don't care. It's your life. If you don't eat them, though, slap some frosting in between two of them, squish them together, and EAT THEM ALL LIKE YOU ARE THE COOKIE MONSTER. Or Whoopie Pie Monster. Whatever.

I meant to take a picture of the finished product but I forgot. This is why I leave the professional food blogging to Kat. Just go look at these pictures some more.

Recipe is from Brown Eyed Baker. All shitty pictures are from ME.

How to Bake a Pie

2011-09-21T05:00:00.000-04:00

Bottom Crust:

For two weeks at least where I went so too did The Sound and the Fury, yet not once did I read beyond the front cover. I carried that book like a shield from place to place, from home and back again. But it wasn't protection I needed, it was something to hide behind. It kind of worked.

Sunday afternoon I moseyed on down to the hardware store, bought a big ol' bag of dirt, repotted my choking mint and overcrowded basil. In a smaller pot I sowed a few chervil seeds and with the rest of that soil replaced the summer's wildflowers with what will hopefully be a tiny garden of arugula and winter lettuces. Three flights up I've hoarded myself a bit of earth, and though I'll never be able to live off the fat of the land at least I can look forward to a peppery salad.

It's a little thing.

Filling:

A half peck of New York State apples I found waiting for me on my desk, "Mr. Mitchell agreed with me that you should have these," he said after I looked behind with one eyebrow raised. I half expected to find tiny little hearts carved into the skin of each one, but in my relief at finding them all unbruised there was perhaps a twinge of disappointment just the same. Joe as ever was slightly less subtle. "Where are the cookies?" he hollered, no hello after his long flight from Atlanta, no how's life, how's the house, how's the boyfriend. "I'm protesting," I replied.

Because, as ever, I am.

Top Crust:

"Do you still post on your food blog?" Seth asked next morning; "apparently Kristen's still checking." [ed: Hi, Kristen!] And golly, how to answer that. In my head I post every day but things have a way of getting in the way. My intentions are good but like everything else I do the execution leaves room for a great good amount of improvement. I don't know, I just miss my old kitchen I guess.

I'm running out of excuses.

Bake:

Once upon a time the hardest decision was what to make for dinner. Protein, starch, veg. Glass of red or white. He threw a wad of cash on the bar and left to sign some daycare papers, I pulled on my sweater as the cold air rushed in behind. Our last warm day has come and gone and too late I've realized I ate hardly any peaches this year. I've half a peck of New York State apples but nary a peach in sight. It's not the same.

But nothing's ever the same, not really. Except for when it kind of is? I broke another office personality test last week, NO TALKING, NO TOUCHING this one hollered at me. "I can't tell if I should do the complete opposite or use this as an excuse," I whispered. I mean, I don't know, sometimes it's all about the path of least resistance.

(He said we'd always be a part of one another's life, but I guess that's just one of those things you say.)

I wasn't supposed to put beef in the trifle!

2011-09-20T10:24:00.003-04:00

I don't cook often mostly because I'm lazy and pretty easily satisfied with the non-cooking of avocado and tomato on a piece of toast. In the last month the extent of using fire for my eats was boiling water twice. Once for eggs and once for spaghetti. So. Cooking barely intersects with my interests. The sliver of that Venn diagram is two important websites.

1. Pinterest

Pinterest is basically an online bulletin board where you pin all kinds of goodies found about ye olde internets. Among the pages and pages of awesome things you'll fin inside Pinterest is hundreds of recipes that nearly inspire me to get in the kitchen.

Crispy Fried Goat Cheese

These h’ors d’oeuvres are really easy to throw together on the fly. Basically, you take slices of goat cheese, dip them in beaten egg, then coat them in seasoned panko breadcrumbs, then fry in a little olive oil until crispy.

Campfire Cones

Stuff an ice cream cone with chocolate chips, nuts, toffee pieces, mini marshmallows, banana pieces, butterscotch bits, etc., etc. Wrap in foil, place on campfire to melt all together.

Apple Sandwiches

Chicken Avocado Salad

Ingredients:
1 cup chicken breast, cooked and shredded
¼ cup corn
¼ cup black beans, rinsed and drained
¼ cup green onions, chopped
¼ cup tomatoes, diced
¼ cup cilantro, chopped
¼ cup corn chips, crushed
2 tablespoons white vinegar
4 tablespoons mayonnaise
Salt to taste
2-4 avocados, sliced in half with pits discarded

Many more delicious finds at www.pinterest.com/schilbo/food/.

2. My Drunk Kitchen

THIS is how to make cookies:

Bridget Jones with Sit Up Britain, looking for the tuna

2011-09-19T19:04:00.004-04:00

The first time I went to a cooking class, the instructor said, "Cooking requires keen attention to detail, nuance, and the ability to be present with your food at all times." And I was like, "Er, I'm just gonna go ..." Right? Because those are not three things you're ever going to find on my resume.

Excepting the part where humans need to food to stay alive, I never even really understood the allure of cooking — until I saw Kat work her way around a kitchen. It's not just that her food is The Most Delicious; it's that she's a magic-maker, the way she moves around with such confidence and ease and skill. Every time I reread Half-Blood Prince, I think about how Kat would have been the best potions make in the history of Hogwarts. Even Snape would have been forced to concede her superiority.

One day I hope she'll let me be her sous-chef again, and so I've hammered away at the cooking thing, trying to make delicious stuffs that are also not poisonous.

Here are the five most important things I've learned about cooking:

1) Cheese is the cure. For serious. If you fuck up something, just cover it in cheese. If the recipe calls for 1/2 a cup of cheese, use six hundred cups of cheese. Cheese is the most delicious thing, and therefore: more of it.

2) The other cure is lemon. The acid from lemons calms down soups that are too beefy or desserts that are too sweet. And they perk up most meats and vegetables after you're done cooking!

3) Get yourself a good knife. Yes, it's true that sometimes you will chop at your fingers in such a way that you're going to need stitches, but that's a risk you've got to take. You can do lots of things with a good knife, but you can't do shit with bad knife.

4) The other best cooking tool is your hands! You can actually learn to feel when stuff is done, and also it's a fun time to mix up things with your hands like a little kid making mud pies.

5) Sometimes your beagle might eat several raw steaks or a whole pound cake or an entire bowl of gravy. But guess what? It won't kill her. Probably.

back to school, back to school, to prove to dad that I'm not a fool

2011-09-09T07:08:00.003-04:00

The other day, Joe and I were talking about career paths and whatnot and I asked if he'd ever considered becoming a teacher. Don't you think he'd be a great Kindergarten or first grade teacher? Wouldn't you have loved it if your Kindergarten teacher was a super-tall, bearded BFG with the most boisterous laugh in all the land?

I think I'm trying to bully him into becoming a teacher because although I enjoy the career I've stumbled into, when I was younger, I always wondered if I'd end up a teacher. I definitively decided against it once I started volunteering and realized how difficult it is to corral only four six-year-olds, let alone a class of like 25 of them. And for the whole day! Not just a couple of hours. That's a lot of time to not say any curse words.

Also, I'm afraid to go back to school as a teacher because I loved school so much as a student. Because, you guys. I LOVED SCHOOL. I was totally that kid you hated, the one who got 100% on every test (or, like, cried if she got a 97% WTF) and always volunteered to write things on the chalkboard and got to grade all of your papers with the ANSWER KEY (!) and who was basically a know-it-all-smarty-pants. I don't know what happened to that kid. I mean, I'm still a know-it-all-smarty-pants but I have even less to back it up now since I think my brain reached Learning Saturation a long time ago. But I digress. AS PER ALWAYS.

My favorite part about going back to school was finding out who my new teacher was going to be and who else was in my class. They'd always put the lists out a week or so before school started and I'd bug the shit out of my mom until she took me to look at it. I'm not sure why, exactly, I was so excited because it's not like I ever knew anything about many of the teachers. I think I was just always hoping for someone with a last name that started with an A to be in my class so I wouldn't always have to go first on presentations.

My second favorite part about going back to school was SCHOOL SUPPLIES. Glorious school supplies. Pens and rulers and new folders and notebooks and YOU GUYS MAYBE EVEN A TRAPPER KEEPER. I don't wanna wait for my trapper keeper to be over! Ooh! And best yet! NEW CRAYONS. I remember this one year, they'd just come out with (I think) the 64 count crayon box with A CRAYON SHARPENER ATTACHED TO THE BOX. So you could sharpen your crayons and they'd be like new all the time! WHAT KIND OF AWESOME SORCERY IS THAT?! I somehow convinced my mom to get it for me, probably because I told her I needed it to live or something. Also, probably because my dad wasn't there.

Did your dad ever used to give you the Want vs. Need speech? Like, whenever my sister or I said we needed something, he'd be all, "do you want it or do you need it?" and I'd be like, "yes, dad, I need this penicillin to live," JK it was more like, "yes, dad, I need this Saved by the Bell game TO LIVE." My point is, do they still make Trapper Keepers? Because I need one. No, I don't want one, DAD. I need one.

Triple Lindy

2011-09-08T07:00:00.000-04:00

The transition from green to yellow is surprisingly quick, the light dimmed so suddenly that one day it just happens, every hour of sun is squandered on the inside, leaving life solely illuminated by fluorescence and cathode rays. The rain rolls in one night on a rush of wind and in my stubbornness I refuse to unpack the umbrella, preferring for the moment the shock of cool water against my face. The rainy season has arrived.

Back in college it used to rain so much this one time Pete picked me up in a canoe; we spent the entire day drinking beers while he paddled me about. Sometimes we just drifted where the streets would take us, but mostly we just laughed and laughed. He ran Hood to Coast this year so thoroughly he's taken to Portland, It reminds me of New Orleans he told me a few weeks ago, and that's as good a reason to take to a place as any I suppose.

After the storm my best friend and I compared notes and succeeded only in making us both horribly wistful for days spent commiserating over lunch trays at Bruff. I lost 15 freshman year--I always have to be different it seems--but gained more than I can count. My friends, yeah, and myself. So now, at the start of yet another school year, I'm planning my own return to campus. Flights and hotel are booked, football tickets are in hand. But this time my companions will be rooting for the other team. You can go back, but it's never quite the same.

Especially when your cat has smothered the entire damn city.

A life not void of pure intent

2011-09-07T01:13:00.003-04:00

This time of year means a lot of things to me. First of all, I work in higher education so I've been obsessively tracking enrollment data for the last four weeks because students = money = paycheck. Second of all, I'm supposed to be in school right now getting a degree in Business Cats but I once again have to take a leave of absence from school cause the rest of my life is... in disarray.

