Case of the Mondays

Hey guys -

Sorry I blew today. But trust me, everything I tried to write was angry and bitter. And not in the funny way. So instead, I give you the two things that cheered me up immeasurably (which btw, is my new word apparently, I've used it 10 times in 24 hrs), both courtesy of (what else?) Jezebel:

Teenage Diary Angst

and

Sesame Street

I'll be back when it's not Monday anymore.

People Who Rock. People Who Suck. Vol III

People Who Rock:

1. Senator Ted Kennedy (I'm going to ignore human being Ted Kennedy for now, because I'm not entirely sure it's fair to give someone a people who suck for something that happened 40 years ago. Then again, Hitler still sucks. I don't know, I'm torn). This morning I walked past the SEIU building and saw the flags half mast and was like, "shit, who died?" Then I realized that Kennedy, love him or hate him, really was a champion of the working man. Couldn't have been a more fitting tribute;
2. Some of the new kids at my school. I LOVES new blood. Especially when it cracks hilARious jokes;
3. Ted Olson;
4. NY Sam and Arielle for guest blogging last week;
5. All the people in Costa Rica who were just amazing. Yes they are getting a shout out again. Yes they were that fantastic;
6. DC Laura who sits next to me at work for not a) judging me for not having DONE my work all summer and b) not judging me AGAIN when all hell broke loose this week; and
7. My fave professor and Chelsea for telling me that my fave professor misses me.

People Who Suck:

1. June-July me for not doing this shit earlier;
2. Some of the new kids at school. STFU you are not awesome;
3. That dude who hid that poor little girl in his backyard for 18 years. He, and other men like him (and their wives?!?! who don't SAY ANYTHING) will ROT IN THE LOWEST LEVEL OF HELL. Yes, that's right, in Satan's fucking mouth, you fucking pedophilic douchebags;
4. GQ for listing my college in this;
5. Regardless of number four, all douche bags who went to my college. Specifically one right now, but I'm not going to leave out the rest;
6. The shitheads at Cosi who wouldn't let me on line just now. ALL I WANTED WAS A FUCKING DIET SNAPPLE; and
7. Becca's and Neil's friends (they know who they are) for taking her away from me this week. Whatever. The "beach"? Plz.

Have a good one friends. Don't suck. Just rock.

The Always a Drunk, Never a Bride Guide to Talking Shit

So.

Last week in Costa Rica it came out that one of our cousins has been talking shit behind my family's collective backs. This is not entirely surprising, as first of all, I've been known to crap on my family members occasionally (specifically referencing one person with one wedding registry that had one item for the kitchen that was gold. Not like, plated. Like actual gold), and second of all, some of my family members suck.

I mean, cmon. That's true for everyone.

But not only the source of this particular "attack" was surprising to us (because this person is relatively quiet and seems to like us inasmuch s/he likes people) but the manner in which it REACHED us was shocking.

That is to say, shocking in its stupidity.

Let me back up. Grace's best friend ("GBFF") apparently has a good friend herself who is currently working with Cousin. GBFF was in the town where Cousin currently is a few weeks ago, and grabbed dinner with her friend. Cousin happened to show up, because apparently GBFF's friend is now good friends with Cousin. At some point in the conversation (relatively early on, I would imagine, as we realized the connection a few months ago), GBFF asked Cousin what s/he thought of us, and s/he gave GBFF QUITE an earful.

An earful of shit.

Now, while I have no problem with this per se (I'm very good at cutting people out, you see), this is an example of a larger problem I have been seeing lately, namely, talking shit behind people's backs to other people you KNOW WILL TELL THEM. I mean, cmon now, people!

Have some freaking shit-talking SENSE.

The widespread misuse of talking shit has me concerned, not only for my fellow shit talkers, but also for the people about whom shit is being talked. Shit talking should not be a hurtful or harmful experience. Shit talking is meant to blow off a little steam, have a laugh at a deserving someone's expense, and move on. And so for the benefit of shit talkers and talkees everywhere, I give you:

The Always a Drunk, Never a Bride Guide to Talking Shit

1. Make sure the shit you're talking is true. For example, if you wanted to talk shit about me, you could comment on my obnoxiousness. The volume of my voice. The fact that I whine ALL THE TIME. You could not shit talk my super conservative values. That would be foolish, and you would be a fool.

2. Make sure the shit you're talking is not hurtful. This may seem counterintuitive, as shit talking in and of itself is casting aspersions on someone's character flaws. However, a character flaw - for example, the obnoxiousness of a person - is something that doesn't cut to the deep. Don't talk shit about people's weight. That's hurtful! If you feel you need to talk shit that way, here is an example how. "Oh man, Mary always complains that she's getting fat, and then she eats 2 pizzas covered in blue cheese dressing and pepperoni. How hypocritical is THAT." You see what I did there? I talked shit about the hypocrisy. Not about the mean stuff.

3. Know your audience part 1. This is true in all things in life, but particularly here. I know it may seem strange, but some people out in the world are nice. I know, right?! But believe it or not, they will not want to partake in your shit shoveling. In fact, they may take offense. And they MAY take so MUCH offense that you find you've lost a friend. And that's no fun for anyone.

4. Know your audience part 2. Is the person you're about to engage in shit talk with close friends with the shit talkee? Related to them? Likes them better than you? THEN DON'T DO IT. Trust me, it's going back to them. And chances are, if you're shit talking with this person, and you've learned from no. 3 that they're willing to shit talk with you, the result of shit talking their friend is going to be those two people shit talking the shit out of your ass!

That was a lot of shit.

5. Lastly, keep the shit talking to a minimum. I know this seems out of place, esp in the blogosphere (and if you know me IRL, perhaps with my own character). But seriously - even when the shit talkee never learns of it, it's still doing harm. Granted, the benefits of the shit talking may often outweigh the little drain away of some of your karma. But make sure it really is worth it. For example, when someone who has literally taken hundreds of thousands of dollars away from his/her parents and your grandparents then registers for a solid gold plate.

That person might deserve a little shit.

I hope that helps, friends. And if out there in cyberspace are any of my own relatives reading this that I don't know about? Don't worry. I was't talking about you.

Well, probably.

