tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62230661940296642852024-02-06T19:09:48.522-08:00East Coast, West CoastDocumenting My Life in transition from my not-so-big city to the Golden StateAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02374803095414029782noreply@blogger.comBlogger51125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223066194029664285.post-736330796185402192014-08-12T13:24:00.001-07:002014-08-12T13:24:17.227-07:00My Summer Vacation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">When I was a kid and the teacher asked everyone to go around the room and share what they did over their summer vacation, I’d groan, roll my eyes, and contemplate the relative pain of banging my head against the wall, measured against listening to 22 eight year olds describe in great detail the caterpillars they caught, and their super cool family trip to Albany. Not that I had anything stellar to share myself. My summers were spent with my awful (grownup wonderful) brothers in our far out in the country house and zero neighborhood friends. We spent the better part of July and August tying sticks together, and watching Nickelodeon. I don’t think anyone else in the room was riveted by my recount of the previous 8 weeks either. A couple of decades have a tendency to change one’s perspective though and now I’d love a forcefully captivated audience with nothing better to do than listen as I relive the sweet sentiments of my summer. And while I can’t tape your eyes open and brace your face toward this screen (though that sounds like fun, doesn’t it?), I’m guessing you all have lots of grown up things you wouldn’t mind putting off to make time to read all about the places I went and the things I did this summer. So, here ya go: </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Ireland: </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Three years ago, I promised myself that at least once a year I would travel internationally. I’ve stuck to that promise, almost exclusively by traveling somewhere for work, spending the vast majority of my time in meetings or praying for the hotel wifi to connect, and rarely seeing the light of day. Still, I always make time for at least a few excursions, and Ireland was no exception. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Dublin is a cool city. It feels more or less like the love child of Las Vegas, and Boston. Or, given Dublin is the oldest of those cities, maybe they’re siblings. Boston is the overachiever, Vegas is the wild child, and Dublin is the kid people tend to forget to send high school graduation cards to. I also saw a teensy bit of the Irish country side, which is beautiful, and very green, unsurprisingly… but that’s really all I’ve got to say about that.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Camp </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Everyone who knows me is probably sick of hearing me complain that I never got to go to summer camp. I remember my mother trying to dissuade my interest telling me the food wasn’t good there (#fatkid4life) but that only moderately quelled my interest and it’s something I’ve always regretted not doing. This summer I finally got to go, as a counselor, and honestly, I think I had more fun as a grownup than any of the kids there. We sang songs, ate s’mores and collectively reveled in the starry sky above. There was no boss breathing down my neck, no deadlines to meet, and no need for makeup or traffic updates. We didn’t have cell phone service or cable tv, and not only did we not care, we were, dare I say it in Silicon Valley, all the happier for their absence. For seven days everyone looked each other in the eyes when they spoke, expressed their appreciation with hugs and hand-written words, and more or less functioned as generous, loving human beings. Re-entering the 21st century was jarring, and would have been more painful were it not for the people I know and love in the “real world” who, whether at camp or not, are so readily willing to sing silly songs, and give spontaneous hugs. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Crystal Lake: </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Thirty years ago my mom and her two best friends dragged their husbands and five snotty kids, (plus one on the way, me) to a campground in Garretsville, New York. The place was called Crystal Lake but Murky Swamp would have been a more accurate nomenclature. For many years we met there annually but after a while riding the same mile bike path got old, and the pig race at the county fair inexplicably lost its lustre. So, in the late 90’s we changed our meeting spot to a sweet weekend home one of the moms snagged along with a second husband. We like the house, and the husband too, so everyone still congregates there every few years. In the good ole days we’d sneak, and then later on openly mooch free booze off our parents, but, as it does, the tide has turned. Since social norms dictate a grown adult showing up empty handed and eating someone else out of house and home is considered “rude”, we now bring the booze. Other than that absolutely nothing has changed. We share secrets, inside jokes, and some of the best and sweetest memories from our childhood. When it’s time to leave, the mothers cry, everyone hugs, and the yet to depart group gets left on the porch to talk, lovingly of course, behind the backs of whomever just honked farewell at the top of the drive. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Charleston: </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">August in Charleston means you simultaneously swim in the humidity and bake in the heat, which is fine by me because it’s a permanent excuse for a bad hair day, and all that sweating is enough to convince you that the quarter mile walk to the bakery has more than earned you the calories in that biscuit the size of your head they serve for breakfast. Folks are so nice you find it hard not to forgive their inability to admit defeat over a war fought two centuries ago, and the ocean is just warm enough to make you wish you could stay there forever. Whilst visiting, I ate in some of the city’s finest restaurants, and ordered wine by the bottle, not the glass, basking in the glow of financial stability only savored by the childless late twenty-something. It was, to be more succinct, my vision for adult Disneyland. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The best part about summer vacations these days though, is knowing there’s no school year to dictate what comes next. Life is full of fun stuff one can choose to compile into an obnoxious blog post, so look for the sequel: My Fall/Winter/Spring Vacation, posted whenever there’s a lull long enough to think of something clever to share.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02374803095414029782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223066194029664285.post-63624528999173183742014-06-26T17:12:00.000-07:002014-06-26T17:12:12.490-07:00Things Single People Never Want to Hear<br id="docs-internal-guid-381512b8-da9f-f4b0-6c72-63ddfd9e3412" />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You’d think by now I’d be sharing a list of things my endearing though eccentric boyfriend/husband does, or, in a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jAx4v0-7MC0">darker timeline</a>, posting my 1000th kittens in mittens selfie on my knitting blog , but I’m not that lucky and I’m not that crazy, respectively. Instead, this post is dedicated to a discussion on my single status, more specifically, the angles of it I wish to God people would </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">stop</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> trying to discuss. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I oftentimes find myself on the receiving end of completely unsolicited feedback regarding my love life and I just don’t understand how we’ve come to a place where this is socially acceptable. It seems unfair, because when someone tells me they’re in a relationship, I never respond with <i>“that’s ok, you’re going to beat those divorce odds”</i> or, <i>“you know what, I know lots of people who still have social lives after kids!”</i> Or even <i>“have you tried </i></span><i><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">not </span></i><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><i>staying in every weekend? I think you’d like it”</i>. So, it seems particularly inconsiderate to be barraged with all the things I should be doing differently in order to land a man. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, feel free to peruse the list below: </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 19px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Things single people never want to hear</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Don’t worry, you’ll meet someone”. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">There’s a lot wrong with this statement but let’s start first with “don’t worry”. Never tell a single person “not to worry” because 1. you’re assuming we </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">are</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> worried and 2. if we are worried, saying ‘don’t worry’ is essentially the least helpful, and most obnoxious statement one can utter. Instead, be honest with yourself and the person you’re speaking to. Say something like BEGIN WORRYING IMMEDIATELY YOU DELINQUENT RELATIONSHIP HACK. This is less infuriating, and frankly more genuine than “don’t worry”. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“You’ll meet someone” assumes we live in a fair and just world. Nope.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“You’ve got plenty of time”. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">What great news, as I assume you’re an expert on my uterus and lifespan! Thanks so much, this is incredibly helpful! Oh wait, you’re neither of these things? Alrighty then. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Have you tried online dating?” </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You use these words, but what I hear is <i>“you’re terrible at socializing and require a computer program to squeeze some semblance of a personality out of you, so that other people who also have no persona, can send you creepy emails and share strategically shot photos that in no way depict what they look like in real life”</i> </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Maybe you’re too picky”. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Perhaps you’re right. One moment while I find the reset button on my personality.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“What do you do when you’re by yourself?”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> Coupled friends, is there some element of cohabitation that makes it impossible to recall survival in the single environment? Or have you lost all sense of balance and require each other to hold you up and walk room to room? Perhaps your televisions, bath tubs, cell phones, e-readers, and cars have all malfunctioned or fallen into a state of disrepair? When your significant other is not home, do you stand in the silence of your living room wondering whatever will become of you? No? Me neither. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><b>One final note</b>; my signature line when people ask me if “I’m seeing someone” is to respond with “Nope, dying alone. I’m on the dying alone plan”. That’s not me fishing for a compliment, or advice. It’s my attempt to 1. be funny, 2. indicate I don’t want to discuss my single status further, and (optional) 3. leave room for you to tell me all about the 25-35 yr old 5’10”-6’3” gainfully employed, slightly burly man friend you have that you think I should meet. </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02374803095414029782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223066194029664285.post-61777584561927029492014-04-02T07:14:00.000-07:002014-04-02T07:14:32.622-07:00Costco, You Beautiful Bastard<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-d703e17b-1f16-b6ac-2056-94a3d7e6b7c9" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">People ask me all the time why I, a single woman working at a company that provides 10-14 free gourmet meals per week, has any need for a membership at a bulk superstore.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Personally, I'd like to know why any person, single or coupled, would opt out, assuming there's a Costco location within a 100 mile radius. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Where else can you find an eight person inflatable raft, 2 carat diamond earrings, and a case of coconut water all in the same place? The moment I step foot into this big beautiful bastard's entryway, my adrenaline starts pumping. I flash my membership card to the retiree at the door, lock a cool grip on that school bus of a shopping cart, and I’m off. I navigate my way through aisles of appliances, produce, paper goods, and freezer food. Bulk bargains! Organics! Luxury! Consumerism, hooray! And long after I'm home, and I've found the last nook or cranny in which to squeeze my wholesale haul, the savings satisfaction still courses through my veins. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Not sold? Let me share with you what it is I buy, and why it's worth it.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Shampoo/Conditioner</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: The Kirkland brand is top grade. I have been to enough shi shi salons to know this stuff is the real deal, and it costs nearly the same per ounce as most Suave products. It’s like having the choice between the McDonalds Dollar menu, and dinner at Le Cirque, for $1.15.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Q-tips:</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> When I was little, my mom used to tell me the generic brand of Q-tips, ("cotton swabs" for those of you who wouldn't even know what the hell to call those things if it weren't for the name brand) were just as good as the box with the capital Q. This was, of course, a bold faced lie, but my therapist tells me this is something I should stop holding against her, so let's assume some consumer report fabricated the claim. My own inability to avert penny pinching left me with substandard swabs for many a year. That is, until Costco entered my life. If you come to my home today, in need of ear canal cleansing, you'll be swabbing with the good stuff. You're welcome.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Booze: </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">If you're looking for premium vodka, find the Grey Goose at Costco, then shift your gaze two feet to the left. There should be a tall bottle of Kirkland signature premium distilled. Put that in your cart and never look back. If you're looking for microbrew beer, pick any variety case, then find a friend who likes the 4 bottles of stout that come in it (or I guess you could just like stouts....). If you're looking for party drink, (Bud Light, Coors Light, Miller Light) grab a 36 pack and scoff at the thought of paying eight more dollars for six fewer cans anywhere else. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Cupboard staples:</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> You don't need a quart of vanilla extract, or a pound of bread yeast? Who cares? Even if you throw half of it away, it's STILL one quarter the price you’re paying the </span><a href="http://www.consumerreports.org/cro/magazine-archive/december-2009/food/spices/overview/spices-ov.htm" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">McCormick Mafia</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">. Consider cooking from scratch more frequently, or reverse cup-of-sugar your neighbors. Just start knocking on doors asking if people need baking soda for anything. Clarify that it's baking soda and not cocaine. Maybe reserve this activity for when the cable goes out. Actually, this sounds potentially dangerous. On the record, I don't recommend this. Off the record, I don't even</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> have</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> cable so if you want to do this, record it, and send me a link to the video, that'd be swell. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Organic Spinach: </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> Spinach is the only thing at Costco that is actually sold in a week supply container for my household of 1, which confuses me. The spinach tub cooks down to about 4 servings. Based on literally every other consumable good, I would expect them to sell the stuff in garbage bags, but they don't. And it's still 75% cheaper than the grocery store, go figure. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Active Apparel</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: Spending a ton of money on clothes you sweat in is stupid. Sporting dumpy schweaties next to the one straight man in your spin class is a wasted opportunity. Throwing a fashionable, though brandless zip jacket into your cart next to the 30 pack of toilet paper is nothing more than logical. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Underwear</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: I get how parents dragging their screaming tiny humans might forgo the socks and undies aisle at Costco, opting for the extra five minutes in line for a dollar ice cream cone the size of their tot's head because 1. it's delicious, and 2. these aisles are narrower and more prone to product/tiny human avalanches. Single people, however, have no excuse. I own Costco camisoles in every color of the rainbow, and my underpants drawer is quickly rotating toward Felina, a brand I've never heard of but that rivals Victoria's poorly kept secrets at one fifth the price.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It should be noted that I am in no way affiliated with, or compensated by Costco Wholesale. Additionally, it occurs to me that I have more to say about a store than I do the environment, world politics and modern medicine combined, which makes me question whether a reassessment of my life choices may be in order. </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02374803095414029782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223066194029664285.post-51844509594003588412013-10-07T11:51:00.000-07:002013-10-07T11:51:46.130-07:00Vienna Waits<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Slow down you crazy child. You’re so ambitious for a juvenile” It’s like Billy Joel knew what a hot mess we’d be by the year 2013, and he wanted to make sure there would be an epic song about it to provide future 20 somethings with some perspective. Or, more likely, we’re the latest in a long line of generations hell bent on pissing their youth away, and not even one of the worlds greatest musicians can teach us to take a beat.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">In the last couple of months I’ve read every numbered list about all the things I, as a 28 year old single woman in America, am doing wrong. <i>"7 things to make you happier at work"</i>, <i>"21 things single women need to stop doing", "25 things single women need to start doing", "40 reasons my generation is terrible", "100 people in my generation who are ragingly more successful/happier/prettier/smarter/funnier than me". </i> I can’t stop myself from scanning these lists and suffering the exact opposite of their intended publication. I don’t feel empowered or relaxed, or content. I feel like a big fat failure. But, when Mr. Joel kindly tells me I’m “doing fine” somehow I get it, and the world is not such an overwhelming place. So, please ignore the other lists and join me in acknowledging these simple truths:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You can't be everything you want to be before your time</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Only fools are satisfied</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Dream on, but don't imagine they'll all come true</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">And above all, before anything else, Vienna waits for you. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Lyrics from Billy Joel’s “Vienna”, 1977</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Slow down, you crazy child</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">you're so ambitious for a juvenile</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">But then if you're so smart, tell me</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Why are you still so afraid?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Where's the fire, what's the hurry about?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You'd better cool it off before you burn it out</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You've got so much to do and</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Only so many hours in a day</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">But you know that when the truth is told..</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">That you can get what you want or you can just get old</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You're gonna kick off before you even</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Get halfway through</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">When will you realize, Vienna waits for you?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Slow down, you're doing fine</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You can't be everything you want to be</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Before your time</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Although it's so romantic on the borderline tonight</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Tonight,...</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Too bad but it's the life you lead</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">you're so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Though you can see when you're wrong, you know</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You can't always see when you're right. you're right</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You've got your passion, you've got your pride</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">but don't you know that only fools are satisfied?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Dream on, but don't imagine they'll all come true</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">When will you realize, Vienna waits for you?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Slow down, you crazy child</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">and take the phone off the hook and disappear for awhile</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">it's all right, you can afford to lose a day or two</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">When will you realize,..Vienna waits for you?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">And you know that when the truth is told</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">that you can get what you want or you can just get old</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Why don't you realize,. Vienna waits for you</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">When will you realize, Vienna waits for you?</span></div>
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<a href="http://www.metrolyrics.com/vienna-lyrics-billy-joel.html#ixzz2h3kYdGQk" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #003399; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;"></span></a><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02374803095414029782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223066194029664285.post-23978842469195698432013-09-17T23:28:00.002-07:002013-09-17T23:28:57.149-07:00Come Fly With Me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Have you ever thought while at the airport “Wow this process is enjoyable, well organized, and reasonably executed!”? Of course not. I have a theory that what we know as modern day air travel was originally designed by the military as some form of psychological torture, the blueprints for which accidentally landed on someone’s desk at the department of transportation. Let’s address the current situation and my recommended adjustments, shall we? “</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Oh yes, let’s!”, you say and we hold hands and skip over to a picnic in the park*</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> The check-in counter: </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I don’t care where I’m going; Paris! Rome! Sheboygan! How lovely it would be for the ticket agent to feign, for the briefest of moments, a shred of excitement. “Oh Isn’t that nice, you’ll have so much fun”! would be a pleasant way to start me on my journey but alas the robot behind the desk only offers a grunt and the briefest of gestures toward the gate.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The security line:</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> Off to a not so great start, I next approach the security line. The gate agents screaming instructions on loop seem not to have noticed that I am two feet away and fully prepared. My shoes are removed! Do you not see the well organized 1 quart Zip-Loc bag in my hand? If anyone out there associated with the TSA is reading this, please be informed that we are not all deaf. I don’t know how you got this impression. Is there a morning meeting where you’re fed this lie? “hey by the way, again today, every single person coming to this airport is deaf, every last one. So, go ahead and continue to scream at them when they are directly in front of you”. This is inaccurate and you should really check your sources. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Oh but perhaps my theory is wrong. Maybe the security agents are shouting so that, at some point during the 30 minute wait, even the least observant nitwit will realize that bottle of Fiji water is not making it through the checkpoint. I’ve got a solution for that too. Airports should start charging an idiot tax for anyone who’s unprepared by the time they reach the front of the line. It could even be fun for the rest of us. Picture it; once the non-compliant is standing on the yellow foot markers for the body scan, a voice announces their ineptitude over an intercom. We fellow travelers waiting our turn can sing along to a catchy tune about the perils of burdening society as the belt-wearing, liquids-over-3-ounces carrying fool is directed to the idiot tax payment booth. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Airport Food: </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I’m past security, my shoes are tied and the next thing that greets me is a great hall of neon signage and the wafting scent of meat by-products sizzling in vats of oil. It’s a never ending sea of overpriced, refined starch, binge-inducing garbage calling my name. In the perfect world my solution would be to have Jillian Michaels standing in front of the Auntie Anne’s counter yelling “Don’t do it, you’re gonna regret it in like 5 minutes” and, when I buy that butter laden caloric endeavor anyway, running to the other end of the counter to tackle me before I can take a bite. I realize that Jillian is only one woman and this is obviously not a scalable solution, which is why I propose installing Jillian Michaels life size plasma screens in front of every Auntie Anne’s. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Strangely enough, missing from the menu of every airport I’ve ever been to, is coffee. Airports don’t have coffee. They have vats of hot dark swill that they pour into coffee cups but no actual liquid I’d define as the stuff. I’m sorry but airport coffee is the Taco Bell ground beef of hot caffeinated beverages. It’s disgusting, but we still consume it while lying to ourselves about what’s really inside, clinging to a thin veil of ignorance that’s just one 20/20 special away from being ripped to shreds. My solution is to not watch that exposé when it comes out. I just can’t risk a confined space for an extended amount of time with no caffeine.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">On-board the aircraft: </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">As for the experience once I’m actually on the plane, I think we could all spend the better part of the next decade commiserating, but that’s not a great use of anyone’s time. So, in rapid succession, just the actionable items that will contribute to the general sanity of travelers in society:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Leave the cologne/perfume out of your morning routine on travel day, I know you think it smells nice in a “subtle” way and people like it but it doesn’t, and we don’t.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Gentleman, I can say with scientific certainty that, whatever you may be carrying between your legs, it does not require you to spread your knees halfway into the seat to either side. I paid for all of my seat, I expect to be able to use all of it.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I get that your sweet Johnny is a wee little one, and he’s not accustomed to confined spaces but perhaps you could refrain from allowing him to run up and down the aisles arms flailing. The first five seconds of his menacingly gleeful squeal were cute but the twenty minutes following had me wondering whether my insurance would pay to get my tubes tied, and I’ve spent the last ten reminding myself that binding and gagging a toddler is simply not the Christian thing to do.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I think that about does it. I strongly encourage the forwarding of this information to any fellow travelers you may know, leaders in the aviation industry, or Kinkos for mass order lamination and distribution at your local airport. Thanks for flying.</span></div>