But what I observe most is that fall marks my anniversary of moving to California. I came here for school and I've never left. I was lost and now found. And I'm back again, running hard, one foot in front of the other, chin up, clear-eyed, straight into my tenth year.

This is home.

Don't you love New York in the fall? It makes me want to buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address.

2011-09-05T23:28:00.003-04:00

I went flipping through some scrapbooks tonight trying to conjure up fond memories of my school days, but the only thing I found were drawings of dinosaurs, notes from teachers complaining about my habit of drawing dinosaurs, and three hundred gazillion field day ribbons. Which pretty much sums up my entire academic career. Well, that and all the UNSATISFACTORY! handwriting grades on my report cards.

I wasn't very good at school for a badrillion different reasons. But I did learn some things. Some things I have carried with me for, well, 26 years.

Mrs. Johnson, it seems, taught me computer words all the way back in 1985. She also taught me it is slutty to exchange kisses for candy bars.

At least one of her lessons stuck.

From henceforth, you shall be known as Big Haircut.

2011-09-01T06:52:00.000-04:00

When I was eight or nine, I decided my bangs were too long. I'm sure I mentioned to to my mom, and she either told me my bangs were fine or that she'd trim them or, you know, maybe I should just shut my face because did I think haircuts grew on trees? Because they don't.

Instead of waiting for help or for my next haircut, I figured I should cut my own bangs. How hard could it be, really? It's not like I was cutting the hair on the back of my head THAT WOULD BE CRAZY.

I decided to cut my bangs the next time I washed my hair, while my hair was still wet. I used scissors that I grabbed from the junk drawer. I stood on my tip-toes in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to steady my arm against the sink. I pulled my (wet, remember?) bangs tight against my forehead and cut them in one giant chop.

The problem was...well, ONE of the problems was that I cut them at the length I wanted them while they were wet AND stretched down as far as they could go. I'm sure you can see where this is going because you're all smarter than I am.

Once my bangs dried, they ended up shorter than I'd intended. A lot shorter. Like Rooney-Mara-as-Lisbeth-Salander short. But my super short bangs didn't dry straight or flat or anything, because my hair is wavy and dries wavy but not pretty wavy, more like frizzy wavy, so when my bangs dried, they pretty much stood up straight like they were trying to escape from my head. Sort of like this:

I've been terrified of bangs ever since. No fringe on top for me, no thank you.

A Cape May address, your new one I guess.

2011-08-31T04:10:00.001-04:00

I felt the earth move under my feet. I felt the sky tumbling down. As Rayanne Graff would have said, it was a time. And incidentally, it all started with a haircut.

We snaked through the flats of Oyster Creek at a drift lest our wake finish off what the earthquake started. Dilapidated shacks perched lopsided on stilts atop the still water, rendered more lopsided still not an hour before. His first impulse when it all happened was to head for the open water, and eagerly we followed, until we found ourselves invading this foreign country, cowering under the angry glare of the seagulls keeping sentinel. On the bay the wind was fierce but here the air was disturbed only by the wings of a thousand greenheads; every inch we gained cost another painful welt on arms, legs, neck. All for nothing.

Back on the bay the engine stalled out and we were left adrift....

Home again and there was much and more to clean up, to sweep up and shore up and make up. And that right there is the meat of my adult life; whether physical or intangible, I've been a worker bee buzzing about my hive, tending to my colony and buzzing, buzzing, buzzing, waiting in line at the grocery store to buy the last loaf of bread in the city, searching in vain for a lantern by which to play Yahtzee, tying and severing knots. And when the storm came all was quiet but for the steady drip drip drip of rain drops in my living room.

Sunday morning I awoke to the sounds of trumpets and tubas and trombones, my stomach in knots, my hair matted and tangled from the 50-mph winds.The sun was bright and the leaves were shaking in their trees, and I was positively crushed by the weight of it all.

A week later and I still can't get my hair to lay right.

Well, don’t look at me! My hair’s straight! Straight! Straight! Straight!

2011-08-30T10:22:00.002-04:00

My hair is straight. When it's down it looks like this:

But it's usually up since it get's in my way when it's down. Then it looks like this:

I feel exactly like myself in both scenarios and I end up just frustrated whenever I stray from these styles. Happy:

Sad:

What's happening with my hair in that picture? Well, I'm trying to grow it out to my normal, comfortable length. Because every few years my mother convinces me to chop my hair off because "it's so cute" short:

And I suppose it is cute. Twenty minutes after it's been cut by a professional and hasn't been swept off my face yet.

See I can't handle it in my peripheral vision, swooping about. So I have to pull it out of my face. And then I look dumb. And not like I how I feel I should look as myself. So every time I chop my hair off I regret it and spend 3 years growing it out again. This last cut though, was super crappy. I've never had a problem growing out these cute short cuts until now. My hair is probably the longest it has ever been... in front. The back half of my hair is a whole different length by about 5 inches. I keep thinking it will get to the point where I'll have it trimmed to all match but I keep being scared of losing the length all together. And then when I think about it this much I start to hate myself cause ew, I'm not someone who cares about my hair. It's straight, it cares about itself.

Listen, I'm not here to tell you about Jesus. You already know about Jesus. Either he lives in your heart or he doesn't.

2011-08-29T15:42:00.003-04:00

When I woke up this morning my glasses were not on my nightstand, which was very, very bizarre because when I wake up in the morning my glasses are ALWAYS on my nightstand. See, because every single night I fall asleep reading and then every single night Scout kicks me in the kidneys when she's sneaking under the covers and so every single night I wake up and take off my glasses and put them on my nightstand. It happens on occasion that I don't wake up at all in the night and so sometimes my glasses stay on my face and sometimes they fall off on my pillow. But always they're there beside me. Every morning.

Well, this morning, I looked all up in the bed and around the bed and under the bed. I even turned my duvet inside out because last week I found my car keys in the dishwasher which proves that my house sometimes eats my things. But no, my glasses were not in my duvet.

So I tracked down my spare glasses and for reasons inexplicable I figured I'd go ahead and fix the wobbly arm with some super glue. It was 5:00 a.m., by the way. My eyes were open like the way a newborn kitten's eyes are open. But I got out the super glue anyway and repaired my spare glasses without a hitch. JUST KIDDING! I GLUED MY GLASSES TO MY HAND!

The Internet had some suggestions, so I whipped up some glue-loosening potion and settled back into bed with my iPad to finish season one of Mad Men while my hand soaked itself free. Only, Peggy Olson shocked me so hard that I dropped my iPad onto my face and it busted open my lip. So my lip was bleeding and Scout was trying to poison herself with the glue-loosening potion and I was swearing to beat the band, and apparently writhing all over the place as well because between my cry of "balls! balls! balls!" I heard CRACK! and guess what it was? Yep: My lost glasses.

This week's Collective topic is: Worst haircut story. And you know what? I don't have one. Because I never remember to get my hair cut.

After reading the preceding paragraphs, I think you'll agree it's the least of my worries.

You've got red on you.

2011-08-25T07:46:00.000-04:00

I love scaring myself. I used to go to haunted houses/trails/hayrides every Halloween-season and I will watch scary movies, in the dark, at night, even when I'm home all alone because I'M A SICK SICK PERSON. It's probably because I started reading Stephen King when I was 12 (IT). That would do it.

My most favorite scary movies aren't even that gory, aside from zombie movies, of course, which are just a bad idea to watch ever but least of all late at night and yet when do I watch zombie movies? Late at night. And then I walk Max through our quiet neighborhood, squinting at shadows and plotting my escape should a pack of braineaters come running straight at me. Thank you, zombie movies and The Walking Dead, for fueling my waking nightmares.

When I was but a wee child, I was terrified of gremlins of any kind, whether they were supposed to be funny or crawled into your room through your wall at night to steal your breath or escaped from hell from a hole in your backyard. I was convinced that they lived under my bed and would jump out and attack me as soon as I fell asleep, or that they'd grab my feet should I step on the floor too close to the bed.

So I've traded gremlins for zombies which seems like a more realistic fear because I DON'T CARE WHAT ANYONE SAYS, zombies could happen, rage or otherwise.

I can remember the specific times I first saw my most memorable scary movies. Where I was. Who was with me. Etcetera etcetera.

1. Scream

This came out when I was in high school, I think, and my friend Erica (daughter of my dad's BFF) and I used to watch it over and over whenever my parents would take us to visit her parents. Her brother Joe would then dress up in his Scream costume and terrify my sister. One time she called 911 but I think it was unrelated.

2. Shaun of the Dead

OK, so this one isn't scary but it's my favorite zombie movie. I watched this at my parents' house while house-sitting one weekend, right after watching Open Water, and that night I had dreams about zombie sharks.

3. The Mothman Prophecies

I watched this alone, at night, in my parents' basement with all of the lights turned off. I haven't seen it since but I remember it filling me with an overwhelming sense of unease so I turned all the lights on halfway through the movie.

4. 28 Days Later

I watched this in college with some friends, all of us crammed into our small apartment's living room. It was a cool spring evening and the only reason I mention the weather is because, since it was so nice out, we had our screen door open. A good ways into the movie, after all of us shrieking and jumping at several points, one of my roommates returned home, bursting through the screen door and causing all of us to pee our pants because we thought maybe she was a zombie.

5. The Strangers

I think I've documented this before but Heidi and I went to see this movie primarily so we could partake in the movie theater's legendary 123Go boxes, which were glorified happy meals (you got a small popcorn, candy, and an icee for like five dollars! It doesn't exist anymore). THIS IS THE MOST TERRIFYING MOVIE EVER. Heidi spent most of it watching it through her fingers or hiding her face but I was too afraid to take my eyes off the screen because WHAT IF THEY JUMPED INTO THE THEATER AND KILLED US.

6. Zodiac

You guys. This entire case scares the shit out of me because it's still unresolved. I watched this with Joe and didn't sleep all night, sure that the Zodiac killer was going to burst into the apartment and kill us both. You know what else I don't recommend? Reading the book right before bed.

7. Let the Right One In

I watched this with Joe, at night obviously, and am now scared of small children because WHAT IF THEY'RE VAMPIRES. Spoilers.

8. Pet Sematary

I watched this for the first time with my friend Erica (see Scream above) at her parents' house, which was a big house out in the country, and I was convinced that a zombie cat or child could crawl out of the woods at any moment. Also, WTF was up with Zelda? She gave me nightmares. See THIS for further reading.