Con mucho gusto

So.

I know everyone hates it when one kind of overgushes about how AWESOME one's vacation was and how AMAZING everything look and ZOMG I just can't WAIT to go back AGAIN!

That in mind, I'll keep this short.

Costa Rica WAS amazing and awesome. And there's something to be said for a country that made me love it, despite being kicked by a horse (2X), hiking up the steep STEEP side of a mountain, having to hang out with a crapload of really shitty people from Barcelona/the US, and getting turista (or Montezuma's revenge, or the runs).

Whatever you want to call it.

Costa Rica was just? ¡Fantastico! The food was great (despite aforementioned bowel problems). The sites were chockerbock full of beauty, and they kept CHANGING so never once was like "yeah yeah, I get it, you have super cute sloths" or "wow. AnOTHer rain forest? Srsly?" which I sometimes do and hate myself for.

BTdubs, the sloths WERE super cute.

But honestly, the thing that made Costa Rica as amazing as it was were the people OF Costa Rica. And with that, if you ever go, here are some people you should check out:

• Fernando (unfortch, I don't know his last name) of Costa Rica Transfers, for the drive from the airport to La Fortuna. He was literally the man who made our trip as good as it was. He was so knowledgeable, so INTERESTING, his English was great and he kept lying about how good my Spanish was. Seriously, dude was... I mean. I just wish there were words. Amazing. Honestly.
• Arsenio and David from Pura Vida Tours for horseback riding to the waterfalls near La Fortuna/Arenal. Arsenio was sweet and VERY knowledgeable about indigenous groups; David was confidence-inspiring and mischievious in the best poss way. They were awesome when I had to hike up that seriously scary hill, when I got dizzy and nearly fell off my horse, and when I then got KICKED by the horse. Seriously. Awesome.
• Marcos and someone I can't remember!! from the same Pura Vida Tours. Sooooooooooo fantastico! We climbed up a little mountain next to the Arenal volcano and got to hear super cool stories about Marcos' grandfather while seeing a VOLCANO. Did I mention VOLCANO?!
• The Maleku Tribe, which we got a taste of with Arsenio and David, were crafters of truly beautiful... stuff. I dunno the words! But check out the website.
• Go to Tortuguero, and use Gabriel and Tomas as your guides (not sure who this was through, though it seems like this company). Super knowledgeable, really love nature, speak English really well and are kind of intense... in the good way.
• Stay at the Hotel Banana Azul in Puerto Viejo. I mean. Like Fernando, there are no words. The hammocks, Franklin, the bartender, the girls at the desk at night and their amazing restaurant recommendations. Honestly, I have never EVER had a better time at a hotel, and I've done a LOT of all-inclusives! They give you FREE BOOZE there. This place was BETTER than FREE BOOZE!
• While there, go to the wildlife refuge just south of Cocles, on Villas del Caribe (road? Street? Rando alley-ish way?). They were doing real work with REAL cute animals, who you sometimes got to TOUCH and they were smart and funny. Check out the monkey named Angelina Jolie.
• Lastly, try to return to San Jose with a driver named (I think) Jeremy of the above-mentioned Costa Rica Transfers. He was lovely, his English was impeccable (since he lived in LA for 9 years) and my parents just loved him. I napped though, but when I was awake he was super cool!

And that's it. My trip was AWESOME and AMAZING and you WISH you were there BECAUSE of all those super awesome people, but I'm happy to be home. And planning the next vacay.

GUEST BLOG!! People Who Rock. People Who Suck (according to Arielle)

So I'm off with the famigs in Costa Rica for the week, and while I've hung around a bit (you can't get rid of me that easily), a few friends have also graciously consented to filling in in my absence. Today we have Arielle, who you'll remember from her last guest blog, deciding this week's People Who Rock and People Who Suck lists.

Hellllllllo there! If you knew me in real life you'd know I'm pretty sarcastic regarding people, although most of my sarcasm is based on real, true, fact. I'm not exactly what you'd call a "people person", yet every job I've ever had puts me in a people-facing role and I manage to do well (um, money is good and I need to make it). Because of this though, I have an ever-growing life list of people who I don't like... specific people, types of people, doesn't matter. This, is one of the main reasons I never had a roommate in college... why bother putting me in a small closet-sized space with one to two other people and call it a living arrangement? Someone is guaranteed not to survive. Luckily, the school I attended agreed it was not a good idea.

So getting back to this blog. MA left the country and asked some friends to fill in. She mentioned the days she needed posts and naturally I jumped at the chance to write about people who suck. What I didn't realize until now is that I would have a really tough time writing about people who rock. So I went back to last week and noticed she said I had to have SEVEN in each category. Oh. man. Maybe I can do 11 suck/3 rock? Lets see how this goes.

People Who Suck
This week's super awesome list of people who suck (ok did you not read up? This one will naturally go first. If you only want to see those who rock, see below).

1. Chase Bank. Granted, I made the mistake of not having a job while in graduate school so my debt is rather high... but why would you send me a letter saying "pay off your debt or we're raising your interest rate" and expect me to read it? Ok, so my interest rate went up. I called. Rather than doing anything about it, they increase my credit limit so my new finance charges won't exceed the limit. Ugh.
2. People who take their jobs way too seriously. I am temping for the next few weeks, and wow- put your job into perspective PLEASE. For the amount you are paying me, you can't possibly expect me to do it well AND care. I choose to do it well, you should pick that one too.
3. My lack of having a green thumb. Everyone in this region, as far south as VA, is talking about growing their own fruits and veggies. I wholeheartedly admit, I am not capable of doing this. I wish I was.
4. Drivers who don't stop for pedestrians in crosswalks (especially in Mass., where it is the law). I am speaking from the driver's POV, I stop- so should you. I stopped playing chicken with trucks a few months ago, people on foot should not play chicken with you.
5. The lottery. Why have I not won?
6. Paula Abdul. Really? Get over yourself.
7. Sonic in Totowa, NJ. I drove all the way there, after midnight, and you still had a 45 minute line. Uncool, Sonic, uncool.
8. People who have "watch for motorcycles" bumper stickers. When I first started noticing these, I began to really take caution for bikers. Then I decided that the bumper stickers are really a warning for those in cars. Bikers are nuts, don't signal and drive down the middle of lane markers.
9. Bees. They are currently devouring the foundation of the house I'm renting. This hive has to have at least 1000 bees in it. Luckily, we are renting and that is the key word.
10. Dunkin Donuts. YOU got me addicted to coolattas of all flavors (except strawberry, gross). Why are your prices not consistent? One place my small drink costs 1.99. Another wants 3.30?! NO!