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<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><i><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><i><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">* yaaaa about that, there’s no picnic. I’m not even sitting next to you...ya weirdo.</span></i></i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02374803095414029782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223066194029664285.post-32594838588605554182013-07-30T21:57:00.000-07:002013-07-30T21:59:26.787-07:00Kids These Days: The early twenty-somethings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Let’s take some time to talk about what self obsessed, media guzzling mooches these little bastards are, and why I have no use for them.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">First of all, kids in their early 20’s remind me I’m no longer in mine, which immediately makes them horrible little beasts. Secondly they have essentially no knowledge of a world without internet which means they are not only disinclined, but more or less incapable of forming original thoughts or functioning without a constant stream of validation. Still, I wouldn’t really mind them were it not for the societal burden these attention seeking, uber indulgent monsters force us to bear. You see, they’re not content living exclusively in their culturally void filth. They frequently mingle with the rest of us in the most uncouth of ways. They’ve derived a sub-language intended to reduce everyone’s IQ by a minimum of 20 points, and they openly carry on conversations with the rest of us, carlessely flinging these pollutants out at whim as casually as if they were saying hello. I find this abhorrent. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">If you have no idea what I’m talking about, it’s likely you yourself have recently exited your teens. I’ve compiled a short list of examples for your education:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Presh”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: There is nothing precious about your idiocy.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“YOLO”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: You’re going to live short if I hear you yell this one more time, particularly when paired with a sideways peace sign. That hipster garb came from Nordstrom, you’re fooling no one.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Def”: </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I wish I was deaf so I could definitely avoid hearing you lazily shorten this word.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Bestie”: </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">As in your “bestie” is totally about to steal your boyfriend AND your favorite shoes AND never talk to you again, which you deserve.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Totes”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">: If I had a tote full of rocks I would totally swing it at you right now.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Additionally, I’m sorry your company’s stock went down 10% but you’re 22, you barely know what stock is. Really, what impact does this have on your life? You’ll have to order the Bud Light instead of the microbrew? This is not cause for concern. And I’ve heard you singing those songs of self-praise given you’re a trilingual ivy league graduate, but I got that email you accidentally cc’ed EVERYONE YOU KNOW on, and I recall you not being able to figure out how to change the little light bulb in your refrigerator so I’m going to have to ask you to sit down and shut the hell up.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Yep, kids these days are horrible foolish dimwits. They juice cleanse and then binge on Jack in the Box. They post environmental rants via one of the 8 devices sucking electricity out of their wall. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">They whine and obsess and mope and complain, and they think the world owes them something. Basically they’re me with faster metabolisms and better skin... and I hate them for it.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02374803095414029782noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223066194029664285.post-9381944692434417442013-07-22T22:09:00.000-07:002013-07-22T22:09:39.810-07:0010 Reasons I Didn’t Go to My Ten Year Reunion<b id="docs-internal-guid--3fa95f4-09e8-7239-9a7e-eee0006d5b91" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ah the high school reunion, a time when grown adults flock to their hometowns in a last ditch effort to relive glory days that weren’t really all that glorious, and reconnect with people they purposely lost touch with during college. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ten years ago, I walked across a stage and accepted a diploma from the state of New york, slightly perturbed the half-wit at the podium couldn’t pronounce my name, but otherwise pretty jazzed I’d made it through without any form of nervous breakdown, incarceration, pregnancy scare or regrettable piercing. And every day of the last decade has more or less been a celebration of the closure of that chapter of my life. Still, when I got the invite to </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">my </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">ten year reunion, I considered going. Maybe it would be nice to reconnect after all, perhaps I’d forgotten some glory days I was in need of remembering. So, I hopped online to check airfare to good ‘ole hometown USA and, after wondering what one of my kidneys would fetch on the black market, decided it just wasn’t worth the holiday weekend airfare. I did my due diligence though, and came up with as many reasons not to go, as there are years since I graduated. Without further ado, I give you:</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 24px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">10 Reasons I Didn’t Go to My Ten Year Reunion</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 24px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">1. I wasn’t really popular. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> I didn’t run track or organize school dances or run for student body president. There weren’t an overwhelming number of people to reminisce with.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">2. I wasn’t really unpopular: </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don’t have anything to prove. I can’t recall a single person in whose face I’d like to rub my general success. They’re probably out there, but I’ve long since forgotten them. Which brings me to my next point.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">3. I don’t remember people:</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Of my entire graduating class I think I can list 20 people. Even if you put my yearbook in front of me I think I might be able to string a memory to a face with another 10. Dear people I’ve forgotten: It’s not that you’re forgettable per se, I have just forgotten you. I doubt this fact impacts you in any meaningful way. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">4. I hate pretending I do remember people. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There are only so many times I can call people “hun” and glance at their nametag before someone catches on. Which doesn’t matter anyway because after cocktail four I’d just start telling people I had no idea who they were. That’s not a good look for me.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">5. I don’t care about your kids: </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> This one is going to sting a little, but I don’t. Please don’t misunderstand, If we are currently friends, I care about your kids. I’m not completely heartless, but if we were lab partners 12 years ago, I don’t care that little Johnny just took his first steps, I just don’t. 8 photos in I am not suddenly going to realize what a miracle he has been in your life. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">6. I”m not a raging success:</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> I won't lie to you, if I actually had </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gDVmAz8P6cc" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">invented Post-Its</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, hell yes I would be at that reunion because who </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">doesn’t</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> love a moment of celebrity? As it stands I’m doing fairly well for myself. I’ve lost some weight, my credit score is in the pre-qualified-for-lots-of-stuff-I-don’t-need range , and I finally figured out what to do with my hair. But none of these changes really qualifies for a FOX reality tv special. If there aren’t going to be any spotlights or velvet curtains really, what’s the point?</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">7. There are too many potential drinking games:</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “I can’t believe it’s been ten years” heard 20 or so times becomes necessarily acknowledged with tequila shots. Strangers become friends, friends become enemies, someone calls the cops, and it’s all my fault for starting the whole damn thing. I have made it 28 years without so much as a parking ticket. I’d like to keep that streak going. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">8. There’s no long lost love I was hoping to rekindle: </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">No high school sweetheart, no unspoken crush, no “special friend” I was looking to go all Dawson’s Creek on. Kids, if you’re reading this, the CW has been lying to you. You have a better chance of getting hit by lightening than experiencing any of these scenarios. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">9. I’m still a little afraid of being a grown up: </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don’t have a mortgage, or a husband, or children siphoning off the lion’s share of my shoe fund, and out here in sunny California that’s pretty normal for someone my age, but at my reunion there would be, lying in waiting, a concentrated group of people my EXACT AGE who have all of these things, and I am terrified of facing them. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">10. There wasn’t any dancing </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The modern sitcom has taught us that reunions include a Saturday night dance ala high school standard procedure but it turns out almost no one does this anymore and this point just put me over the edge. Reasons 1-9 I could maybe get over, but If I couldn’t spend too much money on a cocktail dress I may never wear again for the sole purpose of looking good in front of people I couldn’t even remember, while dancing to music I most likely now hate, then I just couldn’t justify going to a reunion. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For all my fellow 2003 graduates, congratulations on making it through a decade of the real world. With any luck, I’ll find 20 reasons I should go to our 20 year reunion, and I’ll see ya then.</span></div>
<br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02374803095414029782noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223066194029664285.post-67456502086803815012012-12-13T17:27:00.000-08:002012-12-13T17:27:39.470-08:00October and November: I Was Busy<span id="internal-source-marker_0.9387686283599014" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I'm
going to stop starting these posts with “sorry it’s been awhile since
I’ve posted” apologies. The truth is, it typically takes at least a
month for me to come up with something I think anyone would find
entertaining to read about. Actually, you should be grateful I'm not
filling the internet with yet another daily blog that rambles on about
being single or cookie baking or “going green”. That’s 5 more minutes a
day I'm giving you to stalk your ex on facebook or wrack up another 28%
interest credit card payment via online shopping. You’re welcome,
America. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Truth
be told a lot has happened in the past couple of months. I flew back
east for a friend’s wedding, I spent a weekend in Vegas, I went on a
vacation to Barcelona and I got promoted. I get how a normal person
would give a general overview of those events. I prefer the drive by
observations I'm about to spit out. It focuses on <b>none</b> of the important
aspects of any of those events:</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<ul style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">When
you’re drunk and the lighting is really low sometimes a ball of butter
NEXT to your salad looks like one of those mini mozzarella balls IN your
salad. No amount of wine will get the taste out of your mouth OR erase
the humiliation when the person across from you, who is only slightly
less drunk, decides to point your error out to the entire table. Thanks
random girl, thanks a million.</span></li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">No
matter how many times you casually mention it, people on the dance
floor at a wedding will NOT request Super Bass on your behalf. This is
something you cannot outsource.</span></li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Sometimes
you have to trust your friends when they say it’s a good idea to leave
the strip and take a $30 cab ride to Old Vegas. Sometimes you have to
tell them ‘no you do not want to go downstairs at 3am to play black
jack, yes you do know you’re in Las Vegas, and won't they please shut
the hell up and get the hell out of your room’.</span></li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Confetti
is ALWAYS AWESOME. I don’t care how many countries you’ve visited, how
cool your car is or what you do for a living. Someone throws a shit
ton of confetti into the air, you will throw your hands up, stare at the
sky and spin like you’re freakin Julie Andrews. </span></li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">People
in Europe smoke like chimneys, drink like fish and eat cheese,
basically nonstop. It’s not a stereotype, it’s the real deal over there. They’re
still living longer and looking better than us. I have no explanation
for this.</span></li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">When
you get promoted, in your head you meet your gal pals for $20 martinis
wearing a cocktail dress and stilettos. In real life you high five over
draft beers. You’re wearing sweatpants.</span></li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Also,
when you get a promotion, everything becomes more expensive in direct
proportion to the raise you just got. Suddenly it makes sense to buy
clothes, shoes, and wine that are that percentage more expensive.
Pre-made PB and J sandwiches continue to be an idiotic waste of money.