9. The Mist

I saw this with Heidi in the cheap theater. I spent most of the movie crawling out of my skin and wanting to punch Marsha Gay Harden's character in the face and then the end came and I wanted to kill myself.

10. The Shining

Jesus. I watched this one in my parents' basement, alone, AGAIN with the lights turned off, and when I finished watching it, I went upstairs to find a bunch of weird bugs crawling all over the foyer floor.

Stephen King should really get his own category and it should probably be called: Why Jennie Is Like This.

Anyway, if you have any scary movie suggestions, I would love to hear them in case I feel like not sleeping some night.

some are reaching few are there

2011-08-23T02:04:00.002-04:00

When I was a kid, I wasn't allowed to watch TV. Most of the time this seemed fine enough because I'd been fooled that TV was not unlike a hot stove. But, like a kid, I wanted to touch the stove and I wanted to see what was on the TV. So one day when I was supposed to be napping, I snuck down to the TV and turned it on.

What I saw must have been a made-for-TV movie based in some sort of rapey plot, Lifetime-style. Because there was a woman's body, in the woods, and her earring had been ripped through her ear. The scary music playing swelled; she must have just been murdered. I immediately turned the TV off.

But I always remembered with total recall the dozen seconds I had seen. It was seared into my brain and it became the scariest thing in the world. The fear wasn't rooted in story--I didn't worry I would be in the woods--it was fear itself. If I was feeling sad, or angry, or vulnerable in any way I would see that earring and feel terrified. It hovered the edges of my conscious waiting to cripple me. Eventually as I grew older I started to fight back. When the image would appear, I would talk myself down from the fear. I would pretend it was just a regular image in my mind, no big deal. I would think about something else as hard as I could. So it started coming into my dreams and I would dream that I knew her or I would dream it was me.

As an adult I feel like I can stare it down and be smarter than it. But it's still there. I can still see it. It just doesn't own me anymore. Only now, 20 years later, can I rub my ear without instantly shuddering.

So, no, I don't like scary movies.

Or, as I like to call them, Rape Fables

2011-08-22T16:25:00.002-04:00

When I was a little girl my family was always sending me downstairs at my grandparents’ house to fetch stuff, which seemed kind of cruel on account of I was the only person in the whole house who was scared of the basement. But I’d trudge down there anyway, with my grandma’s dog Toby in tow. He’d stay right beside me the whole time because I think he was afraid of being swallowed up by the water heater too.

Yesterday at our end of summer cookout, my grandpa asked me to go to the basement to get something, but when he looked at my face, he chuckled and said, “I’ll come with you.” On the way back upstairs, he said, “You’re not still afraid of the dark, are you, kid?” And I was like, “Psh. No. I was never afraid of the dark.”

But I was. And guess what else? I still am. In fact, I am more scared of more things than anyone I have ever met in my life.

I don’t like scary movies or scary TV shows or scary commercials. (Or blood and guts in any of those things either.) And by “scary” I mean, like, you know those commercials for home alarm systems where someone busts up into the house, but the family is saved in the nick of time by the panic button? That’s too scary for me.

But it does remind me of one of my favorite Sarah Haskins Target Women videos.

If I were a crayon, I'd be green with envy because DID YOU READ KAT'S POST YESTERDAY? I can't compete with that. So here's this intead.

2011-08-18T07:28:00.001-04:00

"What are you eating?"

"Crayons."

"Why?"

"Hungry."

"What's this one taste like?"

"Purple Heart? Tastes like grape soda."

"Interesting. And this one?"

"Hmm, Neon Carrot. Doesn't taste like carrots, if that's what you were wondering. Tastes more like an orange."

"That's boring."

"YOU'RE boring."

"Anyway. How about this one? Salmon?"

"Ech, tastes like salmon. Raw salmon."

"How do you know what raw salmon tastes like?"

"Oh, once I pretended to be a bear."

"Sure."

"What about Cerulean?"

"Tastes like a gentle breeze."

"Brick red?"

"Chili."

"Piggy Pink?"

"Bacon."

"Midnight Blue?"

"The ocean. At night."

"Beaver?"

"Heh."

"Never mind. What about Fuzzy Wuzzy?"

"Vomit. It tastes like vomit. I'm gonna be sick."

"Ooh, a rainbow!"

Wild Blue Yonder (#A2ADD0)

2011-08-17T05:27:00.004-04:00

I remember watching you dance on the sand, the Pacific blue (#1CA9C9) and placid stretching across the horizon while your shadow (#8A795D) grew longer and longer with the setting sun. In that light your black (#000000) hair looked brown (#B4674D), your white (#FFFFFF) skin tan (#FAA76C) and glistening. Later that night we found ourselves a bar and I watched you dance there, too, while I leaned against the antique brass (#CD9575) rail and sipped my cocktail. You were a wonder.

I remember how you liked to read me trivia from the bottom of your Snapple caps; "the pink flamingo (#FC74FD) isn't born pink," you'd tell me eagerly while I laced up my sneakers. "Fascinating," I'd reply. "Salmon (#FF9BAA) mate for life," you'd tell me, just to see if I was paying attention. "And then they die," I'd reply.

Most of all I remember your eyes, gray (#95918C) and sometimes green (#1CAC78) and always watching me until I'd blush (#DE5D83) with embarrassment or guilt or whatever it was I felt for you then. You thought you had it figured out but now I think we both know how wrong you were, and looking back I can pinpoint the exact moment I found my canary (#FFFF99) in the coal mine. I once pointed out an inchworm (#B2EC5D) steadily making its way up a tree and you looked right through me, like I was the vast emptiness of outer space (#414A4C), like I barely existed at all. That's when I knew.

The memories are bittersweet (#FD7C6E). "I thought you were an orchid (#E6A8D7)," you'd said the very last time we spoke; "I thought you were this rare exotic thing. But really you're just a dandelion (#FDDB6D) after all. Common. Plain old yellow (#FCE883)."

Nope. I'm not. I've every color in the god-damned box.

I can't color enough, I would color all day every day If I had my way, I would use every crayon in my box.

2011-08-16T10:24:00.001-04:00

Despite my heavy supply of crayons as a child--my mom was an art teacher and we had gallon ziploc bags FULL of crayon nubbins--I was always disappointed that I couldn't create real scenes in my amateur drawings because the colors were too primary. They were for kids. I wanted real colors.

Well I just found out from the Wackopedia entry that they came out with some real colors in 2007!!

In 2007, Crayola released the True to Life crayons. The tri-color tips are intended to "bring scenes to life." Each crayon is extra-long and contained within a plastic casing similar to that of Crayola Twistables crayons. On the table, the background represents the predominant color, and the text represents the supporting colors:

Um, awesome. I think it's time to draw some landscapes.

But if I were a color?

Despite my penchant for green or scarlet and gold, I'd have to go with good old gray.

It's the color of my eyes and the color of my favorite clothes. It's both the insides and outsides of me. And it doesn't feel boring at all.

clockwork orange

2011-08-15T00:47:00.000-04:00

This week's Collective topic is: If you were a crayon, what color would you be?

Before I tell you mine, though, check out these cool things:

1) The Wackopedia entry for crayon colors. There's even a chart with all the hex codes!

2) The colourlovers.com chart + awesome fun facts!

3) And everyone's favorite How Crayons Are Made video!

If I were a crayon, I'd be good ol' Yellow Orange. From the original Box of 16. Kind of like the color that sends that girl into her daze. Or maybe she was just stoned out of her mind. If they'd left the camera rolling, she'd probs have eaten that crayon.

What's not to like? Custard, GOOD, jam, GOOD, meat, GOOOOD!

2011-08-11T08:16:00.003-04:00

I've tried Heather's best ever sandwich and want to try Abigail's best ever sandwich and I would choke someone to try Kat's best ever sandwich RIGHT THE HELL NOW because my favorite sandwiches are sandwiches with chips on them. Not only British chips but potato chips. When I was little, I watched my mom put potato chips on her sandwich and it was like a whole new world had opened in front of me. So now, when the opportunity presents itself, I put potato chips on my sandwich. I put them on turkey sandwiches. I put them on my PB&J. Sandwiches and chips go together like peas and carrots except way better because, gross, Forrest Gump, WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT. Yeah, I'm referencing Forrest Gump in 2011, WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT? You wanna know why I'm so angry? Because I haven't had a sandwich with chips on it in FOREVER and by forever, I mean like two months.

We ate a lot of delicious food when we were at the beach this past summer, seafood and otherwise, but my favorite meal was at a dive bar where we drank Yuengling out of cans and threw peanut shells on the floor, because they served cheeseburgers with DORITOS on them. I mean, COME ON.

I'm not very fancy. I scraped the foie gras off of my steak one night at dinner when we on our honeymoon, and not just because I was drunk and it was making me gag a little (CLASSY!) but because GROSS. Anyway, it turns out all I need to be happy (food-wise) is a cheeseburger topped with jalapenos, guacamole, and Doritos. And all I need to make the perfect sandwich is a bag of chips. Preferably BBQ.

Ever wondered what makes special sauce so special? Yo.

2011-08-10T11:33:00.000-04:00

So here's the thing. I really love sandwiches. They're so good. BLTs, clubs, PB&Js, really, all the sandwiches. And this one will blow your mind:

Behold the chip butty! (I apologize for the poor photo quality but London pubs aren't exactly well lit.) And what is a chip butty? Well, it's french fries smooshed between two slices of buttered white bread. And it is DELICIOUS.

Someone ATE the only good thing going on in my life

2011-08-09T11:14:00.002-04:00

At my bar, they make me something that isn't on the menu (which: being treated special is my crack) and it's pretty much the exact food I want at any given time in any given place in the world. It goes like this:

-white bread
-sliced cucumbers
-cream cheese
-cranberry sauce

Yum. Oh, and it comes with a side of fries.

#fact

2011-08-07T23:44:00.004-04:00

Hey, bacon and marmalade on pumpernickel prune, I'm really happy for you and I'mma let you finish, but grilled cheese is the best sandwich of all time.

"Thanks to Toby I have a very strong prejudice against Human Resources. I believe that the department is a breeding ground for monsters. What I failed to consider though, is that not all monsters are bad. Like ET."

2011-08-04T19:14:00.000-04:00

Before I started my new job, I found out that my new boss had found my blog. YOU GUYS. I freaked out. Words I'd written, all the ridiculous ridiculous words, flew through my head and, as I thought of all those times I'd talked about poop or drinking or all those inappropriate jokes I'd made, I started to hyperventilate a little. OK, not really but YOU GUYS HOLY CRAP.