People Who Rock
I cannot believe its so long either. It must be my lack of sleep.

1. My grandpa. He turned 90 last week and is amazing. We had a party, it was incredible. Sharing the honor is my aunt/uncle who organized and hosted said party.
2. MA, for letting me turn this in a bit late. I'm obviously cheating to get more in this category.
3. Chelsea Handler. Every night, I have something to laugh at. Thank you.
4. JEN LANCASTER. Write more books. Faster. Please.
5. SCUTERO. I'm semi-unofficially a Blue Jays fan, because its such a fun name to yell at the tv/field.
6. Stalker Cat. Someone just showed this to me tonight, you're lucky I saw it in time to share!
7. My bed. It is the most wonderful thing, ever.

And with that, I hope you are all having a great week... and hope that we backup bloggers are sufficient enough for the week. Don't worry... she'll be back soon. (f-ing kangaroos). Reference? Anyone?

Bye!

Three Small Words

So.

I'm only an ocean and multiple countries away, but I FINALLY GOT TO IT!!! WOOHOO!! The I love you, I love you not post. Actually it's less about I love you I love you not as it is a funny little observation on telling someone you love them. I can't help you with figuring out whether or not you love them - that shit's up to you.

Two caveats:

• Should we worry that it required great distance for me to talk about lurrrrve.
• How about that I couldn't type love right there, and had to type lurrrrve?

(You all do realize that this crazy emotionally effed up person is the one you're about to listen to slash read advice from on love?)

Isn't it ironic Alanis?

Sigh. Such are the problems with the four letter word love. Now, as I previously indicated, this really shouldn't be read as a "zomg, MA is totally in love with Grad School BF and is going to tell him" post, because that's REALLY not where it's coming from. Don't get me wrong, it's not completely irrelevant to my life right now. But I'll elaborate on that at the end.

But for now.

Isn't it interesting about how movies, girly magazines and so so many other pieces of stupid (or amazing) pieces of media slash propaganda would have us believe that the ultimate thing you can do in a relationship is tell someone you love them. I'm thinking the Friends episode "TOW Everybody Finds Out," that Mandy Moore dude from the Office movie, etc etc etc.

Which puts a lot of pressure on these words!

When I was younger, I used to test the waters by using "adore". God I adore spending time with you, I adore this little birthmark on your [fill in the blank], I just ADORE you. If there was no super scary reaction, often I would move onto the four letter word.

And it did not go well for me.

And while I wouldn't really take any of those um, mistakes, back, I would say this: because I was in such a rush to be in that kind of a relationship with a person, I'm not sure I really gave it much thought what being in love with a person meant. I know I loved HS Ex - there was so much I did that really could only be excused in the name of love. But Evil Corp Ex? Or super Republican from college? Or... other super Republican from college?

Sigh. Republicans need love too.

I'm about to toot my own horn here, so feel free to turn away. I am certainly not in love with GSBF. It has been too short of a period of time, and I have been too closed off for too long to say "yes, I love him".

Have I ever mentioned how happy I am that he doesn't read this blog?

Anyway, what's DIFFERENT this time is that I'm in NO rush to express verbally how I feel. In fact, I find it very HARD to put into words exactly what I'm feeling, except to be glib and sarcastic, or, on my good days, be like "I'm just so... happy? How can that be?" while he rolls his eyes and is like "hello, this is us, that's why."

It's actually pretty cute.

But instead of being like "GOD I adore that little scar you have!!" I learned all the words (much to Becca's amusement, I should add) to his favorite song in Arabic. And when I grumble in the morning about not having cuddled enough the night before, he makes sure THAT night he's holds me all night long. And we're nice to each other. Not all the time, sure. But seriously - me, being nice in a relationship?

What the hell is THAT about?!

I guess what I'm trying to say is I've moved from the "I just called to say I love you" version of relationships to the "more than words is all you have to do to make it real" manifestation.

Which will now be in my head for a really long time, btw.

But seriously - next time you find yourself saying "I just... adore you" think about what that means. Do you adore the person? Or do you just think the next step in your relationship is I love you. There are other ways to say "hey I think I like you more" without you know.

Making an ass out of yourself?

Like singing! In a language you don't speak! Oy vey.

GUEST BLOG!! NY Sam discuess too many cooks

So I'm off with the famigs in Costa Rica for the week, and while I'll still be around (you can't get rid of me that easily), a few friends have also graciously consented to filling in in my absence. Today we have my friend NY Sam from Fossil Fuels, to talk (tantalizingly at times) about kinds of cooks. Enjoy!

Over the last year, I've started cooking a lot. Getting a boyfriend unleased some kind of cooking fever in me; not really a feeling of domesticity or anything like that (I still hate cleaning), but a new adventurousness in my cooking. I was never really hesitant about trying new recipes before, but now that I was cooking for two, now that I had someone to impress, I would try recipes and dishes I wouldn't have bothered with before. I got so into cooking I started a food blog to document the food I make.

A post on The Kitchn about the differences between a foodie and a cook got me thinking about how my attitudes have somewhat changed toward cooking. Not that I was ever what they define as a foodie—a person who is more interested in their fancy equiptment and weird ingredients than the meal their creating—but I've definitely become more of a cook, as opposed to someone who just prepares a meal.

The Kitchn is a food blog, so they're already talking to an audience of foodies and cooks and people who love to cook. But among my friends (and enemies), I can identify several typical attitudes toward cooking. At one extreme, you have the people who just hate cooking. They would rather spend the money to eat out every night than deal with preparing their own meals, and the meals they do make are simple and quick. This is like my boyfriend, who chose to wash the dishes after every meal instead of cook. To be fair, when we made this deal he chose this option because he knew I enjoyed cooking, but just the fact that for him it was a negative outcome either way speaks to how much he finds cooking to be a distasteful chore.