(Seriously who is buying those things? I don’t get it)</span></li>
</ul>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/4JipHEz53sU?fs=1" width="480"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02374803095414029782noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223066194029664285.post-56478421254868184802012-09-12T22:32:00.001-07:002012-09-12T22:34:11.583-07:00Life Lessons with Lea: Rich People<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: arial;">By now you're well aware I'm the product and current member of Middle Class America. (If not, my Target wardrobe and base model hatchback should have been clues). And given my formidable years were spent with fellow austerity budgeters it's taken me several years to understand how the wealthier world functions. Below are a few Do's and Don'ts I've compiled regarding the affluent. Alrighty, here we go....</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Life Lessons with Lea, RE: Rich People</span></div>
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<b>Rich people don't think they're rich: </b> Average rich people don't think they're rich, they think the obscenely, disgustingly rich people are rich and they're just upper middle class. Let me paint a scenario for you: A dog burglar has sent the family dog's collar in the mail telling you the ransom is $500,000 or Fido goes to the fire hydrant in the sky. If there is even the remote possibility of you being able to liquidiate assets and pay that ransom (or call your parents for the cash) you are a rich person. Stop trying to rub elbows with us middle classers. </div>
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<i>If that first lesson just provided you with the revelation you are in fact a rich person, you can stop reading now. </i></div>
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<b>Never joke about trust funds:</b> The idea of actually having a trust fund is, in my mind, so hilarious it never occurred to me NOT to use the concept outside of sarcasm. Turns out Scrooge McDuck isn't the only one with enough money to swim in and mocking that particular form of income is actually frowned upon by those advantaging from one.</div>
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<b>Never ask "where did you get that?":</b> I shop at TJ Maxx and Target and outlet stores, so it took me a really long time to get this one down because when someone says they like my dress I have the uncontrollable urge to tell that person I got it for $14.99 and if they hurry they can probably get it too. This is the opposite of how you interact with rich people. You're not supposed to ask, you're supposed to know who the designer is and whether it came from Saks, Bloomingdales or a boutique shop. If say, you're just curious, or you want to splurge or oh, gee I dont know you plan on winning the lottery, and you do ask "Wherever did you get that coat?",a rich person will not tell you. They will say they don't remember, which is a lie. Rich people won't tell you where their clothes come from because in that moment of being asked they realize how ridiculous it is they've spent so much money on a sweater and they don't want to own up to it in the face of reality... or maybe they just don't want to be assholes and rub it in your face... I think it depends on the rich person.</div>
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<b>Raising children is something the help does:</b> When a rich person has a baby, you're suposed to say congratulations and then ask them if they "have help". Seriously, I'm not joking, Everyone who knows rich people will ask this question. If they say yes, it is followed by several details. There's the nanny, the day nurse, the night nurse, daycare and a gammot of credentials to match. You're supposed to respond saying how great it is that this person is paying other people to raise their child. If they say no they don't have help and have actually braved the frontier of raising the offspring they've born, you're supposed to throw them a parade. </div>
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<b>Trailers, above ground pools and coupons are off limits:</b> You cannot mention these things in front of rich people. If you do, they'll look at you momentarily like you're some sort of crazy homeless person and then they'll change the subject to something completely irrelevant to the conversation. It's really too bad because I know lots of people who live/have lived in trailers and have/d lovely homes. I grew up with an above ground pool that was AWESOME (and I'm willing to bet no less fun than my in-ground pool counterparts') and coupons, well coupons are free money, which you would think rich people would be ALL ABOUT but apparently not so much. I'd consider launching a campaign to end the stigma behind these things but rich people obviously wouldn't donate to the cause, and I'm guessing most everyone else would be averse to paying for the upper class to understand what middle class living actually consists of. </div>
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On the off-chance I someday find myself in the trust-fund-designer-clothing-nanny-employing-in-ground-pool-owning tax bracket, you can rest assured I won't forget that that's not how most of the world is living. For now, I'm off to clip some coupons.</div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02374803095414029782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223066194029664285.post-10692154554747096442012-07-02T18:22:00.001-07:002012-07-02T18:40:27.984-07:00Life Lessons with Lea: What Lea Needs to LearnOccasionally I throw out these Life Lessons with Lea posts but I was thinking maybe the tone of them is starting to sound a little holier-than-thou. Like maybe you're just going about your day, you see my update via whatever technology doo-dad you use, and you're thinking "Shucks I sure could use a pick-me-up tell-tale sign of the times from Miss Giametta. Maybe she'll retell that story of the woman shitting her pants. That post sure was a doosy". (You speak like this because everyone is from Nebraska circa 1953 in their mind's eye, yes?) But instead of my Wal-Mart heyday or my latest dating debacle you get yet another kick in the pants about all the things you don't do well. And maybe you don't like that.<br />
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I am, after all, a people pleaser so I figured I'd turn the tables and share some of the lessons I still haven't learned. Chances are you already know most of these. If that bitch from Romper Room taught us anything it's that people are watching. But just in case you don't, and to prove I'm a good sport, I give you:<br />
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<i><b>The Life Lessons Lea Needs to Learn:</b></i><br />
<br />
<b><i>1. Remembering peoples' names:</i></b> People out there whose names I know; I guarantee you it took me no fewer than 3 times being introduced, reminded, or referenced via electronic communication for me to remember what your parents named you. If I had even a sip of an alcoholic beverage on any of those occasions, the number doubles. I am genuinely horrific at retaining this information. <br />
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<b><i>2. Reading Maps:</i></b> I cannot find my way out of a cardboard box. I have zero sense of direction. On the upside I think I would survive were I dropped in the middle of the Sahara. You know how they say humans have an inherent tendency to travel in circles in the desert? I would find a way to mess that up.<br />
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<i><b>3. Sorting through mail:</b></i> How hard is this? You collect the mail from the box. Open the stuff you care about, recycle the junk, pay the bills and you're done right? I don't know how to do this. I only know how to let the paper grow to a beastly heap before finding the time to pare it down half way, i then wander away and let it double again. <br />
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<b><i>4. Putting away laundry:</i></b> I don't actually mind washing, drying, or folding laundry but that's where the process dead ends. I bring the fresh basket to my bedroom, set it on the floor, and leave it there until all of the clean clothes have been worn and I need to wash them again. I own a dresser. It's functionality is completely lost on me.<br />
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<b><i>5</i><i>. Driving aggressively:</i></b> You read aggressively, NOT dangerously, which is not a lesson anyone should learn. Which reminds me, to all the motorists I share the road with; I beg of you, please learn what a signal light is. You're going to love it. But back to <i>my</i> lesson, I'm not an aggressive driver. Look, I'm from a small town. The only "traffic" we ever experienced was when the fireworks on the 4th of July ended and everyone had to rush home to either put the kids to bed or put on their fancy Carharts and swing over to the local bar. Lanes didn't merge, metering lights were never on and the only traffic report we ever got was a drunk on a tractor directing vehicles at the intersection of one rural route and another. That said I'm fully aware most rural transplants learn to adjust in suburbia. I'm working on it. In the mean time just factor an extra few minutes of transit time if I'm driving.<br />
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Obviously there are several lifetimes of things I still need to learn. These five just seem to create the most critical and prevalent hinderance to me functioning normally in modern society. Please do not add additional suggestions. Another lesson I've yet to learn is handling criticism well.<br />
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ciframe%20width=%22420%22%20height=%22315%22%20src=%22http://www.youtube.com/embed/td1KAgrYUGA%22%20frameborder=%220%22%20allowfullscreen%3E%3C/iframe%3E"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/td1KAgrYUGA" width="420"></iframe></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02374803095414029782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223066194029664285.post-60877726791761771902012-06-25T16:45:00.000-07:002012-06-25T16:45:40.368-07:00Everyone's Smarter Than Me...Thank GodWhen I was a kid my mom had a way of keeping me "grounded" when it came to my moderately above average accomplishments. Making honor roll was never anything to celebrate. A supporting role in the spring musical meant "you'll have to try harder next year for a lead" and when I graduated 23rd in my class it was "too bad I hadn't made it to the top ten percent". Perhaps a few more words of encourgement and a little less criticism would've propelled me further forward, but frankly, I doubt it. And now that Im grown and out here in the big bad world Ican't help but feel greatful not to be saddled with delusions of grandeur. And oh what delusions they would be, as I have discovered since graduating from my, apparently substandard, top-tier school.<br />
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My first job out of school was as an assistant at an investment firm wall-papered with ivy league diplomas and wreaking of that long-term stable success us underachievers are terrified of. No dot com bubble burst, big government bailout failures for these folks, unh unh. By my calculations, their achievements were due to 1 part luck, 3 parts favorable government policy and 8 parts SUPER SMART PEOPLE. Mostly super smart people pretending not to be super smart, possibly so as not to frighten the dingbat (me) handing them the weekly report. Still, I wouldn't have realized what a slacker I was had it not been for their across the board outside the boardroom, high flying achievements . Nauseatingly, everyone seemed to be some combination of varsity athlete/trend-setter/philanthropic dynamo; or, as I liked to call them, sample resumes on steroids.<br />
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I was too dumb to know I was a dummy so I started asking questions. After I got through the really dumb ones ("What's a ticker?") I moved onto the only slightly less rudimentary ("One more time, which one's 'net' and which one's 'gross'?). Until after 3 years with the firm I left with the knowledge baseline that I know nothing about investments and should stick to my idiot-proof 401k plan. My bank sends me a pie chart of how they're investing the funds but I'm smart enough to know I'm <i>not </i>smart enough to assess whether pink, green and yellow are really diversified properly or not. <br />
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You're thinking these people are the exception not the rule, right? That it's rare for someone to be a well rounded, well traveled, well versed and well dressed individual, and that these folks are few and far between. I thought that too. And then I started working at Bloggle.<br />
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Minus the well-dressed piece, my current coworkers are very similar to the former, except they've lived in the 12 different countries the investment folks have vacationed in and they speak the dozen or so languages...fluently. I'll admit, it was disheartening to discover yet another tribe of super smarties. Frankly it stressed me out for some time. It doesn't anymore though, and here's why. You may recall a certain son of a former president who managed to get himself elected to the same position based on the notion that he was just a common guy who liked to hunt and couldn't pronounce "nuclear". Politics aside, I never understood the logic behind that. I don't want the leader of the free world to be as smart as I am, I want him (or her) to be much, <span style="font-size: large;">much smarter. <span style="font-size: small;">I want the person steering the ship to make my head spin when he explains the mechanics of the vessel. Why? Because he's the one steering the damn ship! </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">The same logic shore side tells me Im actually in a damn good position here at Bloggle. I have walking talking examples of all the things I should strive for and, more or less, an unwaivering faith in the folks leading my team every day. Am I still self conscious about the one language I speak and my BA from a non-ultra elite school? Hell yes. But I'll take being the dumbest of the smart people over the smartest of the dummies any day of the week, and that is something I know Im smart enough to have chosen right.</span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02374803095414029782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223066194029664285.post-5630413873542293042012-06-23T17:52:00.000-07:002012-06-23T17:52:24.765-07:00Working out is (mostly) working outIf you've been paying attention, you'll notice I frequently allude to working out but have never really approached the topic with full force so I think it's finally time to acknowledge the elephant in the room. Maybe elephant is a bit much. How about hibernating squirrel, or maybe adolescent panda? This isn't working. It's just me in the room ok? We're talking about me... being chubby.<br />