But you know what? It didn't even matter. You know why? Because now I work in THE THEATAH (sort of, I mean, I'm not onstage or anything). BUT WHATEVER, no one gives a shit that I write stupid crap on the internet.

Tomorrow I wrap up my first week at my new job and I keep waiting for this giddy feeling to go away. From the moment I walk into my office until I force myself to leave, I'm pretty sure I wander around with a stupid grin on my face ALL DAY LONG. I'm sure that, in time, that newness will fade and there will obviously be hard days but this week I learned that my job doesn't have to make me miserable all the time. I'M ALLOWED TO BE HAPPY AT WORK. WHAT.

I also learned that they play showtunes in the parking garage ALL THE TIME. And that the in-house restaurant makes the best tomato bisque I've ever had. And that no one cares if you wear your Chuck Taylors to work. And that I need a map of the buildings or something or I'm going to get lost in the (haunted) basement one of these days.

The season rubs me wrong.

2011-08-03T04:33:00.000-04:00

I killed my Italian parsley last week, which is something new I learned I guess, that and how toilet flappers work and how you're not supposed to use your energy-efficient CFLs in conjunction with a dimmer switch lest you want to shorten the bulb's life and thereby contribute to its demise like some sort of cancer, which is what we are, really, a cancer on this Earth. Last night I learned a spiffy new way to peel asparagus, not that I generally peel my asparagus--the green stuff anyway--but it was good to learn in case an asparagus-peeling emergency ever pops up. I like to be prepared for such things. I also learned that Susan will let me steal her cocktails. That one I'll definitely file away for future use.

July was mostly unbearable with a sprinkling of brightness patterned throughout, shining stars like beacons in the gloam. Dinner here, trivia there, a couple of plays and a night urban camping glimmer on the the calendar; connect the dots and a picture emerges of, well, Something Awesome. Mostly I've learned to be satisfied with that, with the little lessons and scant hours lost in the moment, in friends and wine and Robespierre. Because when in doubt, you should always go with Robespierre.

It's hard to believe it's August; with the heat the days seem blended together as one, each passing in a damp haze, a succession of sun rises and sets with no relief but from the light. Maybe because of that my thoughts have gone no deeper than critiquing old episodes of Jem, wondering if I turned out the way I did from watching all those Clarissa episodes, and remembering that Patty Mayonnaise was a pretty awesome chick. My boss had us sorted into our Hogwarts houses and a co-worker made a face when mine came up Ravenclaw. I tried to blame the weather on my recent absentmindedness but perhaps I'm really not as smart as I used to suspect I was.

I suspect I'm not a lot of things I used to be.

Oh well.

will you grab me a crueller?

2011-08-02T06:40:00.005-04:00

In the last month, I've had: four bracelets, x-rays, an MRI, a CT scan, ten different prescriptions, and the most boringest blandest diet ever.

I've lost countless things: drinks in Vegas, meetings with certain TV stars, weeks of work, at least one pants size, and my cookies on several occasions.

But what have I learned?
-If your doctor is being an asshole, then get a new one.
-Write everything down.
-There is nothing more rewarding then actually vomiting in the ER to prove your point.
-Homemade turkey sandwiches are actually pretty good (even though I still hate making them).
-Never to take ibuprofen for granted again.

Oh, and what's wrong with me? Hard to say. There is some low back pain. A complex cyst on my ovary. Something very wrong with my stomach. And a general terribleness. Me and my awesome doctor are hoping the CT scan results shed some light. Meanwhile it's all turkey sandwiches and quiet nights in around here.

Mayhaps you desire to — SQUIRREL!

2011-07-31T23:05:00.004-04:00

Continuing the 2011 theme of Get Your Shit Together, Heather, I attended an ADHD workshop last weekend. I was diagnosed with ADHD when I was five, and to my parents credit they forewent Ritalin for my tiny body and decided to try some other techniques to help me cope. In the ‘80s, of course, there was no Google, but the guidance counselor gave them a pamphlet called DEALING WITH DIFFICULT CHILDREN, and page one suggested sports to help exhaust a difficult child’s body and calm her mind.

Getting me into athletics was the best decision my parents ever made. Sports are the only thing in my life I’ve ever been naturally good at. Playing them gave me confidence. And a reason to pass my classes. And, yeah, it kept my mind in better check than it would have been running willy-nilly, wild and free.

In my adult life, once Google was available, I developed an ADHD action plan and went on Ritilan. Over the course of a decade, I was as stable as stable can be, ADHD-wise. I mean, there were things that I struggled with: drifting off into elaborate daydreams, losing important stuff, not being able to focus without complete silence or white noise, and generally being super unorganized. But lassoing my brain was a lot easier. The problem with Ritilan was that it clouded my creativity. On it, I could have one creative idea a week, and tackle that creative idea to completion. Off it -- I accidentally discovered -- I could have a million creative ideas a day.

Actually, honestly, off of Ritilan, there was no limit to my creativity. Reading, writing, photography, Photoshopping, painting, drawing: I couldn’t be stopped. I wasn’t a professional or anything, but I knew I had the capacity to be competent at ALL of those things if I just worked really hard at it. So, after talking it over with Amy and my sister, I came off the Ritilan to try to really tap into the non-accounting part of my brain.

I had a plan in place to keep myself from going on some kind of manic overload, and the plan worked. I had an 8 to 5 job. I had standing exercise, education and social plans. My life was clockwork, and part of that clockwork was my writing time. I wrote for a certain number of hours a day, and got better and better and better at it; and then one day, like magic, I got offered a gig writing. And that gig turned into more gigs which turned into more gigs which turned into more gigs. Before I realized what was happening, I was writing full time.

And that’s when my ADHD started going haywire.

I wasn’t prepared, in any way, to become a full-time writer. I wasn’t qualified, skill-wise. I had no idea that actual writing is only about 35 percent of being a full-time writer. I didn’t realize how much time would go into marketing myself and building my brand and interacting on social media and all that stuff that’s kind of necessary in the new world order. I didn’t know how much time I’d spend photo editing and researching and pitching and getting the shit kicked out of me by readers and networking and responding to emails and all that other time-chomping stuff. And, of course, I didn’t know it was going to make my ADHD go berzerk.

Things that are so simple for normal people -- returning phone calls, putting keys on the key hook, transferring clothes from the hamper to the washing machine, focusing without a box fan nearby, mailing birthday cards on time, remembering to eat -- have always been tough for me. But after I started writing full-time, they became fucking impossible.

The act of writing is so satisfying to me that it makes my internal dopamine production go absolutely batshit crazy. So it was just full-on: idea! create! dopamine! idea! create! dopamine! idea! create! dopamine! idea! create! dopamine! for who knows how many hours a day, for who knows how many days a month. It was pretty much constant, and pretty much an addiction.

Living with ADHD is tricky, but having a relationship with someone with ADHD -- especially when it is unchecked like mine has been for the past three years -- is infuriating. My parents used to exhaust themselves insisting that I just needed to try harder. Try harder not to lose my shit. Try harder to keep my room clean. Try harder to get places on time. Try harder to do my damn homework. It was worse, I think, because I didn’t have trouble with certain parts of those problems. I never lost my favorite books. I was never late to basketball practice. I never missed a history assignment. It was like, you know, “You only remember the things you care about remembering!” But that wasn’t true. I earnestly agreed that I needed to/would try harder, but no matter how hard I tried to try harder, I just couldn’t be better at those things.

I think that’s probably what it’s like to love someone with unchecked ADHD, too. Try harder to remember our anniversary. Try harder to return my emails. Try harder not to get so fucking hyper-focused on your career that everything else becomes peripheral or invisible. It’s like, “If you loved me, you’d do this and this and this.” And I’m like, “Well, that can’t be true, because I don’t do that and that and that, and I can feel in my heart how deeply I love you.” And it’s just like when I was in high school: I want to do that and that and that, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t try hard enough to make it happen.

I think, deep down inside, I really have always thought -- maybe because I’ve heard it so much -- that it was an issue of me not caring enough. But it’s not. It’s just not.

Here’s what I’ve learned as I’ve started trying to solve some of my ADHD conundrums: I -- I, not my online persona -- am very loved by very many people. People who are willing to give me more grace and space than I could ever hope to deserve. It’s shocking, kind of. And freeing too. And I’ve also learned that I’m capable of managing this thing. I’m always going to struggle. I’m always going to daydream. I’m always going to mail Christmas presents late. I’m always going to lose my phone, my keys, my debit card. I'm always going to get sidetracked on Twitter instead of responding to texts. I'm always going to let myself get swallowed up by my own imagination.

But I can own that and not let my ADHD own me.

I’m gonna make it as a writer. And I’m gonna make it as a friend. And one day, I’m gonna throw a Hogwarts-themed party where those two things collide: My book and my best mates, thriving in the same space.

Of course it's happening inside my head, but why on earth should it mean that it is not real?

All the wine is all for me.

2011-07-28T19:33:00.002-04:00

When I get nervous, I do this:

Naw, just kidding. Truth is, I can't even remember the last time I was for real nervous, not when I interviewed for jobs after graduation, not when I took the bar, not when I started law school, not the last time I went on any first dates however long ago that was. I don't get nervous on planes, I don't get nervous on trains, I don't get nervous in automobiles. Public speaking's a breeze and so is just about everything really, especially when you don't give a crap what people think about you. So what's left to be nervous about?

Completely inconsequential stuff, that's what. Like sports. I get very, very nervous on behalf of athletes. And when I get nervous very, very nervous on behalf of athletes, I drink a beer. And then another beer. And then I end up doing this:

Or this even:

Who is this? I HAVE NO IDEA!

I also get nervous for fictional characters. Whether they be on screen or in print, I get very, very nervous for them. And when I get very, very nervous for them, I make a cocktail. And then another cocktail.

And then I pass out on the couch and miss the end of whatever it was I was watching/reading.

That seems to take care of the nerves.

knope problem

2011-07-28T02:28:00.002-04:00

It takes an awful lot to make me nervous. Since I'm a control freak, I'm either in control (literally or mentally) or I'm (mentally) off the deep end. There's no butterfly emotion in between those two sensations. I'm either peacefully neurotic or crumpled in tears.

The last time I remember being nervous? On a first date.

Why so serious?

