Really important decision making

For years, chocolate has been my favorite flavor of Teddy Grahams. But I've officially switched my preference to either chocolate chip or honey. Cinnamon remains the only Teddy Graham flavor I dislike.

Ok, that's a lie. I won't eat mixed berry or banana Teddys, but I also refuse to acknowledge their existences. Actual bananas are tasty, but banana flavored anything tastes like the erythromycin I had to choke down whenever I got bronchitis as a kid (which was frequently). Honey Maid had these great cinnamon bees for a while, but now they only come in banana...and I declare banana-flavored graham crackers the worst new food trend of 2009 so far.

Quotes on post-its

Quotes I've written on post-its to stick on the wall in front of my desk, so I have some inspiring words when I take a break to stare into oblivion:

"Goonies Never Die." --the goonies

"You are not a robot. You are a real person." --friendly reminder to myself

"Up off your knees now and shatter the average." --Buck 65

"I'm better than you." --self riteous club promotion postcard

"Indifference is never creative." --Elie Wiesel

"Maybe we aren't really supposed to know what we're supposed to do yet. Learning stuff is good enough for now, despite personal conflict." --Marcie

"I believe in whisky, and very little else." --Sam

"Poets have been mysteriously quiet on the subject of cheese." --G.K. Chesterson

"Grey's Anatomy is about people who can't get their shit together. You hate that. So do I." --K10

"You have to drive to Eugene to see if you can get Tool tickets, ya know?" --Bailey

"What I'm going to do is I can do whatever I want because I am special." --One of the two coolest five year olds I know.

Also, there is a black and white picture of a duckling and another one of a wolf. The stuffed frog holds down the fort.

My cliche refrigerator

Before I left for work, my fridge was looking sad and neglected. When I got home from work with some groceries, 3/4 of a cake had appeared.



The cake complimented the tubbed frosting, leftover take out, and condiments well, but when did my fridge turn into a Cathy comic?

Celphlapods rock my world

The Soho Bloomingdale's cosmetics counter is hard to miss--it's gleaming white and positioned right in front of the store. It especially pops on a street full of stores with stripper style mannequins, Forever-HM-qlos, and discount shoe stores. I was distracted by shininess while walking past it today, and noticed a gigantic, blue octopus statue, covering the majority of the ceiling. Its tentacles flowing down and grabbing onto a mannequin, and draping its, suction cup-covered arm over the window mannequin's shoulder. I paused on the sidewalk to stare briefly. As I stared from the sidewalk, I decided that if I was going to start wearing make-up, I'd totally buy it from Bloomingdale's just to stare up at the sea monster.

Things that can never be listed on a resume

Here is a short list of completely useless skills I have mastered:
*Bruising easily
*Sleeping through alarms
*In a double door situation, I always pick the one that's locked
*Buying lotion bottles and breaking the pump two days later
*When guessing directions, always picking the opposite of where I'm going
*Spilling glasses of water
*Breaking spatulas (they're the thing I'm best at breaking)

Remember that time it was the 1990s again?

I felt old. It was perfectly aware of how stupid it was to feel old, but I couldn’t help it. I was watching “the Real World” at the gym. While I was mesmerized by the amount of hair gel and lack of clothes on the Hollywood cast, I realized that at the young age of twenty-four, I was out of the casting demographic for it and all other MTV reality shows. (Given the maturity level of roommates on recent seasons, I think I was mentally too old for them at age nineteen).

Normally, I subscribe to the Frank Zappa philosophy of aging, which is essentially “Wowie, zowie you’re a whole year older,” but I was also going to a 90s-themed party that night. Ironic party themes had finally reached a decade I was alive for the entirety of. Sure, I remember parts of the 80s, but I was six when they were over. I remember swiping my dad’s Whitesnake and Bon Jovi tapes, and him telling him me I wasn’t allowed to sing with “Once Bitten Twice Shy” or probably any song by Great White. I remember all of the 90s, grunge, flannel, Bob Packwood, Tonya versus Nancy, line dancing, Offspring, OJ trial, Weezer, etc…I listened to Local H and Rage Against the Machine while I ran, attempting to channel inspiration for my costume. I had knee high Doc Martens. I thought about wearing those and adding um to every pause like they did on “My So-Called Life.” I thought about pretending like I was myself at a middle school dance, which would mean being a stubborn little snot refusing to dance to the music because it wasn’t alt or classic rock...

Instead, my roommate called while I was leaving the gym with the suggestion of dressing up as the Spice Girls with three of our friends. I definitely remembered the Spice Girls, and hating them. I remember being in the eighth grade and wondering what unplanned pregnancies had to do with “Girl Power.” But I agreed with the plan. I had no flannel, no poet blouses, or slip dresses, but I had hair I could pull back in pigtails to be “Baby Spice.”