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I've got these great friends, who are themselves thin as rails, who like to pretend I don't have a little extra meat on my bones. Dear sweet skinny friends, I appreciate your kindness but I own mirrors so really you can stop lying to me, it's ok. Really, it is, because I am in fact doing something about it. No, let me rephrase that. I am doing EVERYTHING about it. So I'd like to share the many, MANY methods to my uber slow, but still steady weight loss.<br />
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I am coordinated only if there is no device, ball, disc, net, stick or glove involved. Translation, any and all traditional sports as a means of exercise are off the table. I can however shake my groove thang like no no other, so I take every dance/dance cardio/dance conditioning dancey dance class ever invented. I love these classes because half the people there have 2 left feet and an AARP card. I get 60 minutes of staring at a mirror thinking "I'm so young, I've got moves, God I'm good looking!".<br />
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If there are no classes I'm interested in at the gym, I hop on an elliptical. Tina Fey writes in Bosspyants (a novel everyone and their mother should read) about how she dreams up ways of killing people while working out. This is how I know Tina and I should be best friends. I don't plot people's deaths though, I plan my fabulous life. I swear I'm not stealing your idea Tina, I've been doing this for years.<br />
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The following events all happen in Elliptical Lea's life:<br />
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<ul>
<li>I have a rocking body, I mean ROCKING. But not like the over toned greased down 8 pack. Even elliptical Lea doesn't want that. I'm just your run of the mill perfect 10. I have pool parties where I wear french bikinis and high heels (high heels around a pool make no sense to me but Elliptical Lea manages to pull them off). </li>
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<li>I've built my own chain of group fitness/girls night out centers. We all work out together and I make other chubby women feel good about themselves while groovin to Britney Spears. Then we hit the showers, do each others hair, and go out on the town. Somehow people pay me to be a catalyst for making friends and finding hot spots. Why and how this actually makes money is fuzzy but it does. On the side I have a non-profit that does the same thing (minus the booze) at after school centers in low income neighborhoods.</li>
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<li>An equally smoking hot boyfriend frequently picks me up in MY luxury car and we go on incredible dates. If the TV I'm watching is on ESPN and there's a NASCAR race, he's a professional race car driver, if it's hockey he's a hockey player, if its a rerun of Real Housewives... I pick between the race car driver and the hockey player. There is no one on that show I'd want to be within a ten mile radius of.</li>
</ul>
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<li>I go on Jay Leno to talk about my best selling novel. I'm somehow enough of a celebrity to warrant an appearance.</li>
</ul>
One afternoon I spent an exceptionally long time working out. The rest of the day I had to constantly remind myself none of these things had actually happened.<br />
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Back east I used to do quite a bit of walking. Fun fact, when you remove 20ish blocks of walking a day from your routine, you will gain 5 pounds in 6 months. Even more fun fact, you'll gain another 5 pretending you didn't gain the first. After you gain 10 you realize it's time to get your shit together. So, I recently bought a bike. Want to laugh? Watch a grown women with the coordination of jello ride a bike for the first time in ten years. I've also taken to hiking. Want to cry? Watch an 80 year old man with walking sticks beat you to the top of the hill.<br />
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My ultimate goal is to get down to a healthy weight I can feel good about, and still I know I had some fun getting there. And if that means I spend the next five years exploring acroyoga or hay bale throwing or unicycle competitions well then by golly sign me up because one way or another I'm getting there. <br />
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<i> For your amusement, a partial list of additional classes I have actually taken in the name of physical fitness</i><br />
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<ul>
<li>Urban rebounding (small trampolines, big fun).</li>
<li>Step-N-Slide: a device i can only describe as a plastic mat that feels like it's been rubbed down with vegetable oil, affixed with 2 "stoppers" at each end. The goal of the class is not to die, I think.</li>
<li>Polynesian (Hula and Tahitian)</li>
<li>Bikram Yoga: 110 degree room, you literally rain sweat </li>
</ul>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02374803095414029782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223066194029664285.post-70633445246346558722012-05-14T12:43:00.000-07:002012-05-14T12:43:15.489-07:00Socially Slow in Sillicon ValleyI can't believe it's taken me this long to broach the subject on the egregious lack of social skills in Silicon Valley but we're here now so let's get started.<br />
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Around here it's no secret the male:female ratio is, statistically, in they lady's favor but that hasn't really provided me an upper hand in the dating scene. As a good friend recently pointed out, the odds are good, but the goods are odd. Maybe this sounds overly critical but hear me out. I think we can mostly agree I'm a fairly attractive, moderately successful woman. I've got a good sense of humor, and I clean up pretty good; it's only fair to expect similar standards in my male counterparts. Sadly that's currently not what I'm seeing out there, ergo:<br />
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<b>Suggestions for Solving the Socially Slow Situation in Silicon Valley</b><br />
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<i><b>The basics.</b></i> <br />
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Fellas, if you have any snowball's chance in hell of interacting with anything better than a mop you're going to need to bathe, cut your hair regularly, and corral that facial mange into something presentable, or else get rid of it...daily. You've also got to spend more than 10 seconds choosing clothing to put on, and that clothing needs to be clean. I don't want to count the number of men I've seen out here wearing high-water khakis, dirty gamer tshirts and Tevas with sport socks. Do not tell me you coordinated that outfit, passed a mirror and thought it looked good. No one is that stupid. But just in case you are, try remembering the four S's: <i>Shower, Shave and no Socks with Sandals</i>.<br />
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<i><b>Alrighty, moving on. </b></i><br />
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You look like a normal human being, hooray! But now you also have to act like one. I'm amazed how many men are incapable or unwilling to approach a woman. We're not <i>all</i> cold hearted bitches... okay that's a lie, yes we are. Nevertheless, you crave our company. So, when you're out after work and you see a gal you'd like to get to know, just remember the reverse law of gravity applies; any drink that's emptied must be replenished: what goes down must be filled back up. Listen, this is <i>good </i>news. For a mere five to ten dollars you get to skip trying to coordinate any type of meet-cute. You can avoid the 99.9% failure rate of a pickup line. All you have to do is say "Hello, my name is...", and then utter the six most beloved happy hour words a woman can hear, "Can I buy you a drink?". I've heard men insist it's hard to muster the courage to do this. Is it? I mean I guess all we ladies do is shove miniature humans out of our hoo hahs but you're right, sounds pretty painful to say hello. <br />
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Just a side note to all the "gentleman" out there complaining about this added expense in their lives, I guarantee I've spent five times as much on bras, tampons,and mascara; and I'm still making 70 cents to your dollar.<br />
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<i><b>Onward charge.</b></i><br />
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Okie Dokie, we know each others names and my martini is in hand. What next? Oh, you thought buying me a drink was the extent of your responsibility for this interaction? You assumed you were purchasing my undivided attention and sole propulsion of this conversation? As if that cocktail is tuppence in a hat and your silence is screaming "Dance monkey dance! I've bought you a drink now entertain me." Let's be super duper clear here. The drink bought you an introduction and my fleeting attention, nothing more. It's not a proxy for your personality. You have to actually open your mouth and form complete sentences that make me want to continue to engage in conversation with you. <br />
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<i><b>Final thoughts.</b></i><br />
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I'm obviously not the leading authority on successful dating as, to state the obvious, I'm still out there on the hunt. I have however had a decade of experience and have run the gamut of failed approaches. Some final suggestions to avoid questionable social skills:<i></i><br />
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<ul>
<li>Don't lead with your money: I really don't care how many billions that app you're developing is going to make. This approach is literally screaming at me with flailing arms "I DON'T HAVE A PERSONALITY. REPEAT, I DO NOT HAVE A PERSONALITY. I HOPE YOU'RE A GOLD DIGGING WHORE. I DON'T HAVE A PERSONALITY"</li>
<li>"Noticing" a woman, making eye contact and walking over to introduce yourself is good, staring at her for 30 minutes is creepy. We've seen the 20/20 specials. We've got mace for that.</li>
<li>A little cologne can smell nice. Bathing in it will induce allergic reactions, to you AND your scent. </li>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02374803095414029782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223066194029664285.post-67222537897372981102012-05-02T13:29:00.001-07:002012-05-02T13:29:15.335-07:00Simple SimonIf you have ever been to a baby shower, chances are you've wasted a perfectly good weekend afternoon. In my experience these events are attended by women who are a. pissed they can no longer have children, b. intent on pestering me because I don't have children or c. overly enthusiastic about sharing every painful moment of their childbirth experience. They are not fun events.... unless there's booze, and only the really cool showers have booze. (God bless those sweet sweet women who are willing to take one for the team and serve up the sauce even though they can't partake). Why go at all then? Because I love my friends. No seriously, pregnant friends, I love you. That is the only reason I'm at these things. <br />
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Assuming the shower does not have booze, or sometimes even if it does, some form of entertainment needs to fill the otherwise silent gathering, because even if you ooo and aaaah over every freakin onesie mommy-to-be unwraps, this still only takes 45 minutes. What do you do with the rest of the time? BABY SHOWER GAMES!!! You might be asking 'Why the hell would grown women sit in a circle and do cross word puzzles, or list diaper brands?' Well let me tell you why. We are, all of us, starved for conversation. Co-workers are wondering which side of the family the hillbillies are from, college roommates are wishing it's still ten years ago and you're celebrating finals with tequila, Great Aunt Mildred is wondering when skirts got so short and girls stopped being ladies, and the future grandmothers are both wondering who the favorite is going to be and who's going to get left out of baby's first Christmas. The whole thing is one overextended silent moment from blowing up and it makes us all so desperate to keep the conversation going that we are willing to play a game called "Lick the Melted Chocolate Bar That Looks Like Baby Poo and Guess Which Brand It Is". <br />
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The problem with the games is that all they do for me is remind me how little I have in common with present company and how not ready I am to enter that stage of my life. Take my most recent experience. At the last shower I attended we played "Finish the nursery rhyme". Out of 25 I think I knew 4. One of the answers I got right was Simple Simon. The line goes:<br />
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<i>Simple Simon met a pieman going to the fair</i></div>
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Now I seem to remember this being maybe number 19 or so down the list. And up to this point all the ladies are recalling stories they told to their children or were told to them as children and oh aren't these sweet memories. Do you know how I know the Simple Simon rhyme? It's in the movie Die Hard with a Vengeance. My connection to this situation is a terrorist wreaking havoc on Manhattan. I'm no expert but I doubt this bodes well for any future in motherhood. It certainly didn't help to connect with the other ladies in the room.<br />
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Who knows, maybe the former roommates and the moms and Mildred have that same out-of-place feeling I do. Maybe we're all suffering through the activities with the same sense of unease. If that's the case, maybe we should start a new tradition. No more baby showers. If a woman you know and love gets knocked up you make plans to meet over a meal where you congratulate her, write her a check for Baby X and wish her the best of luck. No tea, no awkward moments, and no candy bar poo. <br />
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And just for the record, there is one baby shower game I love to play. It's called "guess which gifts mommy's going to return". I don't have hard evidence, but I'm pretty sure I win every time.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02374803095414029782noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223066194029664285.post-28910367865325278562012-03-13T20:05:00.001-07:002012-03-13T20:09:59.085-07:00Life Lessons with Lea: You Can Do It, Put Your Back Into It<br />
I've recently come to realize that not everyone is well-versed in the art of home management and general labor so I'd like to take this opportunity to share my knowledge base on a few tasks I think everyone should be able to do<br />
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In no particular order:<br />