2011-07-26T00:55:00.003-04:00

When I get nervous, I grin. Not like a sheepish grin. Not even like a full-on smile. But like one of those grins you'd expect to see right before a psychotic clown murders you to death. It would be unnerving on the best day, but I only get really, really nervous I'm: at a hospital, at a funeral home, delivering bad news, or having an argument. So, you know, it's like fifty-bajillion times worse. I can't stop my grin. I try. I've tried for as long as I've been alive. When I try to stop it, I just look like an insane clown who is also biting her lips with all her teeth. Like the kind of person who got towed away in a straight jacket and treated with electroshock therapy at the Asylum for Loons in the olden (Beauty and the Beast) days.

Actually. Yes.

It's this.

But you're, like, in a hospital bed or whatever, and so it makes you feel like this.

Just another reason I shouldn't be let out of the house.

clear eyes, full hearts

2011-07-21T06:24:00.098-04:00

There are some TV shows, some movies, some books, that, when I watch or read them, I feel like I'm hanging out with friends. This is the only explanation I can give for how ridiculously sad I get when the show (book, movie, whatever) is over. I grow attached to these people like they're my BFFs, so when the series finale ends, when Harry, Hermione, and Ron are done fighting and have settled into peaceful, normal lives, when all the Losties are sitting in Heaven's Waiting Room or whatever, I miss them. Like they're real people. I know it's unhealthy, but it works for me, so shut up.

I also have this feeling that, even though the show or book is over, all of my old friends are hanging out without me. They're having adventures and I'm not a part of them. Mostly I'm just nosy and want to know what's going on with everyone always.

This week's topic is "what's the last movie/TV show/book that made you tear up" and I hesitate to even write about this show because Friday Night Lights doesn't just make me tear up, it makes me cry like someone punched me in the grief bone. Just thinking about the show makes my heart all hurty.

I resisted watching Friday Night Lights for a long time, not because I thought it wouldn't be good (Pajiba has been singing the show's praises for years and I trust them like Dumbledore trusts Harry (what?)) but because I didn't think it would be my thing. It's about football YAWN WHO CARES? But when I lost my job, I suddenly had all of this extra time, and since there are only so many hours a day you can job search, I decided to invest some time in Friday Night Lights. You guys! It's not really just about football. It's about Coach and Tami Taylor and Jason Street and Matt Saracen and marriage and parents and death and school and LIFE. It took approximately 1.5 episodes for me to become terribly annoying about this show, and by that I mean that I would regale Joe with episode summaries and spend half an hour after each episode repeating, "this show is so good...omg...I love this show...so good," until Joe passed out from boredom.

I finished the fifth and final season yesterday and I think I'd be more upset about it had I not recently bullied Joe into watching the show with me (from the beginning)...mostly just because I wanted to watch it all again.

(teensy) SPOILER ALERT

I won't say much about the series finale, because I have no idea if everyone has seen it yet (the way it aired was crazy stupid, I watched it all on Netflix and DVD), but I will say that I cried through almost all of it. Nothing that sad happened, no one died (you guys, I was so worried that they'd kill Grandma Saracen), but I'd grown so attached to all of these characters (Tim Riggins!) that knowing this was the last I'd see of them made me weep into my Cheerios. Because yes, I watched the finale while eating breakfast. Crying while you're trying to eat is totally weird, FYI.

I don't know what else to say about it. Just...just watch it, OK, so I'm not the only one sobbing in front of the TV.

It's hard to know you're out there; it's hard to know that you still care.

2011-07-20T05:58:00.001-04:00

This week's topic is sort of interesting, because I'm kinda weeping right now, but not because of any television show or book or movie--even though the internet is sort of all three rolled up together--but because, well, if you don't know it's none of your business anyway.

I was going to write about how I'm forcing Seth to watch Lost, and how almost every episode makes me sob into my couch cushions in 20/20 hindsight, but I'm not so into writing about fake stuff right now. So, in lieu of whatever crappy post I was going to try and pass off as decent writing, enjoy this video:

Oh yeah, ****SPOILER ALERT**** obvs.

She knew herself best when she was with them.

2011-07-19T03:18:00.003-04:00

If by tear up you mean, my book was all wet and I had to keep looking away from it so my heart wouldn't heave right out of me, then the last time* that happened was:

Sisterhood Everlasting by Ann Brashares

JFC this was the worst thing. I mean, it wasn't terribly written or plotted or anything academic like that. It was just like how you think you're going to be watching a fun Disney movie and then Scar kills his brother. Not cool, story-telling. I am shit at reviewing things unless I can make fun of them and even then I feel guilty about being mean so all I can say is I cried a lot. But Ashley (as always) says what I'm thinking except smarter and better:

Until about the last forty pages, I thought I knew what I was going to write in this review. I was going to say that Brashares is incredibly good with the inner lives of her characters. I was going to say that she brings people to life in magical, absurdly readable, and moving ways. I was going to say that despite this, reading this book is like expecting to jump into pool and float back to the surface, but instead you start drowning, sucking up little bits of air at a time, just trying to survive. I was going to say that as readable as it was, it was just too much for me to handle, and that these girls always seem like they need to learn the same lessons over and over again, and the lesson never sticks.

But then I got to the end, and I started crying, and I couldn't stop. To be honest about it, I'm still crying right now. (They're the good kind of tears, by the way, the bittersweet ones. Ann Brashares is not Nicholas Sparks or Jodi Picoult, both of whom I always feel manipulated by, like with them tears are the goal, and not just a product of something great that they've created. Sparks and Picoult want me to feel luxuriously sad about my life, Brashares just wants to tell me something true. Does that make any sense?) This book just got to me. It got to me on an emotional level that a book hasn't in a really long time, and there's nothing I can do about it. I don't feel like critically evaluating this book for its failings. I only feel like feeling. So that's what I'm going to do.

I'm warning you right now, if you pick this up, you better have a box of tissues ready by the end, and your best friends on speed dial.

Man, I feel sad all over again.

*Excluding both Harry Potter which wrecked me and the fiscal year end budget numbers which aren't depressing in themselves but an accountant I am not.

A voice. Your voice, Hermione.

2011-07-18T19:00:00.003-04:00

I don’t think it’ll be surprising news to any of you guys that I’ve seen Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part Two four times in the last four days. I have the weirdest relationship with Potter movies. The first time I am always so excited and so nervous that I’m literally vibrating in my seat the whole way through it. The second time I appreciate it as a whole different thing than the book. The third time I appreciate it as a work of art. And the fourth time I just feel so fucking happy to have grown up in the Potter Generation.

I thought the last movie was going to slay me. I mean, I pre-mourned for weeks leading up to it. Some days, I’d just be working on something totally unrelated to anything magical and tears would just start leaking out of my eyes, like my insides were so sad even if I didn’t have time to think about it. But then, the most amazing thing happened in the movie: I only teared up two times. My poor, darling sister started crying as soon as Snape came on-screen and kept crying for the rest of the whole time. Just inconsolable sobbing.

Last night, though, after seeing it for the fourth time, I followed the rabbit hole down, down, down, down into some Ron and Hermione fan vidoes.

And then I lost it.

And now I commit my soul to some very old, very worn-out fanfiction.

find your happy thought

2011-07-09T12:56:00.000-04:00

When I was little, I really thought that, if only I found the right combination of practice and magic, I could fly.

I suppose I still believe that, just a little, which is why sometimes I close my eyes and think happy thoughts, or hold my open umbrella as high in the air as possible, hoping a strong wind will carry me away. No luck yet, but I'll let you know if it changes.

Happy Saturday!

Home is where the heart is, so your real home's in your chest.

2011-07-07T20:37:00.000-04:00

Each day I wake anew--not renewed, but blinking and disoriented--reborn. And reborn I feel until I open the wardrobe, flick through the same old shirts, skirts, suits I never wear. As ever my fingers fumble with zippers and snaps, my knees and hips bash ungracefully into bedposts and banisters. Each day I wake from the most vivid dreams I've ever had, blinking and disoriented, not knowing where I am or who I am until I try to do something, anything, and realize I'm still me. Unremarkable me.

On the ninth morning a bed was delivered, and on the ninth day our first houseguests arrived, an old friend, his second wife, their two-year-old son. Days One through Eight were spent in a flurry of heavy lifting and unpacking, driving and packing and unpacking again. I vaguely remember a trip to Ikea squeezed in there somewhere, remembered only because it was at Ikea where I fell in love at first sight for the first time ever. For there, hidden amongst the affordable contemporary Swedish furniture was my one true love:

Fabric, covered with origami animals and for sale by the yard. If ever a benevolent Santa created one thing especially for me it was this. But Santa is not benevolent, or if he is he also has a wicked mean streak for alas, I CANNOT SEW. And after remembering that I CANNOT SEW I did what one does in such a situation, I whined about it on Facebook.

The responses came fast and furious and so it was that I learned sewing is easy and I can learn in a weekend. Which leaves the remaining 29 days of the month for alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.

You can't hurt me.

2011-07-07T01:38:00.003-04:00

I'm never very good at questions like these because I get all caught up in the rules of the question like:

a) why do I only have a month to learn this skill?

b) does this mean that some things are barred from the list since it would be impossible to learn some things in only a month?

c) and if not, then why a time constraint at all?

See? It's hard! So, in order to answer this question at all, I'm going to say that it has to be something that I could actually learn in a month, like say, if I were training for a film role. In my super glamorous fantasy life. In this film role I'd have to learn martial arts, of course, so I could kick some ass. (I have watched every BTS featurette for the Charlie's Angels film franchise.)

Also, I'm going to assume my arms with suddenly look like this cause of all the bad assery:

Aww yeah.

Something wicked this way comes

2011-07-05T20:27:00.002-04:00

Happy day after America’s birthday, everyone! How were your festivities? Did you set anything on fire? Did you enjoy delicious American beers? Did you pledge your allegiance to the flag? I did not do any of those things. I floated in the pool for three straight days rereading Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility for about the hundredth time. I always forget how book Darcy is a bigger dick than Colin Firth or Matthew MacFadyen’s Darcys, but also I always forget how much greater his redemption is in the end. Goddamn, I love me some Fitzwilliam Darcy. I’d marry him so much.

This week’s Collective topic is: If you could learn to do anything with only a month’s worth of practice, what would you learn?

I am not what you’d call “skilled” at “a lot” of “things.” I pretty much just scrape by in life by being nice and begging people to forgive me. My life would be infinitely less stressful if I could learn to do lots of things with a month’s worth of practice. Like time management. Or saying no management. Or, like, learning to read a calendar. Alas, if I really could do master one thing in a month, I would absolutely master the piano.

Like this much:

The Sugar Plum Fairy one is my favorite.

who do I want to be my mentor?

2011-06-30T07:55:00.009-04:00

NO. CONTEST.