While I think this category of people is actually pretty common, all things considered, even more common are the people who are ambivalent about the whole deal; they cook because it's cheap, because it's not hard, because it's what people do, but they don't really feel strongly about it one way or the other. They may enjoy it on occasion, but for the most part it's just another thing to be done, and they don't put much into it. A lot of people unfortunately fall into this state of mind because they are so busy by our crazy American work ethic that they don't have the energy to put into food. Which is totally understandable; I've just spent the entire summer teaching human gross anatomy dissections every day of the week, which is exhausting to say the least. And a lot of days I don't really want to have to cook, and so what I cook is usually more boring and not as interesting, on either the cooking or the eating end.

I feel like, in this day and age, the least common group is those that truly enjoy cooking. Of these, there are those who are very good at cooking, and those who just THINK they are. The latter subgroup annoys me, partly because I dislike their bragging and pretension (anyone who thinks they're producing masterpieces when they're really just mediocre is annoying), and probably partly because I hope I'm not one. Not that I brag, and I know that I find my food delicious, but I still want that outside validation that I am good at what I'm doing (who doesn't?). My boyfriend loves what I cook, and so do my parents, but then, they're required to.

The great thing about cooking though is even without outside validation, if I like what I'm making, it's really reward enough. I don't know what it is about the process of cooking, but I love the very act of it. Sure, I like eating the end results; it's one of the reasons it's so rewarding. I've always been craftily and artistically inclined, and for me cooking is an art I can enjoy right away. I've dabbled in many crafts, but none have really been as satisfying as a tasty, well cooked meal.

I'm not going to drop out of my PhD to go to culinary school, I've definitely picked up cooking as almost a hobby. Maybe it will be another fad for me, where I'll get really into it for a while but then my interest will fade, but I'll always have to cook dinner, so I think this love will stick around with me for a while.

Pura Vida

So.

Dear readers, I write to you currently from Costa Rica (currently CURRENTLY a town called "La Fortuna" though by the time you are reading this I will be elsewhere), which is simply a beautiful country.

Though I suppose there's nothing simple about it.

I'm away for the week with the fam, and so far (I mean, it's been about 24 hours) so good. Only one minor spat with the sibs and we were all half asleep so I don't even blame us.

Esp not me. Oh boy. And it starts.

But anyway, I've lined up a few guests for you this week, although I also dusted off a few posts I had been sitting on to try and finally finish something for a change. I will have internets at some point during the week, so definitely feel free to comment (esp on the guest posts) - I'll respond! I swear!

In other news, is it weird that I'm really REALLY excited that I just ran a search in Chrome on whether or not I could drink tap water here, and it knew somehow that I was in Costa Rica, and like, offered to traducir cada pagina? I know it's not weird that I just slipped into Español porque me gusta hablar en las lenguas extranjeras.

Um, anyway.

Hope y'all have a GREAT week, be kind (rewind!) to the guests, and I'll be back in full force next Monday. XOXO!! ¡¡PURA VIDA!!

Update: more PWR/PWS

Um I'd just like to add:

Person who rocks = my friend DC Laura for helping me carry my luggage to the Boltbus

People who suck = the parents of the city kids sitting behind me who are super trendy, sure, but still just 15 year olds who are giggly and loud and annoying as fuck. Who the fuck lets their 15 year old come to DC alone, with just 2 friends? And if you're on the bus, who the FUCK doesn't reprimand their children for being obnoxiously shitheady in a teeny tiny space?!

People Who Rock. People Who Suck. Vol II

So.

Remember from last week how I said Fried Fridays suck? Well I like volumes. So there ya go. And away WE go:

People Who Rock:

1. Rahm Emanuel for also eating at Lebanese Taverna last night. SO EXCITING. And a little scary?;
2. My friend Julie for finally being back from Bahrain and being my online buddy again;
3. Jon Stewart for shitting all over the crazy birthers/people who want "their" country back/Glenn Beck and all things hypocritically and stupidly psychotic;
4. Jay Leno, for apparently being from the same piccolo paesino in Italy that my famiglia is from. Which is creepy, cause I prefer Letterman (nah. Jon Stewart.) but still. Cool;
5. Anna for being the first friend to officially christen the new apt with wine and talk. Also, because she just rocks all the time, in general;
6. Anne for making me feel super special; and
7. Becca, whose birthday is SUNDAY!!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY BECCA!!

People Who Suck:

1. The bitch on the train this morning who, despite seeing me under the weight of two very heavy bags still pushed me out of the way, took the only avail seat, and then when two two-seaters opened up at the same time took the one RIGHT in front of (standing) me forcing me to walk down the other side of the train even though she ALREADY HAD A FUCKING SEAT and despite the TWO AFOREMENTIONED HEAVY BAGS;
2. The dude who stole Grad School BF's bike, super fucking fucker;
3. Glenn Beck, for still talking out of his unhealed asshole (see: No 3 above);
4. Humanity this week! What's that about?! Everyone who has been rude, surly, pissy, bitchy, whiny, annoying etc ad infinitem this week on lines, in front of me, in public spaces and in vaguely private ones;
5. GSBF's ex girlfriend, who he is seeing next week when I am in Costa Rica. Not because she actually sucks, but because I'm jealous she'll be seeing him when I will not be. Whore. Ok she's actually quite nice/smart/sorta awesome but I don't care she still sucks;
6. Cancer. Just cause it fucking sucks. Even though it's not a person; and
7. Above-mentioned birthers [...] psychotics. STFU bitches.

Happy weekend!

Fresh air? TIMES SQUARE!!!

So.

A few weeks ago I went camping, as you all know. As you may not know, it was pretty much the worst idea anyone's subjected me to, ever. I called my mother on the morning of the trip and told her that if I died, I wanted my sister to get my Friends DVDs. She said, "why, what are you doing now?" I told her - camping.

There was nothing but almost-silent laughter.

Finally she said "with WHOM?" (she's an English teacher). I said "Grad School BF? And friends?" and she was like "I knew it had to be someone with pull."

Oh eff.