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<b>1.</b> <b>Plunge a toilet</b>: Honestly you'd think anyone could do this but I've had a lot of roommates and almost none of them had this skill. The trick is to establish suction, weighing more than 90 pounds also helps. Then just put your weight into it. Oh, you're grossed out? You think this isn't a classy topic and/or you find this inappropriate for a blog? Well God help you the next time we're at a house warming and the happy couple's 2 bed, 1.5 bath is down to a .5 bath because of you. I will not be coming to save your mortified ass.<br />
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<b>2. Assemble IKEA furniture</b>: I was disturbed to discover you can pay someone else to do this, as well as deliver the item to your house. You're negating the purpose of entering that glorious hell hole to begin with. It's DIY for a reason. IKEA isn't just saving you money, oh no. They're building your analytic skills, testing your strength, and, for domestic partners, affording you an opportunity to measure the endurance of your relationship. If you're wondering whether that handsome gent or fine lady you're currently shacking up with will make a solid life partner, buy a tv stand and assemble it together. The proof will not be in the assembly process (as you will likely curse, cry and vow painful deaths for each other before reaching step six) but rather how you approach each other in the 1-3 days following the ordeal. If you're able to laugh about the 5 hours it took to figure out side A was actually side B it's likely you can add those monogrammed towels to the registry. If you're still bitter the casters won't work, perhaps you should hold off on booking that non-refundable honeymoon.<br />
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<b>3. Check the oil in your car</b>: This is such a baseline life lesson with Lea I don't even have anything funny to say about it, just check your oil regularly (Thanks Dad!).<br />
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<b>4. Use a pointed shovel: </b>Having volunteered with a variety of nonprofits I've seen a lot of corporate volunteers who have clearly never seen dirt, much less been asked to shovel it. Here's a tip for the next time you find yourself digging a hole upstate for the body of that guy you just whacked; force the point downward by stepping on the top of the shovel and using the weight of your body to push into the ground. I guess this could also apply for the practice of common gardening, but the sense of urgency and thus need for proper technique seems more relevant in the dead body scenario. <br />
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<b>5. Fold a fitted sheet: </b>I'd be willing to bet my last pair of clean panties (US dollar equivalent of fifty bucks... roughly what I'd pay to not have to go commando all day) that if I were to sneak into your house and open your linen closet chances are there is a balled up crazy pile where folded fitted sheets should be I'll admit, I learned this one exactly how you'd think I would... from Martha Stewart... on Oprah. Right? If you had to bet money wouldn't you guess that would be the winning combo to learn this technique? Ok so what you do is find the corner seams and with your index finger fold one corner over the other, repeat on the other side and then... ok maybe just youtube it. Honestly I don't think I can explain this one via blog, but you should know how to do it. If you can configure wireless internet in your house, you can fold a fitted sheet.<br />
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I'm sure I'm missing a lot of important odd jobs able-bodied people should be capable of, but these are the first five that popped into my head. Stay tuned for part deux! <br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02374803095414029782noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223066194029664285.post-20917200151157845732012-02-07T12:43:00.000-08:002012-02-07T13:43:06.536-08:00Shut Uppa You Face<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-family:arial;"><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">Well hey there friends, remember me? I'm that slacker who can't manage one measly blog post per month. Aren't I just the worst? Shouldn't I have a really good excuse for not showing up even once in the entire month of January? If I told you I was off feeding starving children in Africa, would you believe me? No? What if I said I've just been in a funk and have been devoting my weeknights to my couch and my weekends to tequila? Sound more like me? <span class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc" style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; ">Aww</span>, you guys know me too well. It's clearly door number 2 which is just this side of absolutely ridiculous, given the obscene state of spoiled I'm currently residing in.</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">We all know I grew up in blue collar country and had the <span class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc" style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background- background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; ">privilege</span> of living on the fortunate side of the middle class fence, meaning I never went to bed hungry, rocked some seriously awesome Gap outlet attire and went on vacations where we could afford campsites with running water and electricity. Let me be incredibly clear here, this was a<b style="font-style: italic; "> good life. </b>I know most people in this world are not as fortunate, which is the point I'm getting to... eventually.</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">Silicon Valley is a bizarre environment mainly removed from reality. On Planet Fortunate we eat local organic food, travel to exotic places semi-annually, and drive luxury <span class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc" style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background- background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; ">SUVs</span>. Teenagers decide which top-tier college they'll go to based on proximity to ski resorts, real estate exchanges hands like baseball cards and everyone knows what a 401k is. It's that thing they have to fall back on in case the <span class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc" style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background- background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; ">pre</span>-<span class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc" style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background- background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; ">IPO</span> start-up they're at does NOT end up making them a <span class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc" style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background- background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; ">gazillionaire</span>. It's a strange place for someone like me who, up until a few years ago, thought if you'd ever been to Europe and/or drove a vehicle with leather seats you were loaded. </span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; ">I don't want to dwell on how disturbed I am about the mentality of the general public around me. They've got their own diamond encrusted, trust fund problems to deal with. Today I want to talk about what an asshole </span><b><i>I</i></b> am as I find myself complaining about "heavy traffic", "crowded gyms" and my "stressful job". Really? Life sure must be rough what with my 30 minute commute, luxury fitness center and gainful employment. Out here on the west coast I've begun to forget what it was like working minimum wage, scraping together quarters for laundry and wondering how I was going to pay the heat bill come January. I think I could benefit from a little perspective to set me straight. </span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">This morning a song popped into my head and I found it so fitting, it sparked my ambition for this post. When I was a kid my father used to play this record and it always made me feel so good. It's incredibly easy to convince yourself you've got it rough. It's even easier to give yourself license to complain about how rough you've got it. I think Joe Dulce had the right idea. I hope that the next time I start to feel annoyed or unhappy or just generally pissed I'll be able to stop and take a step back from the situation. I'll remind myself that <span class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc" style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background- ">itsa</span> not so bad, <span class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc" style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background- ">itsa</span> <span class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc" style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background- ">nica</span> place if <span class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc" style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background- ">I'm</span> even thinking of bitching about whatever minuscule injustice I'm suffering at the moment, I'll just be happy and shut uppa my face</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;">.</span></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/sFacWGBJ_cs" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02374803095414029782noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223066194029664285.post-57498614440123252262011-12-05T22:42:00.000-08:002011-12-05T23:32:42.162-08:00The Christmas Tree<div style="text-align: left;">As Christmas trees go, most people have pretty strong feelings on artificial vs real trees. Our house was a real tree kind of house. Personally, I love real trees, but only AFTER they've been purchased, dragged home, propped into the stand and strung with lights. All the crap you have to do to get to <i>that </i>point is enough to push you to the edge.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the Giametta house, the tree was typically a 2 day event, and day 1 wasn't pretty. Day 1 involved yelling and untangling and sweating and more yelling, a stream of sap and eight dead bulbs. I was not an active member of day 1, strictly an observer. And still, I cringe when I think about it. Day 2 went better. Someone busted out the Christmas records (ya I said it, Christmas <i>records</i>), the kids were allowed to hand the non-fragile ornaments and generally fewer four letters words found their way into the conversation.</div><div><br /></div><div>When I got my first apartment I was 19. The place was half a shoebox. It was a two bedroom apartment (which was actually a 1 bedroom apartment with a wall added) and I lived there with three of my closest friends. We didn't have money for toilet paper, much less a Christmas tree so we were all pretty stoked when my mom's care package arrived. Inside was a 3 footer, lights already strung. Also included: 2 dozen homemade ornaments and knitted scarves in our school colors (Go Huskies!). Yes, my mom is Suzy Homemaker. </div><div><br /></div><div>That year and every year since, I've put up my three foot tree. It takes 2 minutes to assemble, never needs to be watered and carries with it a lot of great memories. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGIwgSWFG0yEV_jHkEszllELKdjNP3ziXSy54L3fF9XIUyG4y8aKvtyk6k1Lq8fsEzAvl4K0Xp0WQ6cbODmdUzFMslo-epuw-tcLBo0hvjT3IW_jemcHqozaKgF4IIsnTg2GrL7EvFNhAm/s320/christmas+tree.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5682914190057588658" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 181px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6PO-2H_5VN5hsVODfICjSVbXDPl_1znhbouUvcEECc3MeF-nVAHM-nODqjud9PY300hrOz6Xu5BoebY6EmhOFKD5vZupJlfsdw70ktKbc46ktq-38J4mL6LQcauSJU5SFJCXhxmSyOop5/s320/boston+ornament.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5682913950248217618" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 181px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02374803095414029782noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223066194029664285.post-27370494053374482122011-12-04T22:24:00.000-08:002011-12-04T23:12:07.713-08:00Life Lessons with Lea: On DatingYou'll note I am far behind on my post-per-day quota. I had a crazy first 3 days of December. Mostly they involved bars and friends. And yes that's a valid excuse. You're allowed to say "I didn't get around to doing it because I was drunk" until you're 30. <div><br /></div><div>Ok, so dating. In the ten-ish years I've been dating, I've collected the following half dozen truths. Ten years, and this is all I've got If anyone has anything helpful to add, please let me know.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>1. If a man asks for your phone number and then never calls you, he was hit by a bus: </b>It's tragic really, hit by a bus and all. So sad, he seemed like a real nice fella. But death by public transit is the ONLY logical explanation for why he has not called you. Seriously, ladies stop asking you're girlfriends why he didn't call you. He was hit by a bus. Move on.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>2. Smiling helps: </b>I know this sound really simple but I swear to God this is an extremely vital component. As it turns out, most of the male population prefer happy women to cranky ones. The man who wants an unhappy woman? You don't want him.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>3. If he texts you more than 3 times the day after you give him your number, walk away: </b>If he mentions his mother on the first date, run.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>4. Short men feel like they have something to prove.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>5. Tall men feel like they have nothing to prove.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>6. You either want Brandon or Dylan. You cannot have them both: </b>I don't think anyone reading this is too young to remember the original 90210, but if you are between the ages of 12 and 20 and happen across this blog, this roughly translates to Team Edward or Team Jacob, though it's not an exact parallel. Either you get the bad boy or you get the good guy. It does not matter how dynamic the dude may be. He will never be both mysterious, mischievous and exciting, as well as sweet, considerate and supportive. And at the end of the day you have to pick which one you want. Luckily, this is easier than it sounds because you knew which guy you wanted at the beginning of the day. We're wired at birth to want one more than the other. Don't believe me? Pose the Dylan vs Brandon question the next time you're out with friends. See how long it takes for the yelling to start.</div><div><br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02374803095414029782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223066194029664285.post-19529229958994396592011-11-10T18:48:00.001-08:002011-11-27T22:20:50.623-08:00Life Lessons with LeaMy how I'd love to say this blog has gone without a post in oh so long because I've been killing it in California with my super sweet job at Bloggle and a smokin hot social scene that makes those Jersey rats look like shut-ins. Truth is I've just been a bit lax in noting the noteworthy and taking the time to share the meaty bits with y'all. Luckily I've had a recent influx of material, hooray! So kindly stay tuned as I do hereby vow for the entire month of December, I will post EVERY DAY. In the meantime, I've compiled some random suggestions for every day life that I think 9 out of 10 people will find helpful.