Actually, any of these people would work:

Baba booey.

Hey, enjoy this picture of my cat folding sweaters.

2011-06-29T22:24:00.000-04:00

You know what? I feel better. Ryan brought me some chocolate pudding, and his kindness healed my foot.

2011-06-28T03:32:00.003-04:00

Mindy Kaling is the shit.

She has exactly the right attitude about the little joys technology brings us, plus she's a writer/actor/producer on The Office (she wrote one of my very favorite eps, "The Injury"). Oh, yeah, and she wrote what is sure to be the greatest book of all time Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns) due out this spring.

You can read a lengthy excerpt here (and you should, it's very funny and smart). A tidbit:

I have never had a one-night stand. Apparently, this is impossibly lame. Every romantic comedy I watch depicts our adorable heroine walking sheepishly back from a stranger’s place in the morning, with bedhead and her eyeliner all sexy and smudged. The problem is, I don’t understand the allure of the one-nightstand at all. Here’s why: in my mind, the sexiest thing in the world is the feeling that you’re wanted. The slightly nervous asking of your phone number.The text message asking you for dinner. The simple overture of wanting me can satisfy my ego for a good long time. The sexualsituation that could come of it? Well, that’s just less appealing to me. I don’t mean to say I don’t enjoy sex; I’m a properly functioning mammal and everything. I just think, like, who is this guy? Don’t you need to know some more about a guy than an evening’s worth of conversation at a bar to make sex appealing? Also: safety.

There is also a great section on Best Friend Rights and Responsibilities and I really funny story about celebrities and Twitter. Speaking of: she is a genius on Twitter. She says the things I think and the things I wish I'd thought.

MENTOR ME, MINDY. I want to be you. Or at least your best friend (I agree with all your rules).

And here's the part that hurts the most: Humans cannot ride a ghost.

2011-06-27T09:38:00.001-04:00

You guys, ugh. Why do I live in the Old Testament? Lightning struck my house yesterday for the third time in three years, frying who knows what all. I mean, inside the walls it fried who knows what all. Outside the walls, it fried all kinds of tangible things like TVs and DVD players and video game consoles and laptops and my modem and router. I'm at Starbucks right now until AT&T and a master electrician can come fix my Internet. And let me tell you what is happening in this Starbucks: Nothing. You know why? BECAUSE THE INTERNET IS MOVING SLOWER THAN WHATEVER IS THE SLOWEST ANIMAL ON EARTH! A sloth? A snail? Slower even than both of those things! So slow TIME IS MOVING BACKWARDS! Also, there is music playing and people are talking, neither of which I can abide when I am trying to use my brain. Usually, I just dial right into simplynoise.com, but I can't do that right now. You know why? BECAUSE THIS INTERNET IS BEING ROUTED THROUGH 1986!

Yesterday I got into a fight with someone I love very much, and fighting is my least favorite thing ever. Then I got trapped in the woods during that thunderstorm that blew up my house, miles from civilization, with Margaret and Scout. It was like every scary thing: Darkness and lightning and the trees cracking and falling and the wind whipping around like a beast of a thing. Basically have you ever imagined a Dementor attack? That. And so then we finally got back to the trailhead and back home, but our house was broken. And then I finally got to sleep and when I woke up, guess what? MY FAVORITE TV SHOW HAS BEEN CANCELED.

The last 24 hours have not been a pleasure.

A guy just came into Starbucks while I was writing this and he looks like a truck driver, a big ol' grey-haired burly fella with a hat that says ROADWAY, and he sat down next to me and he is reading Breaking Dawn and drinking a giant cup of frothy something. That's making me feel better for some reason. Oh, and hey! Mouse Rat's 5,000 Candles just shuffled onto my iPod. (My music is better than Starbucks music. If I have to listen to something, it's gotta be something I picked out myself.)

Can I tell you a secret? I don't know this week's Collective topic. I can't get into the Google Doc to see it because of this GODDAMN INTERNET. I think, and I'm really just guessing at this point, that the topic is: Who would you like to be your mentor?

If that really is the topic, this really is my answer:

Merlin as my witness, there isn't a mountain I wouldn't climb, an ocean I wouldn't swim, an Internet connection I wouldn't endure, to submit myself to her tutelage. I'd crawl naked through the desert on my hands and knees, I really would.

My actual mentor, though, is Bridget Jones. I am her. Though perhaps ever so slightly less elegant under pressure.

phoning it in from the beach

2011-06-23T07:58:00.001-04:00

Dear lady in the confederate flag bikini that is at least two sizes too small...WHY?

6

2011-06-22T11:15:00.000-04:00

I have bumps on my bumps and bruises on my bruises.

Firefox

2011-06-21T03:47:00.002-04:00

I was going to tell the truth, but I decided to open another tab instead.

Conjunction Junction (What's Your Function)

2011-06-20T09:14:00.001-04:00

Of all the legitimate reasons I could think of for her not to marry him, the thing that came out of my mouth was, "He doesn't even know how to use a semicolon!"

Here lies Carrie. She had two loves and lots o' shoes.

2011-06-16T14:10:00.005-04:00

The thing about shoes is that... I kind of hate them. It's been a life long battle since my feet grew into size 11 longfellows when I was only 14. For the longest time it was hard to find cute shoes that weren't a million dollars. Eventually, in the last 8 years or so Target and Payless have slowly rolled out passable shoes in my size and things got compulsive in there for a bit and then I realized (like all my other compulsives buys before) that I don't actually need any of that stuff.

These are all the shoes I got now:

It's pretty basic. One pair of black heels, one pair of brown heels. One pair of black flats. Snow boots. Chucks. Tennies. Running shoes. Old running shoes for doing chores. One fancy fun pair of green shoes because I love green. And that's it. That's all I need.

Except some flip flops. I would really, really, REALLY like to put some shoes onto my feet with little to no effort. Unfortunately I'm battling two fronts: I have gross-you-don't-even-want-to-know feet sweat and I have knee problems. Which means that nothing works. I'm a whiner. And it's summer. So I'm whining about this problem A LOT. You're welcome.

there's no place like home, there's no place like home

2011-06-15T07:02:00.005-04:00

I don't have any red Chucks, but I do have some with cherries on them (which is close?):

PLUS ALSO, I've got some ruby slippers:

So far, they haven't displayed the magical power to transport me home when I click my heels three times (maybe they need more sparkles?) but IT COULD HAPPEN.

No, I am not Abigail.

2011-06-14T10:05:00.000-04:00

And I do not have a favorite pair of shoes as far as I can tell. But here are my red Chucks:

Apparently you should get some too.

I saw Cady Heron wearing army pants and flip flops, so I bought army pants and flip flops.

2011-06-13T07:31:00.004-04:00

There was a time, not too terribly long ago, when I did not love fantasy TV. I know, I know, that sounds so weird coming out of my mouth, especially because I'm some kind of Doctor Who evangelist these days. I mean, I spent all day Saturday watch the BBC America marathon twice. But I only started watching fantasy TV because I had to recap it for work, and for the first six months I bitched about it pretty much non-stop. (Sorry, Ashley.)

And then I met Gwen Cooper.

She was the sexiest, funniest, Welsh-est, alien-crime-fighter I had ever seen. Plus, she wore red Converse to save the world.

I got myself some red Converse.

And then I got myself a full-on obsession with fantasy TV.

The Pretty Reckless

2011-06-10T06:47:00.001-04:00

Tell us, friends, what's the most reckless thing you've ever done?

Today is 6/9. That is all.

2011-06-09T07:52:00.022-04:00

I wouldn't call myself a particularly risky person. No, it's more like, I do something dumb without thinking about it and later I think, "wow, that could have ended really badly." Like the time(s) in Chicago when Mary and I walked to Lake Michigan at 4 AM and sat at the edge of the dark water, our feet dangling over the water, flip-flops hanging precariously off of our feet, a bag of beer that we bought on the way sitting between us. We'd watch the sunrise and I once stumbled upon a couple in the midst of a sexual encounter, because the noises they were making sounded like frogs and HEY I wanted to see some frogs. How neither of us ever fell in the lake or ended up being murdered is a mystery to me.

I don't think those times count because I wasn't willingly being reckless, it just happened on account of all the stupidity and the beer. The most willingly reckless thing I've done is put my heart up for sale on these here internets. I'm actually pretty reckless with my affections, handing them out all wily nily, and my affection, once given, is very, very difficult to get rid of. It's possible, of course, but you really have to be a dick about it. In any case, I suppose if I hadn't been so reckless with my heart, I never would have joined Match all those years ago and I wouldn't currently be spending my evenings doubled over with laughter with Joe, which is ALSO reckless because one of these days, one of us is going to actually STOP BREATHING and I hear that's, like, not good for you and stuff.

Also, one time my friends and I jumped the fence to other-friend's pool to go night-swimming after all-day-drinking. That wasn't just reckless because I almost drowned but also because if other-friend found out that we had snuck into the pool, after she told NOT to many, many times, she would have LITERALLY killed us.

Pointless artifacts, a mediocre past.

2011-06-08T05:42:00.004-04:00

I am what they call risk averse, but like ridiculously so, to the point where I should be called RISK AVERSE!!! all big and screamy like that lest you mistake me for someone who would ever, at any time, willingly take a risk. In fact, the riskiest thing I've done in a great long while I did this past weekend, while drinking wine and eating dinner with my boyfriend. The television was on, and during some random Corona commercial I looked up from my plate and totally recognized the dude lounging shirtless on the beach, but I couldn't quite remember what I'd seen him in before. And before it even really truly registered what I'd recognized him from I blurted out, "I HAVE TOTALLY MADE OUT WITH THAT GUY." Because I had. In college. Senior year. At and/or near The Boot.

In future I think I will refrain from hollering such things over the dinner table.

it's looking like a limb torn off

2011-06-07T00:47:00.004-04:00

I've done a lot of reckless things--writing a very personal blog under my real, full name comes to mind--but I tend to shrug them off as par for the course. But! One time I did something really really really stupid.

I saw a mama bear and two cubs trolling the Yosemite Valley Floor campgrounds in the early morning hours. It's not rare, but it's very dangerous and that's why you have to put all your food and crumbies and trash and colorful things into the steel bear lockers every night. And then you're supposed to hide. FROM THE BEARS.

But I was freezing cold (it was only 2 degrees Fahrenheit once the sun came up) and trying to jog around to keep myself breathing and there they were being a cute bear family and the cubbies were wittle and fluffy and they were just looking for some foods. Just sooo cute. And so instead of getting back in my tent or getting in my car and driving far away, I started following them. Bad idea alert. But look! So cute!