But in the end? It was ok. Yes. I had to pee outside. Yes. I did a little poop too. Yes, it rained (and rained and rained and rained and rained) and at 3am I was wrapped up in ONE sleeping bag for TWO people FREEZING because we were at the HIGHEST point in WEST VIRGINIA and I thought I might just take our little pooper scooper and kill someone with it. But I SURVIVED!

Barely, but still.

There was a touch-and-go moment the following morning AFTER all the rain, when our fire was completely out and so there was no way to cook the rest of our food, and there was no diet coke, period, and also no showers, no toilets, everything smelled of BBQ and I was OVER IT and NOT AFRAID TO SAY IT. At this point I was banished to my tent until they started the fire again.

WHICH I WAS ALRIGHT WITH DAMNIT.

But seriously. For you other princesses of suburbia out there (thank you, Aunt T for that little burst of "seriously? You're going camping. You. The PRINCESS of northern NJ SUBURBIA"), it was actually kind of nice at some points. Like falling asleep at 10pm because it was pitch black and there weren't laptops and flat screens and blackberries to disturb you. Like wrapping up with someone you care about in 1 sleeping bag rather than holding hands (what?! We're cute and still newish and like to touch each other!) while you sleep at opposite ends of a mattress.

The sleeping bag mighta been better with a mattress, though.

And honestly, while it was fun, I'm not sure I'm about to do it again. I like vacations where I lie on beach chairs and sip fruity cocktails and soak in the sun while reading a book and listening to my ipod. I like vacations when, after all of that, I go up to my room and rinse off. I like vacations when, after rinsing off, I decided to stay in the shower and take long luxurious soapy hair washing times.

Soap. God. Amazing.

But then? Then I see this video, which was originally intended for a 17(?)-clip series documenting my camping experience for Becca, who told me she didn't want anything for her birthday but to watch me deal with the "Great" Outdoors.

And I remember how fun it was to grab a beer, cuddle in the dark with GSBF and good friends, sing around a fire and roast marshmellows. And I think, OK. Maybe one more time.

But I'm getting my own pooper scooper.

Once again, why we're besties

So.

This isn't (really now) my post for today, but yesterday I was so livid at the shitheads who stole Grad School BF's bike I couldn't talk about why saying I love you (and also, sex) have become the epitome of relationships in our society.

Yeah. I was gonna be smaht.

But that's over for now - when it feels relevant again, I'll post on it (did I mention it's been sitting in my draft box since February? Cause it has). Today I'm FINALLY going to talk about - CAMPING! In a bit. But for now, a little literary snack, the conversation that just took place bet. me and Becca:

Becca: what's up?
me: there is a bug in my not office
i want it to go away
i got my period this morning
Becca: smoosh it
me: so my tummy is about 3X the size it usually would be
because i didnt drink water at all yesterday
so i retained every single ounce of salt from my (incredible) salami and asiago sandwich
plus cashews
so im barely fitting into my pants
Becca: holy fuck, that sounds good
me: which means they are squeezing my uterus
which brings me back to
i hate being a woman.
also.
how are you?
Becca: i woke up at 5am
my eye swollen almost shut
allergicky-like
so i popped a beny
and sat up with an ice pack until i had to leave for work
i still look like a victim of abuse
AND i'm passing out at my desk from the beny
well, the beny and being awake since 5am
me: wait
what happened to your eye
i cant believe you're even awake
Becca: no fucking clue
me: benadryls fuck me up
i mean Fuck. Me. Up.
Becca: oh i'm good & fucked
still a little bit drunk & wobbly?
that's how i feel
but plus, super duper sleepy
me: yes

(hold music)

So.

Um, I have two posts going on today in my little head, and I'm not sure which one is going to win out. Will it be the funny, poignant thoughts on saying "I love you" (NB: no no. Don't worry. This is from February and not at all a "should I tell my bf I love him" because cmon people, it's only been 3 months, and oh right, never EVER say I love you first) or should it be the "IFUCKINGHATEYOUWHOEVERYOUYOUFUCKINGBICYCLETHIEF!"

It's hard to combine them. I've tried.

Anyway, while I sort that out, I think you all should watch this:

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
Healther Skelter
www.thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor Spinal Tap Performance

because it is amazing. Be back after lunch with a real live post.

Julie and MA

So.

I went to see Julie and Julia last night with mes amis. It was lovely and yummy. Of course, I cried. Meryl Streep is, like, fabulous perfection (and Stanley Tucci! So sweet and funny and made me almost forget how much "Big Night" makes me want to commit suicide!) and Amy Adams is amazingly talented and hello? Chris Messina?

A whole different kind of yum.

Anyway, the interesting take-away from that movie was, in addition to having to make beef burgundy (what my famigs calls "boeuf bourguignon") asap for Grad School BF, and obviously wanting to lick Chris Messina off a spoon (e-hem), was, well, blogging.

What's is it all about, really.

I know I'm about a week late on the introspection piece, most bloggers taking advantage of anniversaries to be like "ohhhhh why DO I blog anyway?" and I STILL don't really feel like re-visiting the circumstances that made me start this blog. But something that the irrepresibly HAWT Chris Messina (I'm sorry, I just don't think I've seen him in anything else before (ok that's a lie I've gone and looked, he's apparently been in Law and Order THREE TIMES, but he hasn't been the main in anything I've seen), and my naughty bits are all a-tingly everytime I'm reminded of him tearing into that chocolate cake) said in the movie as Julie Powell's much much MUCH nicer husband Eric resonated with me. Since IMDB users have had a massive FAIL on the "memorable quotes", I'm not going to be able to do it verbatim, but it's something about yes, you're blogging now, but they're just faceless readers who aren't going to die if you don't post, etc etc etc, why are you taking time away from your real life.

Ouch.

First of all, I don't want anyone to think that I think that that's a condemnation of my life (nor should it be one of YOURS if you blog). Not only do I not spend every night engaging in activities solely to blog about them, and in fact when I DO do things so I can blog about them (like, I don't know, chemistry.com or Date Lab) I find it so odd and superficial that I can't actually write about them at all.

I mean, you never heard about them, right?