<div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>1. Don't reload your smartphone gift card while in line at Starbucks. </b>Seriously Jerkwad, it's 7am. No one cares that you have the latest app and a digital wallet. You're standing between me and my coffee. I wil cut you.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>2. Locker rooms aren't for cell phones. </b>Who actually wants to sit in a locker room and have a 10 minute conversation about what's for dinner? Apparently a lot of people. Listen ladies, if I'm naked from the waist up, or down for that matter, I don't feel comfortable with you being on the phone. Those things have cameras. Put them away.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>3. Asking a woman you just met to "hang out" is not acceptable past a certain age. </b>That age, in my mind, is 25. Look, this isn't a money thing. I'm not saying that I'm expecting Michelin star restaurants and carriage rides but I'm in my late twenties. You need to man up and suggest a specific time, date, and activity you'd like to share with me. Dinner and a movie is really not that complicated. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>4. Hugs are underrated. </b>Hugs are awesome. Short of awkward co-worker situations, more is better in the hugging department. With co-workers, you can always substitute with high-fives. High-fives are lawsuit-free hugs in disguise.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>5. You should always have a spare package of toilet paper. </b>Pay attention, I said package, not roll. Why people feel so reckless in life they won't even protect their own hineys, <i>literally</i>, is beyond me. It gives me anxiety just thinking about the emergency run to the grocery store. Don't put yourself at that risk.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>6. Chocolate and Liquor: Spend the extra money on the good stuff. </b> If your choice is between a 5 pound bar of Hersheys and a handle of Smirnoff or a 5 ounce bar of Godiva and a liter of Grey Goose, go for the latter combination. Joi de vivre aside, you'll feel better in the morning.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>7. Mayonnaise and Potato Chips are not good for you. </b>Seems pretty freakin obvious, right? And yet somehow I keep seeing commercials where some fancy chef "hand selects" the "quality ingredients" that go into this garbage and the narrator tells us all how much the company cares about the families who consume their product. I pray to God the general public is not believing this poppycock but if the election of some of our government officials is any indication, people believe a lot of stupid things. Loved ones, please don't be those people.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>8. Fanny Packs are not in again. </b>I don't care if you saw Sarah Jessica Parker wearing one in a celebrity trash magazine I don't understand the purpose of. They're not back. Write it down. Not even if you're european. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>9. Everyone can make soup. </b>Honestly, boil broth and add vegetables and/or meat. This is not a complicated task. Campbells should be out of business.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>10. Never buy cheap shoes. </b>Your body can't afford that mistake, even if it's only rotated into the wardrobe periodically. Also, people are judging you based on them. Seriously.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02374803095414029782noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223066194029664285.post-33436270283158231892011-09-12T23:58:00.000-07:002011-09-13T17:47:57.262-07:007 Things I learned at WalmartOfficially, I passed the decade marker in the working world about 6 months ago. I count 15 jobs in ten years. And I can guarantee that I have learned something from each and every one. But the longer I'm employed the more I believe to be true that no job has taught me more than the three years I worked as a cashier at Walmart. Law firm, Fancy pants investment company and Bloggle don't get offended, hear me out.<br /><br />I was brought up believing the world needs ditches and clean toilettes and gas in their cars just as much as doctors and lawyers and celebrity chefs. We're all just making the world turn and if you're doing your best to provide a service you should hold your head high. But I'll be honest, there was a time when I avoided mention of my Walmart days. When I tell people I worked at Walmart I've noticed something odd happens. For just a split second I can see their expression change and I swear in that moment I know they're searching for a buck tooth or a glass eye or some rare skin disease they hadn't noticed before. Apparently folks don't think too highly of the profession but the truth is that job had a greater influence on me than any other place of employment. I learned more about ambition, dedication and society while working at Walmart than I have learned at any other company since. <div><br /></div><div>If this were a serious blog I'd tell you all about the meltdown of the nuclear family, the failure of our nation's public assistance program and the negligence with which our society dismisses manners and common decency. And I'd throw in some soap box shouting on the strength of Middle Class America and the value of a dollar earned, so you could see both sides. But you'll notice the tone of this blog generally plays on humor so we'll save those topics for another forum.<br /><br /><div>Therefore, without further ado<b>:</b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">7 Things I Learned While Working at Walmart</span>:</b><br /><br />1. <span style="font-weight:bold;">If you didn't shit your pants today, today was a good day. </span><span>One particularly rough day I had a woman come through my line with only a package of Hanes Her Way. When I started to bag the item she stopped me saying "That's ok dear, I don't need a bag. I'm going to go put those on right now" *only slightly lower voice* "I just soiled myself". Can't complain about the snowy drive home after that now can ya?</span><div><br /></div><div>2. <b>Condoms come in different sizes. </b>I was 16 when I started working at Walmart. I rang up a man one evening, mid 50's, pot belly, overalls, dirt under his fingernails. His order consisted of two packs of condoms. When I told him the total he asked me if he could return them if they didn't fit. He thought it was funny. I did not.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>2a. <b>People are really nervous when they buy condoms</b>. Ladies and gentleman, don't be. You're doing the right thing. Truth be told most clerks would applaud you if they thought it would be well-received, so I'll take this moment to salute you, for the many years I wanted to but could not. My most sincere gratitude for your decency and good sense to avoid unwanted diseases and pregnancy. Your saving yourself a lot of grief and hardship. So next time don't hide the condoms between 2 boxes of Cheerios. Place them on the belt loud and proud for all to see.<br /><br />3. <b>Soap and Cheez-Its don't mix. </b>Apparently if you bag soap with crackers, the crackers will take on the taste of the soap. This is actually somewhat true. I did not know this but apparently EVERY MIDDLE AGED WOMAN IN AMERICA DOES because I couldn't bag a single bar of soap without one of them screaming at me not to bag it with food. I've never been able to look at Cheez-Its the same way. Don't think this is an important thing in life to learn? Do you like the taste of soapy crackers? I didn't think so.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>4. <b>Not Everyone is Good at Math. </b>About ten seconds after I started working at Wally World I noticed a convenient factoid where rolled coins are concerned. There are 40 quarters in a roll, 50 dimes, 40 nickels, and 50 pennies. This is helpful to know when you have a 5 year old screaming, a mother asking for a price check, a trucker who needs to know where to unload and a witch behind them all complaining it's taking too long to get her Virginia Slims (oh if only I were making it up). Anyway, the quick math is convenient when you run out of dimes. Grab a five dollar bill , wave down the manager, and get back to what you were doing. Thing is, while training new employees on the register, every time I explained the 40, 50, 40, 50 rule, it didn't matter if they were 16 or 60, they didn't get it. Not one person of the 20 or so I trained was able to deduce $10 from 40 quarters. Average this number across America and it makes more sense why our economy is in the shape it is. Can't average it out? That's ok, hopefully you're pretty.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>5. The Holidays Aren't Always Happy: </b>The months of November and December were not a time I looked forward to during my stint in retail. Without fail, customers would storm up with heaping carts, moaning and groaning with every beep of a bar code. Folks, Suzy and Jimmy will not feel more loved with presents especially if you toss them under the tree with a garumf and hold the price tag of Christmas day over their young impressionable heads while you chain smoke Marlboro Ultras. Nor will you be forgiven for sleeping with your sister's husband by presenting her with a bottle of Jean Nate on December 25th, Vanilla Fields maybe, but not Jean Nate. Apparently no one has watched the Charlie Brown Christmas special in the last decade.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>6. Doritos and Mountain Dew are a Food Group: </b>I'm not really sure why people insist on purchasing these two products in conjunction with one another, and in such large quantities, but I swear I can count on one hand the number of times someone bought one and not the other. If anyone is still left wondering how we've worked our way into the obesity epidemic, please devote an approximate 20% of the problem to this particular food combination. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>7. The Show Must Go On: </b>It doesn't matter what tragedy, inconvenience or mal intent is directed your way, you're still clocked in and there's a job that needs doing. So if you get stuck on the register in front of the door, you'll get snowed on during a blizzard. If someone you've never met before decides to have a psychotic episode over the way you've bagged her shampoo, you'll have to stand there and listen to her rant. If your manager happens to be a middle-aged divorcee who's bitter about her life, jealous of the potential of yours, and not above allowing this backstory to treat you like dirt, well Honey, best to grin and bear it because it's much easier to tune her out than it is to find a summer job three weeks before graduation. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And you know, sometimes the boss buys everyone hocho. And sometimes you come home with a great story about this week's crazies. And sometimes the manager schedule changes. And sometimes it doesn't. And that's ok. Because when you're making your way in the world and you're doing the best you can, and you're pushing yourself toward something better, then none of the other crap really matters. This knowledge has been my strongest ally and my biggest strength in every job I've had since. It's the most important lesson I learned at Walmart. Well, that and don't eat at the snack bar, but that's a conversation for another day.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02374803095414029782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223066194029664285.post-9395289320773642282011-06-26T14:17:00.000-07:002011-06-26T14:37:31.293-07:00My Mailbox<meta name="Title" content=""> <meta name="Keywords" content=""> <meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> <meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"> <meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <link rel="File-List" href="file://localhost/Users/lgiametta/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0/clip_filelist.xml"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:documentproperties> <o:template>Normal.dotm</o:Template> <o:revision>0</o:Revision> <o:totaltime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:pages>1</o:Pages> <o:words>498</o:Words> <o:characters>2844</o:Characters> <o:company>google</o:Company> <o:lines>23</o:Lines> <o:paragraphs>5</o:Paragraphs> <o:characterswithspaces>3492</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:version>12.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Wingdings; 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mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I’d like to start out by apologizing to my mailman (I will not use the gender-neutral “mail-person”.<span> </span>We’ve got actual issues to address and I refuse to waste my energy on modifying every instance of usage from the masculine to the unisex.<span> </span>When I hear things like “person power”, “fire person”, and “human kind”, it makes me angry we’re investing time better spent on figuring out female Viagra.<span> </span>Any sane-minded woman will agree.)<span> </span>Anyway, I’m sorry Mr. Mailman for not clearing my mailbox out more frequently.<span> </span>I do it about a third to half as often as I should, leaving it busting at the hinges and I’m guessing that doesn’t make your life any easier.<span> </span>But because I only make my way to box #702 fortnightly, it makes for an interesting compilation of items, worthy of bloggery.<span> </span>Today’s mail included:</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="mso-bidi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">1.<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->My California License (Yay!):<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>When the local grocery store refused to sell me a PBR tall boy because they “couldn’t verify a New York license”, I knew it was time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>FYI it took 20 minutes, 2 store managers and a lot of dirty looks before they declined to sell me the damn thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Wondering why in God’s name I would wait that long for 24 lousy ounces of beer?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Ya, me too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Thanks to a lot of Bloggle food and an afternoon involving too much Coors Light and too little sunblock I’m a bit redder and a bit rounder than I’d prefer but it’s not the worst photo of me out there.</span></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin"><span style="mso-list:Ignore" >