Danger is my business.

2011-06-06T09:57:00.003-04:00

Hi, you guys! Hi! Sorry we’ve been on a bit of a hiatus. I take full responsibility again, on account of I dropped the ball two weeks in a row because -- well, honestly, the first time was work deadlines and the second time I was at Six Flags riding about one bajillion roller coasters. Which, by the way, is a perfect segue to the thing we’re talking about this week: What’s the most reckless thing you’ve ever done?

Pretty much once a week, Amy and Jenn take it in turns to tell me I don’t have any kind of survival instinct, all, “I mean, you’ve heard of the Darwin Awards, right?”

And it’s true. I do some really reckless shit, physically and emotionally. But it never feels reckless, even in retrospect. But let me tell you something that DID feel reckless. When I was at Six Flags last week, I rode a roller coaster called The Superman, and I thought for SURE it was going to kill me. The coaster track isn’t anything special, but the way they lock you in, it’s like you’re flying, and I seriously nearly pissed my pants when the feet restraints clamped my legs into position and the coaster tilted us forward.

(And I mean, I LOVE roller coasters. Love them, love them, love them. There were hardly any lines last week, and I rode The Batman like six times in a row.)

Anyway, whatever. The Superman scarred me for life.

See, it looks like this:

And then like this:

When we finished, the teenage dudes in front of us started chanting, “One more time! One more time! One more time!” And then we got off the coaster and I punched them in the nuts.

Like a superhero.

Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts

2011-05-27T07:08:00.010-04:00

I suppose if I really wanted to live anywhere other than Dayton, Ohio, well, I'd be living there. I complain about living here a lot, but it's not so bad. It's pretty damn good, even, most of the time. Plus, most of my family is here and if you've met my family, you know that's a good thing and not a TERRIBLE TERRIBLE LET'S RUN AWAY thing.

However, sometimes the weather can leave a lot to be desired. The winters are frigid, frequently snowy and almost always icy. The summers are hot and humid and full of mosquitoes. And the other night, there was a tornado warning and I really truly believed we were going to be carried away to Oz. WHICH WOULD BE AWESOME. Right? As long as you didn't crush anyone with your house?

Obviously, if I were to live anywhere but where I do now, which would probably require a lot of effort on my part, I'd want to make sure it was worth my while and THEREFORE I would have to move somewhere fictional. So, you know, probably somewhere from this list:

1. Oz. I would get drunk with the Scarecrow and then we'd punch the Cowardly Lion straight in his stupid, cowardly face.
2. Hogwarts. No explanation necessary.
3. The Tardis. No explanation necessary.
4. The North Pole (which is totally fictional according to Robin Scherbatsky) but wait, never mind, it's too damn cold there
5. Speaking of Robin Scherbatsky, I'd like to live upstairs from MacLaren's
6. Or Central Perk (but mostly MacLaren's because I think I'd rather hang out with the HIMYM friends than the Friends friends I KNOW, WHAT AM I SAYING, but whatever, I stand by it, also Ted = Ross. Yes?)
7. New New York, New York. First order of business? Grab a beer with Bender Bending Rodriguez.
8. Craphole Island. It wasn't so bad, really, if you ignore the smoke monster and The Others and The Dharma Initiative and everyone fighting all the time and trying to kill one another...um...just look at this pretty picture of Sawyer.
9. The Pie Hole. Solving mysteries! FREE PIE.
10. Sunnydale or Neptune, California. Solving mysteries! Free, um, well...no, actually, these places would probably kind of suck. LITERALLY, in one case.

I'm hiding out in the big city blinking.

2011-05-26T09:43:00.002-04:00

It's visibly humid today, the air hanging thick and wet over the District like a heavy blanket. The magnolias by my office have bloomed, which always makes me think wistfully of the years I spent in New Orleans, and the girl I was then.

If I could go back I would in an instant, but now is not then and things are so very changed, and changeable. I've learned in the interim to keep my wants small, and where I want to live now seems small enough. Would that I could I'd live in the house I bought over a month ago.

That would be nice.

If you could live anywhere...

2011-05-25T00:19:00.003-04:00

If I wanted to live somewhere else I would and there's a short list and a long list and a check-these-out list and there's Wenatchee and Portland and the District and the Bay Area and a little plot of land in southern Oregon, and some places in the middle of this great country too. But I'm a little saddled right now with a lease and a semi-important job and though I can picture myself in all those places, I'm doing the same things there I'm doing here (drinking coffee, reading the internet, telling people what to do).

Where would things really be different?

I think you all know the answer.

FarmVille. I can't help it.

Re-elect Jan Cooper, Mayor of Whoreville

2011-05-23T23:58:00.005-04:00

Not too terribly long ago, someone handed me a piece of paper and on that piece of paper was an amount of money that would have made my checking account do a spit-take of gleeful proportions, and all I had to do to get my hands on said sum was promise to write such-and-such-many words over the next three years — and move to Metropolis. It's a funny thing, looking in the Mirror of Erised, 'cause you think it's gonna be one thing, but then when you're standing there, it's something so familiar it might as well be the mirror in your very own bedroom. So, I handed back the paper and said, "Thank you for thinking I'm worth this risk. But I'm sorry, I can't." And I flew back home, where I belong, to snuggle up to the people who make my life my life.

If I could live anywhere in the world, it would be right here. One day, maybe I'll get that sheep farm in Wales I've been dreaming about. Or that flat in London. But for now, it's Chestnut Mountain for me.

The only other place that comes close is Pawnee.

Pawnee: The Paris of America. Pawnee: The Akron of Southwest Indiana. Pawnee: Welcome, German soldiers. (After the Nazis took France, our Mayor kind of panicked.) Pawnee: the factory fire capital of America. Pawnee: Welcome, Vietnamese soldiers. Pawnee: engage with Zorp. (For a brief time in the 70s, our town was taken over by a cult.) Pawnee: Zorp is dead; long live Zorp. Pawnee: It’s safe to be here now. Pawnee: Birthplace of Julia Roberts. (That was a lie. She sued, and so we had to change it.) Pawnee: Home of the world-famous Julia Roberts lawsuit. Pawnee: Welcome, Taliban soldiers. And finally, our current slogan: Pawnee, first in friendship, fourth in obesity.

The facts were these:

2011-05-17T10:12:00.000-04:00

The other day, Joe and I were talking about Party Down. You know, like you do. Or like we do, ever since I mainlined the entire first season on Netflix on one of my days off so many moons ago (on Kat's recommendation...you guys, do what Kat says). When I started watching the first episode, I emailed Joe and was all, "Hey, I'm watching this show...it's pretty funny...Jane Lynch is in it...so is Vinnie Van Lowe...and Janis Ian...and Dick Casablancas...AND BILL HAVERCHUCK" but by the time he got home from work, I was like, "OMG JOE SIT DOWN RIGHT NOW AND WATCH THIS SHOW RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW WHY ARE YOU TAKING YOUR COAT OFF THIS IS JUST! TOO! GOOD!"

(As I was writing this, I lost myself down a Bill Haverchuck wormhole on the YouTube and briefly considered changing my answer to Freaks & Geeks...but it's TOO LATE, people, I already wrote a whole paragraph.)

I find myself getting far too attached to fictional people, like, way more often than is probably healthy. Especially TV people. I don't know why and I'd rather not get into what the psychological reasons might be because YIKES but you guys, sometimes I act like the fate of the world hinges upon whether two TV characters are going to ever MAKE OUT ALREADY. Lois and Clark, Mulder and Scully, Jim and Pam, April and Andy, Ned and Chuck, Peter and Olivia, me and The Doctor...I can ship with the best of them.

So I think my unhealthy attachment to Party Down MIGHT have something to do with my desire to see Henry and Casey just make out already, except I don't know, they made out all the time, so maybe I wanted to see them hold hands and go on a picnic? What am I saying right now? I don't know. Anyway.

Right, so, Joe and I were talking about Party Down and I said that I wish I could jump into the show and live there because all the characters are so funny. He said that was way depressing because they all hated their jobs and most of them had absolutely debbie downer lives, at which point, I said, FINE, I'll go live inside Pushing Daisies where it is all whimsical, all the time, and be like, "Ned, I know you and Chuck can't make out so if you need a stand in, I'M HERE. No feelings, just make-outs," and Joe was all, "...ooook?" and I said, "what, it makes sense because he loves Chuck but I'm sure he has NEEDS," and Joe was like, "can we change the subject, please?"

So the answer to this week's question (which is (in case you forgot): what TV show reunion would you most like to see?) is either Party Down or Pushing Daisies because both were canceled far, far too early.

Could I BE wearing any more clothes? Maybe if I wasn't going COMMANDO.

2011-05-10T03:08:00.003-04:00

There are lots of shows I discovered too late, long after they'd gone off air. There are lots of shows that may have stayed on air long after they should have. There are shows that were canceled too early or killed off the wrong characters or devolved after salary disputes. It's almost hard to pick. Almost.

I mean, seriously, it ended before there was Twitter. I need Marta Kauffman watching with me.

I don't understand the question. And I won't respond to it.

2011-05-09T10:24:00.002-04:00

What TV show reunion would you most like to see?

if you like it, then you shoulda put your butt on it*

2011-05-05T06:39:00.036-04:00

The first time I remember making someone laugh so hard that they lost control of their bodily functions was years and years ago, when I was on vacation with my family. We were all gathered at my great aunt's house, sitting around a large table in her backyard. Midway through dinner, I burped, long and loud like Buddy the Elf had inhabited my body. My uncle had to sprint from the table, beer shooting out of his mouth. I was eight.

Thus began my long career of trying to out-Chandler Bing everyone in the room. I was that little girl perfecting her Babs Bunny imitation on the playground at recess. I was that person sitting in the back of the classroom, cracking jokes that only those sitting next to me could hear. I'm that woman who talks about poop and dog barf on her blog, immature, yes, but it's FOR THE LAUGHS, PEOPLE.

Honestly, I haven't felt very compliment-worthy lately but I've had enough people tell me I'm funny to believe that, sure, sometimes I'm good for a laugh. I once made my mom laugh so hard that she peed a little and another time Joe LITERALLY almost passed out because he was laughing so hard at something I did/said that he couldn't catch his breath. I don't remember what I said either of those times. If I did, knowing me, I'd run it into the ground until it wasn't funny anymore. For an example of this, I submit Exhibit A: my blog.

I also talk about farting a lot, so kids think I'm hilarious.