And I'm not saying that everything on here is super true to life (I'd go find posts that have been edited, not in the grammatical sense but in the experience itself but that's um, creepy), but at least most of it is REAL. Like, there really is a GSBF and we really did kind of move in together last week and I really did poo that one time on that Bolt bus (Megabus?) and have to Deal With It in a horrific way.

I'm glad that's the story I felt the need to remind y'all of.

But Julie Powell's blog came, not because she decided to work her way through Julia Child's cookbook because she needed something stable in her life, but because she wanted a blog and that was there. Does it cheapen it in some way? I don't know. Is blogging cheapened in and of itself that the majority of you "out there" don't actually know me, will never meet me, and don't have to hold me to some sort of social cues standard? This is, as Julie Powell said, all about me - my experiences, my friends, my opinions, my life - what about you guys?

What purpose does this all serve?

Then I take a step back and think, whofuckingcares, I like them and they like me and I read blogs of people I'm never gonna meet and you know what? I like it, it gets me through the day so EFF OFF scary voice in my head. But if I can try and stop that defensive process for just one second, I would like to say that watching Amy Adams-cum-Julie Powell get her first comment made me "oooo" in recognition. Her question - albeit in a super narcissistic whiny tone - "is anybody out there" is one I think we all ask, whether we blog or tweet or just sit in a window and stare at the stars. It's a question that people have probably been asking for all humanity, and I'm alright asking here on this little corner of the internets.

That said.

I hope I don't (and I really hope I haven't already) come to view this blog as something other than it is - my public diary. There are lots of things that happen in my life that don't show up here, and yes, there are stories on here that I wouldn't tell most of my friends (um, who don't read the blog, obviously) because they're HILARIOUSLY inappropriate. When I get comments, I want to feel joy and not, you know, satisfaction. I don't want to view it as a conduit to a writing gig (although, hey, if any of you are you know, agents or editors, I have a FANTASTIC manuscript sitting on my laptop). I LIKE that I've become friends with other bloggers, other amazingly talented hilariously inappropriate men and women who just. You know, rock. And I'm glad I've incorporated them into my real life, rather than let their avatars take it over.

Ok that kind of sounds like the Sims, which would be AWESOME.

What say you commenters (aka internets friends)? Am I so narcissistic that I saw a movie that has literally nothing to do with me and yet made it about me? Are you wondering who else is out there (I am! I am!).

Fried Fridays

So.

First of all, do you know how long it takes to think of a cutsy, alliterative word that isn't "Freaky" when describing Fridays? A LONG FREAKY TIME.

Um, anyway.

For those of you who pay attn to how often I post (so no one. Maybe Arielle) will notice that Fridays are my worst weekdays. I've tried to ascertain why this is, and have come up with zilch. Zippo. Nada.

It's freaky if you ask me.

But in the end I've gone ahead and decided that it's just a symptom of the fact that Fridays are my least productive day in ever sense of the word. I don't have my best employee face on, I'm bad at conversing with people, I don't cook dinner, or lunch, or even breakfast, and the only thing I'm particularly good at is getting drunk and having drunk sex.

And really? Most people are good at those things.

So I decided to do something about it. But what? Well, inspired by my very angry encounter with drivers on Tues-Wed (the story I didn't tell was that morning when I was riding in, this lady honked at me because I was riding IN THE MIDDLE OF MY LANE, bitch, but then she got pulled over so I felt better about it), I've decided to bring back in blog form the People Who Rock/People Who Suck lists.

The what now? you might be asking.

Well, back in the day of AIM, my profile was like a pre-blog. I kept up "confidential" messages to friends, posted links I thought people might find interesting, and most importantly, constantly updated two lists that I called (everybody together now) "People Who Rock" and "People Who Suck".

I was super creative.

But teenager (and early 20s) angst and anger aside, it was pretty cathartic. I mean, George Bush was a mainstay of course (on the People Who Suck list, duh. If you need to ask, please step away from the blog), but when I was REALLY pissed off I could CAPITALIZE his name or add LOTS!!!!!! of exclamation points.

Also.

People Who Rock was nice, because when someone did something I really liked (like give me presents) they could be recognized! And recognition is always good, right? Even if the present is like, a fruit roll up?

Yum.

Anyway, I've decided that since it's very (VERY!) easy for me to come up with a list of 7 people who rocked this past week and 7 people who sucked, I'm totally reinstating the list for a segment I'm um, not going to call Fried Fridays, but which would be the thing I could call if I didn't think it also sucked.

But it won't be on the list, it's not a person.

Anyway, here it is, the INAUGURAL Friday-is-the-most-wasted-day-of-my-week-in-both-energy-and-also-booze post, People Who Rock, and People Who Suck. Some quick (and new!) rules. No repeats from one week to the next (altho repeats are welcome, and duh, expected), there will be 7 in each category every week, and if you're a blogger, you'll get tagged (either way), what WHAT:

People Who Rock:

1. My cubemate MD Laura. She is going on vacation next week and I am very sad she will not be here to send me fun NYT articles and laugh at my dumb jokes;
2. Ma famille. Cannot wait for Costa Rica. CANNOT WAIT FOR COSTA RICA;
3. GSBF. He rubbed my back last night and my neck this morning and for that reason I can sit up in my chair and type to you all right now;
4. LiLu, Lemmonex and Refugee for planning the AWESOME party you should ALL come to this evening;
5. Bill Clinton for negotiating the release of Euna Lee and Laura Ling;
6. Our friends Ramona, Chelsea and Mike for being the only two people who helped us move in; and
7. YOU ALL for reading this blog still after 2 years!!

People Who Suck:

1. Sucky driver lady who almost killed me and sucky driver lady who almost deafened me;
2. Rush Limbaugh for comparing President Obama to Hitler, cause that makes even a smidgen of sense, you fucking dumbass;
3. Some people who shall remain nameless though they caused some serious family drama this week which not only made some other people incredibly upset, and some other (other) people incredibly angry, but fucked up my work week (though I was neither upset, nor angry and instead was just like, dudes, fuck off, it's my life and all that jazz);
4. The dude who stole my bike seat, fucker;
5. EWN1 for not responding to the bachelorette party she isn't hosting even though she's the fucking maid of honor;
6. Walid Jumbatt for being a shitty backstabbing mother effer;
7. Becca's and my subconsciences. Which aren't people, sure, but are pretty fucking close.