Posh, Ginger, Scary, Sporty and I tried to encapsulate the 90s as best we could, along with Kurt Cobain, who just threw on a flannel and looked a bit emaciated from the night before. The problem with decking ourselves in tube tops, leopard print, booty shorts, cut-off fur jackets and platforms is that we just looked like we were trying to be hookers. The party had “Full House” and “The Secret World of Alex Mac” books and slap bracelets scattered about while we danced with members of Kris-Kross, Aladdin himself and Blossom in a sea of vests and neon windbreakers. This time when I lived in the 90s, I didn’t deny that I knew every word of “Another Night” by The Real McCoy when it played. The Spice Girls and I stayed in character by dancing harder and singing louder than the rest of the forgotten icons. I'm no longer the stubborn little snot who denies the occasional need to rage it to terrible pop music.

Showers are way safer

I was taking a shower at my friend Lisa’s house in her 100 year old cast iron bathtub with feet. There was a small hose with a shower head, but it wasn’t very long so I sat most of the time. When I did stand up, one of the feet popped off, causing the tub to sit lopsided on the drain, spilling water everywhere, making the water collect without being able to drain, and I was still covered with soap and conditioner. I did my best to rinse in the crooked tub, and then threw on a towel. I walked into the kitchen, dripping the entire way, and said, “Liiiiisa….I broke your bathtub.”
“What?”
“I broke your bathtub. I stood up and the foot just popped off….are your parents going to be mad?”
“No,” she said while laughing, “but my dad may get you a can of slim fast.”

Textile projects in McDonaldLand

I skinned Grimace. Thanks to the magic of staples and sewing machines, I turned the skin into a awesome couch cover back in November/December.



I was really excited when my roommate and I both agreed on purple; I've always wanted a purple couch. My goose and I are pleased.

The bird on fourteenth street

Today, I was walking to back to Union Square after buying some cheap plastic necklaces at a party store. There was a middle-aged guy standing on the street, flipping off the other pedestrians. But not just standing there with his middle finger out; he kept pulling his hand down, and readjusting his middle finger to point at each time someone passed him. I found the personal touch a little bit heart-warming, but still avoided eye contact with the guy.

Food for Purchase

I flew Delta when I went home for Christmas. In an effort to make their "Food for Purchase Program" seem exciting and different, the menu items all had flowery descriptions. I can understand long summaries for foods like salads and fancy breakfast sandwiches, hell even the hummus and veggies. But do you really need the following to understand a bagel:

"Bagel: prepared in the old world method, this bagel is simple and satisfying. Served with cream cheese and strawberry jam."

I learned on the flight back to New York that "the old world method" means "slightly chilled, uncut, and in a plastic bag."

Cheap thrills that make me love this city

New York City is a money sucker. Two dollar ATM fees at places that don't take cards. Five dollar boxes of graham crackers. Six dollar well drinks--I could get the same taste and effect for cheaper with a bottle of Windex. I occasionally get resentful that groceries and the subway cost money, usually the week when rent's due. I hear people on the real estate porn channel say they pay $1,200 a month for a mortgage on an actual house, and get a little bit jealous. Then I remember the homes featured are usually in the boonies of Montana, Wyoming, and other states where there are less free concerts in parks.

And despite the high cost of living, there are still so many things that make me want to yell "I love New York" at the top of my lungs, like I'm on some cliche poster of a cityscape set in Times Square. Drop-off laundry service is number one on my list of loves. I set my overflowing bag on the scale, and it's in a neat little, huggable cube when I pick it up the next day.



They even match socks and put underpants in stacks...I would never do that on my own.



"What a lazy sod," you might say to yourself. "Wouldn't having peopled do your laundry be more expensive than washing your own damn clothes?" It's not! Drop-off service is the same price! Laundry has always been my least favorite household chore, and it's worth every penny spent to avoid waiting for towels to dry while sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair while watching E! News.

If I knew you were comin'...

I'da fed a plastic kitten to a plastic T. Rex when the kitten tried to eat your cupcakes.

Why I don't eat Lucky Charms anymore

Flip flops provide little protection against blades meant for chopping wood. I was camping at the beach with my family, and rolled out of the tent with the mission of foraging for food in the trailer. My family's trailer wasn't so much a trailer as it was the back of an old pick-up with boards on the sides and a trailer hitch, but it hauled supplies that wouldn't fit into the Jeep just fine. I reached over the side in my half-awake daze to feel for the box of Lucky Charms. I didn't see my dad had left the ax propped up against the wheel, uncovered, blade side out, and the side of my toe grazed against, cutting out a sizeable slice. My mom bandaged up my toe while I stared into my paper bowl of marshmallowy bits.