<br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="mso-bidi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">2.<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->TIME magazine:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In honesty I almost never read the whole thing but I've got a news recipe that mixes TIME, The Daily Show and “TODAY on NBC” (que the peacock and the ding, ding ding) and the result is my consumption of enough information to know what’s going on in the world without losing all faith in mankind (yes women and children and goldfish included, see above for clarification).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Also, I really like being THAT girl that starts conversations with “I was reading this article in TIME…” because I’m not as narcissistic as the jackass who has to namedrop The New Yorker but I’m not the moron who’s trying to work People magazine into lunch chat either.</span></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin"><span style="mso-list:Ignore" >
<br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="mso-bidi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">3.<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Some new ridiculously overpriced catologue that looks like Pottery Barn Kids and Restoration Hardware vomited their overpriced merchandise, painted it burnt sienna and raised the price five thousand percent. Seriously, $68 for a pillow sham? $728 for a tray table? Who is buying this crap?</span></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin"><span style="mso-list:Ignore" >
<br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="mso-bidi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">4.<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->About 14 sale papers:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>since I more or less shop at Trader Joe’s these are absolutely useless except for one item.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I am constantly on the lookout for beer sales.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Here’s a tip folks; your typical run-of-the-mill American beer (tap the rockies!) is on a good sale when the cost is fifty cents a beer or less.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Which, by the way, is the same price-per-roll you should be paying for toilet paper, the 1,000 sheet kind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Just a couple pearls of wisdom for ya.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin"><span style="mso-list:Ignore" >
<br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="mso-bidi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">5.<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>My Bloggle paycheck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Thanks Bloggle<span class="Apple-style-span">:) </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Actually it’s just a stub. It’s 2011 if you aren’t on direct deposit, 1999 called.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>You need to get with the program.</span></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin"><span style="mso-list:Ignore" >
<br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="mso-bidi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">6.<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Bills:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Goodbye Bloggle paycheck<span class="Apple-style-span">:(</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin"><span style="mso-list:Ignore" >
<br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span><span style="mso-list:Ignore">7.<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>Flyers from the county: Ok I get like a million mailers that update me on bridge work and drain work and road work.<span> </span>I thought the giant orange triangles were enough to let me know that’s still going on.<span> </span>Here’s a tip crises-level-in-debt California, quit wasting money sending us mailers about roadwork.<span> </span>It’s stupid and wasteful and we live in the year 2011 AND the heart of Silicon Valley. Build a website and call it a day!</span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02374803095414029782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223066194029664285.post-44722117849975705622011-06-19T20:02:00.000-07:002011-06-19T22:39:04.287-07:00Things I Won't Get Around to Doing Next WeekendAs the weekend comes to a close I find myself relaxing for the evening, wrapping up the last few to-do's and planning for the week ahead. Ya, that's a dirty lie. Actually, I'm surveying my apartment for all the crap I <i>didn't</i> do but swore on the life of.. umm... a really nice handbag I own, that I would get around to dealing with. I have no idea how I manage to convince myself that a 48 hour period is ample time for every errand, chore and social engagement (ya I said it, social engagement, do you have a less formal, all encompassing phrase for bars, pools, brunch and... more bars? No? Ok then can it.) If the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results than somebody needs to get me a bottle of those happy pills stat because I have the same conversation with myself every seven days... sometimes out-loud. Friday, 5pm: "Ok, I'm gonna hit the gym, head home, shower, get ready and go out". If I'm lucky, 2 of these things actually happen. Saturday involves a variety of lies I tell myself including "I'm going hiking today" or "I'll go check out the library". Also "I'll totally have 4 hours in the morning for volunteering". Typically Saturday consists of waking up 9ish, puttering around with a cup of coffee in one hand for about an hour and a half, another hour or so watching mindless television and deciding on a gym outfit (why this matters, I have no idea. I'm sweating in it, not speed dating). Assuming I do make into workout attire and manage to get myself out the door, I can guarantee you it is now noon, at the earliest. Post-workout takes a minimum of 3 hours because there's MORE puttering, MORE mindless tv, and half a dozen conversations with (sometimes) other people about what's going on for Saturday night. Assuming I practice moderation (negatory) I'm home by 1am and up before noon on Sunday sans hangover (10 percent chance). Sunday is (inaccurately) pegged as errands/laundry/organizing day, mostly because alternate universe me does these things. In the current universe we're in, these things all happened on the same day once. It was 1999 and we had guests coming from out of town.<div><br /></div><div>So it's Sunday night and I've barely scratched the surface of that big bucket-o-things that need doing. Realistically I get that there will always be more to do than time to do it in, unless you're an extremely disinterested (read 'boring') person. But I still feel like a waste of life for not having crossed more off the list, so I've got a new approach. For next weekend, and all the weekends thereafter, I'm going to tally all the things that aren't going to get done. That way, if I do manage to accomplish a sliver of a minority of the items on the list, I'll feel accomplished and not guilty. </div><div><br /></div><div>Side-note, please don't mind the un-vacuumed carpet, dirty dishes and empty refrigerator should you stop by. Also, I'm gonna need someone to plan Friday and Saturday night and tell me what to wear, and by "tell me what to wear" I mean go to the mall and buy me something to wear. Ahh, I feel less guilty and more accomplished already!</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02374803095414029782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223066194029664285.post-76287537435120468512011-05-03T23:35:00.000-07:002011-06-12T20:39:10.161-07:00The Industrial Revolution Wasn't All Progress<span class="Apple-style-span" >My gym is much like any other <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">shi</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">shi</span> suburban chain. There's a laser that reads my fingerprint at check in, a wall of super protein mega power bars and a '<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">roid</span> rage corner I can't for the life of me understand. Sir, your neck and your head share the same circumference. Who is dating that? I'm there (in theory) five days a week and there is a certain pleasure I take in the 60 minutes I'm working out and not thinking about Bloggle or men, or whether my 401k is growing at a healthy rate. But lets be honest, the gym is pointless. Hear me out on this one. I'm assuming we're all smart enough to understand the concept of activity that's multifunctional. For example, biking to work, (which by the way I refuse to do until I can find a stylish Pope-mobile type protective bubble that keeps me from an early death at the hands of California drivers. That column sticking out from the wheel operates these things called "signal lights". Try them sometime.) The point is, we more or less acknowledge that some physical activities are of the 2-bird-1-stone functionality yet we've deluded ourselves into thinking that somehow the "fitness center" of the 21st century provides some superior purpose. I am here to tell you, it does not. Whatever evolved scientific method you think you're obtaining with your monthly dues, let me inform you, you've been misinformed. </span><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ></span>I had an epiphany last year back east while taking a toning class called "Smart Bells". It's for stupid people who have too much money. For the record, my east coast gym was more <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">shi</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">shi</span>, and expensive than my current one and it included a full line of spa services. I loved it. Hypocritical? You bet. So, I'm in the middle of this class involving a flattened <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">kettlebell</span> (cause ya know if you flatten it, it's... smarter) and it hits me. This fancy, new age, total body transformation program is nothing more than farm labor minus the dirt. Now I don't have extensive farming experience but I've done enough to know what hoeing, weeding and shoveling feel like. So instead of being outdoors adding much needed oxygen to our sad deprived urban brains we were inside pantomiming the activity with ridiculous rubber-covered steel, Britney Spears in the background. At the end of the class all we had were sweat-stained (overpriced) Lululemon tank tops. If we'd been outside on the dirt square (farms, they're called farms) we'd at least have lunch to show for it. Not to mention a couple extra bucks after we sold what we couldn't eat. </div><div><br /></div><div>At the end of the day I'm not saying we should swap out our yoga pants for Carhart coveralls. Personally, I rather like the airconditioning, sauna rooms and flat screen tv's...and I hate bugs (really really hate bugs). I just think it's worth noting the baseline of ridiculous on which these particular establishments are built. </div><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ></span><br /><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ></span><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div></div></div></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02374803095414029782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223066194029664285.post-47513420300396507262011-04-24T19:17:00.000-07:002011-04-24T23:00:05.462-07:00Playground Rules ApplyMalcolm Forbes said "If you have a job without aggravation, you don't have a job". Well folks, I <i>definitely</i> have a job. And while that job is pretty great and I love Bloggle, there are still days I want to run screaming from the building, arms flailing. The details aren't important. Big picture; remember that kid on the playground that didn't play well with others? The one who threw stones and pushed kids off the monkey bars? Well, guess what, he grew up (physically at least), and chances are he, or his sister or cousin or someone else in that rotten family of his, is working in your office, or factory or job site. I know this because he works at <i>my </i>office too. And it doesn't seem right. Seriously buddy? It wasn't bad enough you put sand in my diaper and tripped me during hopscotch? Ya gotta show up at work? At my place of employment? You're not fooling me with that button down shirt. Just because you're not wearing overalls two sizes too big and you've managed to dislodge that index finger from your left nostril does not mean I don't recognize you. <div><br /></div><div>I can't comprehend how King of the Swing Wedgie wriggled his way into my adult life. I don't understand how these people (swing wedgie people of the world) manage to make it past the bacteria infected scabs, through the acne breakouts and out of some character flawed university with a diploma, holding no karmic refute to speak of. </div><div><br /></div><div>Now, I could stay wallowing in my bath of bitter and angry and grumpy-pants, wondering how life can be this cruel but that lump three feet above my ass occasionally decides to do it's job. It starts as a vague memory of Wedgie Man alone during snack time, meanders into high school fist fights and ends with the email address that gets left off the cocktail hour invite, because answering the question "Who brought that guy?" is infinitely more painful than "Hey, why didn't anyone invite me?". That rare gift Perspective drops some much needed insight into my lap. It's much better to deal with Wedgie Man than to actually <i>be</i> him. That's not to say I don't have a the occasional urge to staple his eyelids to the wall. I may have to put up with his ugly personality, but I don't have to look at it in the mirror every morning. And that makes it a hell of a lot easier to get up and go to work every day.</div><div><br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02374803095414029782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223066194029664285.post-9267433577141969352011-04-23T16:37:00.000-07:002011-04-23T16:52:59.459-07:00Love Letters to RetailI've mentioned I spend a lot more time spending money on <i>stuff </i>these days. Enter inspirations for my Love Letters to Retail. My expectation is that this will be first of a series of short and long-term love affairs. Enjoy...<div><br /></div><div><i>Dearest Target,</i></div><div><i>I love you. When I walk through the automatic sliding doors I am immediately flooded with your bright abrasive red marketing, like Communism... but nicer. I love how your clothes always look more expensive than they actually are and when people comment on them I get to say "Why, thank you, Target (which I pronounce "tar-jay"). You have an excellent hair accessory aisle and your clientele is significantly less smelly than at your bastard cousin Walmart's store. You are wonderful, but Target, oh why? Why when I search for single Reases Peanut Butter eggs, are there none? Why do you have giant bins of 6 packs, 12 packs and family sized bags of those delicious treats but not one single wrapped egg? I know you love me for who I am but I'm trying to REDUCE the size of me rear end and you're just not helping me with this. I still love you, I do, but I think we need to spend some time apart, at least until after all of the Easter candy is gone.</i></div><div><i>Yours Always</i></div><div><i>Lea</i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>*****************************************************************************************</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02374803095414029782noreply@blogger.com0