Happy weekend everybody! Get FREAKY! And hope to see you tonight!!

ZOMG TWO YEARS!! (and four more to go, in a different vein)

So.

Um, my post this morning was a little angry? And I want to make it clear that I love suburban women. My mom is a suburban woman. They are awesome. The people who are not awesome are those who drive in lanes CLEARLY marked (we're talking 5 ft tall letters people) "Bus and bike ONLY". I have also driven on these streets, and it's pretty obvious. The rest of you, XOXO.

Anyway.

As you all heard yesterday, today is my 2 yr blogoversary! I have very little to say on why I started the blog, because the circumstances under which it was started are still true today (too many weddings, procrastination at work, alcoholic nights), and I'd prefer not to comment on or complain about my semi-perfect life. However! We haven't caught up recently on how my "30 things before 30" are going, so I thought this would be a good day to do it!

Happy Blogoversary everyone! Completed tasks are crossed off:

30 things to do before I turn 30
1. Finish getting all 50 state quarters in my "special rules" way.
2. Get thee to Texas.
3. Re-take French.
4. Finally see the Magnificent Seven.
5. Friend one of the recent exes (there are two options) on Facebook.
6. Skinny dip.
7. Walk through Bedford Stuy alone.
8. Sing "House of the Rising Sun" in public. Karaoke is ok.
9. Get to my great-grandmother's, grandfather's, and former teacher's graves and put pretty flowers on them.
10. Buy "Elegance"-worthy lingerie. I'm thinking La Perla.
11. Go properly camping. Once.
12. Have a BMI less than 25 (this has to be true AT my 30th birthday. It would also help if it were true for my 28.5th birthday, ie when I'm assuming my 10th year reunion is).
13. For real learn to knit. In fact, knit a scarf and a hat.
14. Memorize Moonlight Sonata on the piano.
15. Do Story Corps with my grandmother and grandfather.
16. Watch Schindler's List. The entire thing.
17. Get published, even if it's a 250 word silly block in Cosmo entitled, "How to lick your man's nipples."
18. Read two of Joyce's novels.
19. Go to the top of the Sears Tower
20. Finish my family tree (well, you know. Make it easy to add to). Can be done on Geni.
21. Go on a road trip. Can be done via bus or train (you know, gas won't always be at $1.37)
22. Volunteer for 100 hours
23. Get personally shopped for, at least once.
24. Stay at the Waldorf Astoria.
25. Go to a new foreign country. (NB: Ok, not true today but will be in a week an a half!!!)
26. Read Don Quixote and the Inferno in the original languages.
27. Watch all the movies in the AFI's top 10 list
28. Go to Edinburgh and don't "stalk" JK Rowling, but you know, tour a few coffee shops.
29. In a similar vein, find and purchase first editions of the Harry Potters I'm missing.
30. Go a mile on a hippity hop.

Not too shabby, with a little less than four years to go, eh? What should be my next thing?

In which I turn into a bike nazi

So.

As many of you know, I recently got a super fabulous bike to replace the incredibly not fabulous bike that was still amazingly wonderful because bike riding is AWESOME but then a spoke broke and that sucked but then it got stolen anyway so HAHA motherfuckers you stole a bum bike.

Um. Ok, you probably didn't know all that.

Point is, I love biking, especially on my new bike, and I do it as often as possible. To work, from work, to the movies, to Alexandria, with the boyfriend, without him, morning, noon and night.

Noon kind of sucks cause it's hot, but whatevs.

The best part of all of this is DC of course. DC is SUPER DUPER biker friendly, with bike lanes and bike paths and bike clubs and bike to work days. New York is? Well. Suffice to say that New Yorkers:Bikers as Pitbulls:Big hunk of steak. They love them, they APPRECIATE them, but they still rip them to painful shreds in the street.

Yes I just made an SAT-like analogy. What?

The point is on this (I restrained myself from saying "and this alone". Look ma! I'm learning to love DC!) the District reigns supreme over the City. Until yesterday, when some bitch from Virginia almost killed me.

Well sorta.

So outside my work place there are these huge "bus and bike only" lanes, which are supposed to be (intuitively) for buses and bikes only. I don't mind when the occasional cab slips in, because in Paris that's how these lanes work - buses, cabs and bikes share. Also, cabbies (like bus drivers) not only make driving around obstacles their living, they also need their vehicle intact to make money, so hitting a roundish 26-yr-old is not exactly their MO.

However.

When a real car, and especially a car that is not a Smart, does not have District license plates, and (I wish this weren't true) has a female driver, enters those lanes I get really fucking pissed off. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying non-Smart, out-of-towner, male drivers are better. I'm just saying that in my experience, if you have a teensy car and a penis or are taxed without being repped, you know how to deal with bikers.

In short, get out of the fucking way.

But big cars driven by suburban mommies that could you know, probably ride down the streets of Baghdad better than standard issue US military vehicles CANNOT DEAL WITH A BIKER. They freeze, which by the way, is the worst thing ever when you're a massive car on a MOVING STREET. And usually I deal with it by hopping on the sidewalk (much to the completely understood chagrin of pedestrians) while muttering obscenities under my breath.

But not yesterday.

Yesterday I was late for an appointment and decided to take the quickest route there, which involved me riding (yes, I know, I was in the wrong too) UP the one-way street with the huge bike and bus lanes for 2 blocks. I checked to make sure no buses were on their way and took off, pedaling furiously, just as a car those 2 blocks away turned into my lane. No wait, not a car. A humvee with a tiny little woman peering over the wheel with a "Virginia is for Lovers" bumper sticker on its side.

UGH.

I don't know if it was because I was late, or because HELLO WHO NEEDS A FUCKING HUMMER IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET IN NW DC (hehe that's what she said), but I was like, fuck you bitch, I'm not getting out of the way.

I mean, not the smartest thing I ever did, sure.

And as we played chicken down these two blocks, her inching her mass of metal slowly and frightened (cause that makes fucking sense) me pedaling with hellfire on my feet while gesturing "my lane you environment-murdering-so-scared-of-the-big-city-you-need-an-armored-car-to-feel-even-remotely-safe fuck. MY LANE!!!" I realized.