ANYWAY. Here are some actual funny people. I know they're For Real Funny** because they get paid for it:

*I also change certain words in pop songs to "butt" or "poop" WOULD YOU LIKE TO HIRE ME TO SING AT YOUR WEDDING?
**except for Horatio Sanz

Laich it Arnott, that call was Fehr. (Don't ask.)

2011-05-04T05:22:00.004-04:00

I'm not a girl very often complimented; the last came, oh, I can't even remember when. Because they are few and far between in consequence they are remembered, and what I remember is this: the one thing on which I am very most--exclusively, even--complemented is my shoes.

I wish I had a better answer for you kind people but I do not know how to make sensible lawyer shoes very interesting.

Oh wait, maybe I do:

I see you driving around town with the girl I love and I'm like "forget you!"

2011-05-02T23:20:00.003-04:00

I'm rather good at complimenting myself: an obsession with mirrors, a list of ways I can do my very best every day, a self-congratulatory points system. It is rather unbelievable really and makes it hard to distinguish what is actually said to me. Fact: not a lot (which is for the best really).

But as a child, I had this thing, that after repetition I adopted as my proudest trait. A party trick, a legacy, a sign of maturity. "Like a steel trap!" my mom would exclaim at least once a week and I would curate it, display it, and exercise it. My steel trap. It knows yesterday's news and the day before that and the day before that, and my class schedules in college, and the most important things promised to me when I was 18.

I remember you too. I remember what you were afraid of yesterday, and what you said you'd change, and what you hoped you'd become. I remember your lies too even if I didn't know them to be so, and all these things I remember are my own bible, chapters and verses that can be underlined, analyzed, and memorized again.

I don't forget things. This makes me a very valuable employee, and a sometimes harmful friend. Over the years, it's weaned and waned and I've learned somewhere in the back of pensieve to bottle up certain things. Grace has let me move past a few moments, but otherwise I carry the past around with me.

It's not easy being sure. It's not easy being the only holder of so many memories. The only estate trustee, the only living relative. But it's a rare enough trait that at least it's admired, even if if makes me feel so, so alone.

I sometimes find, and I am sure you know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind... At these times... I use the Pensieve. One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one's mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one's leisure.

Unbraiding in the Sun

2011-05-01T22:32:00.010-04:00

Have passed, I thought, a Whip lash
Unbraiding in the Sun
When stooping to secure it
It wrinkled, and was gone--

The thing I get complimented about most is my niceness, and it’s the easiest compliment to accept because it’s a really true thing to say. I’m nice. Super nice. Purposefully, proactively, perpetually nice. It’s not an act. It’s just the truth of who I am: one part Southern belle, one part theological black sheep, one part redemption-seeking twat.

In my early 20s I realized I was a prophet Isaiah girl. Not dour, really. More like: hyper-aware of needing my heart cleaned, and hyper-aware of all the broken hearts around me. I made what you might call a covenant, if you’re into Old Testament lingo, that I would do the thing Jesus said he was meant to do (the thing Isaiah said Jesus would say he was meant to do): Bind up broken-hearted people, proclaim freedom from darkness for captives, comfort folks who mourn, provide for folks who grieve.

I’d be lying if I said my faith is the same today as it was a decade ago when I made that promise, but when I was 23 I said to God, “I want to want to mend the broken-hearted, and I want to be equipped to do it.”

And on that day, on that very day, I started transforming from One Of The Biggest Pricks You’ve Ever Seen to One Of The Nicest People You’ll Ever Know.

I can’t help it.

I can’t help knowing exactly what’s happening to strangers who brush up against me, and I can’t help knowing exactly what to do comfort them, and I can’t help doing the thing that needs to be done. I’ve ignored it sometimes. I can think of six time I’ve ignored it, in fact, and I know the memories of those broken-hearted will haunt my living and waking nightmares for the rest of my life. I see them in my mind’s eye as clearly as if they were sitting beside me now: the lines on their faces, the callouses on their hands, the grumble of their empty bellies. One man’s dog starving beside him, both sharing a blanket under an overpass in a rainstorm in Munch. He needed ten Euros. Twenty maybe. I bought a beer stein I lost before I even flew home.

Not too terribly long ago I met with a digital executor, a lady who asked me a lot of tedious questions about what will happen to the online Heather Anne Hogan when the flesh and blood Heather Anne Hogan doesn’t exist anymore. There’s my Twitter, my Tumblr, my Facebook. There's my Flickr, my LiveJournal, my domain. There's my email. There's a hundred other things. What do I preserve and what should die along with me?

The digital executor said, “What do you want your legacy to be?”

I’m not unfamiliar with the snake, that narrow fellow in the grass. So I said the thing I’ve known for a while, that I want people to remember me for being nice.

“‘Nice’ isn’t much of a legacy,” she said.

I wrestled with it. I turned it over in my brain. I grappled it, strong-armed it, kicked it around it. I assaulted it. No one remembers nice guys. Nice guys finish last. I met her again a week later, this woman in charge of laying to rest the online Heather Anne, and I said, “I’m OK with nice. I’m OK without a legacy.”

I don’t remember the name of the guy who saved me from a ten-mile ride on my Strawberry Shortcake bike the first time I ran away from home at five years old. I don’t remember the name of the lady who said, “Don’t lip sync; your voice is angelic” at my first choral competition. I don’t remember the name of the coach at the basketball camp in Tennessee who spent seven hours teaching me the footwork for the crossover that got me into college. I don’t remember the name of the lady who bought me a full tank of gas when I was trying to get to Florida to bring my sister home to me. Or the Sunday School teacher who held my hand as I cried at the altar the day my parents announced their divorce. Or the guy who carried me out of the mountain bike trail the first time I crashed alone.

Oaks of righteousness, Isaiah said of broken-heart menders. A planting of the Lord for the display of his splendour.

Niceness is the truth of me. And here is another one: My Facebook won’t survive — but I think my acorns will.

the one with the pubic library

2011-04-28T09:36:00.000-04:00

Like Kat, my first job was babysitting, from the time I took a Red Cross Babysitting Course (yeah, that’s right) up until all of the kids I babysat got too old for sitting. But my first real job, the first job I got an actual paycheck minus taxes for, was at the public library.

I don’t remember interviewing, although I’m sure I did, and I was hired, along with several other high school students (and one woman in her twenties we called "Obegone" due to her love of Star Wars and her habit of cornering you with conversation forever and ever and ever) as a library aide. My responsibilities? Um, yeah, pretty much putting books away? And making sure the rest of the books were in order? But after a while, I was allowed to check out books for the patrons, which mean playing with the sonic-screwdrivery scanny pen thing. That’s the technical name, by the way.

I met some of my best friends at this job and, being 16-year-olds, we didn’t have the greatest work ethic. I mean, sure, we did what we were supposed to but there was a lot of downtime, especially if you worked during the day. And especially especially in the summer. We were supposed to do “shelf-reading” if we had downtime, which meant checking to see where the last person had stopped, and then going to that section of the library to make sure each shelf was in order. WHOOHOO. Actually, this wasn’t so bad if you were in the right section. Shelf-reading is how I ran across books called Be Your Own Dick and Mommy Laid an Egg.

Here are some things we/I did, however, instead of working:

1. Hid in the corner, “organizing” newspapers, but really just talking.

2. Raced shelving carts down the aisles.

3. Read books (duh, we were in a library)

4. Avoided a coworker I nicknamed Scary Larry because of his proclivity to talk to me like Forrest Gump, tell me I reminded him of The Virgin Mary, ask me if I liked snake handling, and ask if I liked to, and I quote, "do it like they do on the Discovery Channel"

It wasn’t all fun, I mean, it was still WORK. Once it rained so much that the roof started leaking and a soggy tile from the ceiling fell on my head. We had a patron that smelled like dirty feet, another who would wear only boxer shorts and a wife beater in the summer, a man who FREAKED OUT on me because the library’s copy of Fantasia was checked out, and one day, a sweet old man came to the counter and told me that someone had pooped on the bathroom floor.

Luckily it was the men’s room, so I didn’t have to deal with it, but that wasn’t the first poop incident the Dayton Library chain had ever dealt with. Before I worked there, someone had been going into another library branch, pooping in books he thought were inappropriate, and placing them carefully back on the shelves. It was on The Daily Show, back when Craig Kilborn hosted it, but I can’t find a clip, even though I’ve been Googling things like, “ohio poop in books” and “craig kilborn library poop,” for like half an hour.

Anyway, I left the job when I went to college but before I did, I took a souvenir:

The Public ibrary

I felt kind of bad afterward but at least I never pooped on the floor.

#humblebrag

2011-04-27T05:58:00.005-04:00

Three-fifths of my day is spent in contemplating my many, many flaws, the full list of which I've yet to come anywhere near finishing. I am moody and high-strung, quick to anger and slow to forgive. I'm too weak to lift heavy objects and too slow to be an effective running partner. I can't reach cans perched on high shelves. I am a light sleeper. But I think the very worst of my shortcomings is my remarkable capability. I can pretty much do anything, which leaves me particularly bereft of amusing anecdotes about past foibles. In short, I am FAIL Blog's worst nightmare.

deal with it

I was born with impeccable taste and an innate savoir-faire. A natural athlete, I was the youngest person to ever compete in the Tour de France, finishing a respectable sixth place at the age of three.

deal with it

In fact, as a child I was so witty and pretty and bright that I inspired all of my parents' many friends to go forth and procreate in hopes that their own offspring may one day emulate my many successes.

deal with it

It should therefore come as no surprise that I was (and this is really the only way to describe it) a RAGING SUCCESS at my first job: Babysitter Extraordinaire. Parents across South Florida had such faith in my abilities that they placed me in charge of their precious cargoes long before I could even drive a car. In later years I transitioned into full-time nanny for a rag-tag group of well-to-do moppets, ages ranging from three months to eight years, and for five years I single-handedly raised those four kids (on winter, spring, and summer vacations). In fact, when people ask why I don't have any children of my own (so good I am at motherhood) I tell them I ALREADY DONE DID THAT SHIT. And how could one possibly improve upon perfection?

I achieved equal success in subsequent jobs. In college I consistently navigated Tulane University's enormous grocery shuttle through narrow, bumpy New Orleans streets, perfectly parking the behemoth every time. The summer before law school I was George Stephanopoulos's favorite barista. The United States of America has awarded me THREE medals for my outstanding lawyering. But nothing will ever top my first triumph, which has now morphed into my latest failure. So I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize to you, our dear readers. If I'd only fucked up more during my first job, I'd actually have something to write about today.