I'd become one of THOSE bikers.

The funny thing is, when I went to get my new bike I specifically told the guy I wasn't a hardcore biker, that I just wanted something that would get me from A to B without breaking, and if possible, that was pretty. I don't own fancy bike shoes (in fact this morning I biked in flats, which is a nice change from the flip flops I usually work with), and as you all DEFINITELY know, I like to wear skirts while riding.

But?

Despite all the outward signs of not a real biker, I've definitely turned into one. I hate on cars. Even more, I hate on super big cars. "What a waste of natural resources" I find myself thinking lazily when sitting at Thomas Circle, when usually I'd be thinking "What am I going to eat when I get in the office? Mmmmm." I am an aggressive biker, as evidenced by not only yesterday, but by the fact that I almost sprained my wrist giving the finger to cars on Mass Ave.

Twice.

And you know what? I don't fucking care. I am environmentally sustainable, sure, but moreover, I am a fucking PERSON. People in cars tend to forget that when they're protected by their sheets of metal (I know this, because I drove up to Philly on Sunday with Grad School BF to celebrate Daniel one last time before he leaves us all for freaking (lucky) New Orleans), hey, on other sides of those sheets of metal are OTHER people. And while I'm sure that I've pissed off more than just that chick from VA, I don't fucking care. I am just another person, like you, who is going to work/the hair salon/Trader Joe's. So shut the fuck up.

Also, get out of my lane.

No JBJ: it's OUR life

So.

I love how I have grand plans to like, post away, and then they completely and utterly fail. This time it was because I lost internet access on Friday because of the move, and won't have it back until tomorrow evening (obvi I'm at work right now. Obvi I'm the best employee ever). Unfortch that meant no posting, but FORTCH it means that I'm officially living in the District!!!

WOOHOOO!!!!

The move went so incredibly well. Ok, that's a massive lie. Despite prior protestations of an entire "crew," only two of our friends ended up being able to help, one with my move out and one with Grad School BF's. That meants that 2.5 people moved me out of my apt in Rosslyn and into storage, and 3 people moved him out of his house in Georgetown and (both of us) into Dupont.

When 2/2.5 and 2/3 are me and GSBF, that's um, painful math.

We didn't really finish until 2am, when I finally locked the door on my old apartment (having spackled the shit out of it) and he finally grabbed the last desk (of three. Who owns three desks?! My new roommate, apparently), and we shoved them upstairs in our place and crawled, gratefully, onto a barely-sheeted mattress.

Awesome.

But as I watched GSBF snuggle up to a(n uncovered) pillow and casually throw his arm around me to tug me closer, the aching in my muscles seemed to completely melt away in a not sappy but very very important way.

I wasn't like. You know. Alone.

That was deep! However, it's true. I hate moving (who doesn't?) with a visceral angry passion. When I moved from NJ to NY, I had the flu, was sicker than I'd ever been in my entire life, had lost 15 lbs in 6 days and watched as my dad met my boyfriend and then fought with my boyfriend, and I didn't even care if they killed each other, that's how awful I felt.

Yeah that relationship didn't last.

When I moved from NY to Hobo, my dad and I fought and it was Halloween and there were costumed fucks everywhere and all I really wanted to do was hit someone over the head.

Hard.

When I moved from Hobo to VA, my relationships with my mother, sister and father took such a massive hit it required an intervention in the Willowbrook Mall parking lot a week later to finally get me to talk to them again. Months went by before I stopped resenting. Well.

A lot of things.

And so this time, without my family present, I was both hopeful and (as you know) terrified. Not to sound too too much like a daddy's girl, my father handles a lot of these things for me. No, that's wrong - I handle them, but he signs off on it. When I got an estimate from U-haul a few years ago, he called them up and when they wouldn't negotiate, told me to call Penske instead. When I got THAT estimate, he called them and worked out a lower price, plus free equipment. He carried my box spring single-handedly, he was there for the lease signing on my first apartment, and in short, has been a fantastic papa.

But he wasn't there this time.

Not just because I think they're probably massively uncomfortable with me (kind of) moving in with my boyfriend (who they love, sure, but still...) that I've only been dating for, what is it now. Three months? A month of which he was in another country?

Well right. They're not the only ones I guess (hello mes amis!).

But also because my parents live far away. And because the last move I thought my father was going to kill himself by trying to do it all alone. And because I'm 26, damnit, and HELLO. Am an ADULT!

Well. Sort of.

Anyway, back to the story. The point is, my parents weren't going to be there and that was a good and bad thing, and yet, regardless of it all I was still dreading moving. And why? I kept pressing myself. Yes, it was going to be rough without my dad greasing the spokes (is that a saying?) for me. Yes, it was going to be painful (literally) without the clan around to be there to do the heaving lifting. But cmon. It was going to be great, right?

Hm.

Provoked by an offhand comment by GSBF, I started to think, really, why DO I hate moving? Is it the whole, uprooting oneself, etc etc? Is it that my incredibly deep fear of losing/leaving behind anything (even just a hair-tie) is so INCREDIBLY present when you have to box up everything you own and shift it cross town/coast/country?

In the end, I had to stop thinking and start packing.

But lying in bed early Saturday morning, feeling myself get pulled closer and closer underneath the only unpacked sheet, it hit me. I hate moving because, in the end even though you can surround yourself with a bagillion family members and a crew of friends to ease the process, it's MY life that's being uprooted. It's MY life being packed. And when all the boxes have been unloaded, all the furniture de-trucked, and all the spackling... spackled. It's ME who's sitting there alone in the dark in an unfamiliar place surrounded by cold, unfeeling boxes that don't represent the past 26 years and don't quite fit in their new space.

Alone.

But this time? This time it was us. It was us rubbing each other's backs when we got sore, and us jostling over the best of the three (THREE!!!) desks, and while it was me who woke up at 5am completely disoriented by the sun coming in at a new and strange angle mumbling "whassssgoinonwherethefuckameyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyye?" it was him who hugged me and said, "We're at the new house babe. We're home."