On Days Like This

Sometimes I have to ask myself why:

• I stayed home to be with my dad on his last day in town, only to find him spending the evening sleeping off a stomach bug
• I debated joining a softball team partly as a means to live a healthier lifestyle, only to open the fridge and eat a gargantuan slice of cheesecake
• I bothered to style and wear my hair down, only to have the Santa Ana winds make their way across the lands to blow Cairo into my curls
• I excited myself about a Save the Children job in London, only to realize that the annual salary will allow me to fulfill my post-grad school prophecy of living in a cardboard box
  
• I forced myself to write here today in an attempt to be funny, only to wait around for Little One's "umm, yeah, it was okay."
  

Come on, Saturday. My (figurative) eggs are in your basket.

Martha Stewart I Is Not

Me: i made cookies for tonight

i burnt the second batch though, so take from the top

Forsooth: ya3nee i am skeptical of ur cookie making skills

Me: !!

Forsooth: i think the last time i bit into a chunk of solid crystallized sugars

Me: these were from a bag! i added butter and an egg!

It's true. I couldn't have exerted less effort if I tried. And the second batch got singed because I was mesmerized by Kate Winslet recanting her Oscar glee to Oprah. Has there been a more eloquent British lass to ever grace our movie screens? I haven't even seen either two of her movies that have generated all the buzz, but I want to make my own golden statues with tiny little butts and give them to her. Anyway, hopefully Office Savior's dinner will be more successful than my failed attempt at "baking."

Insert Alanis Morissette song about irony here

I have mixed feelings about heels. Perhaps you'd call it a love/hate relationship. And by love/hate, I want you to really mean hate. I'm already taller than most of the females I know (and all of the ones I work with), and they're generally a pain in the butt (the heels, not the coworkers. Well...).

I work in a relatively laid-back work environment, so after months of towering heights, I've given up on heel-wearing. It's a nuisance, I don't need to further the complexes of colleagues, and I'm reasonably low maintenance. Once in a while, though, I break out the heels, just for the heck of it. Today was one of those days. And then this happened:

Mom: Hi. I didn't go to work this morning, but I need you to pick something up from my office (note: not far enough to warrant taking a cab, but just far enough to feel like you want to hack your legs off at the knee).

Me: Sure, Mom. Can't think of anything else I'd rather do right now.

I went on this errand and plan on remaining in my seat until 5. Now, someone get me some tea.

Pursuit of Trivia

After an unsuccessful hunt for a hula hoop - an item which I believe will both provide me with endless satisfaction as well as rock-hard abs - on Friday, my mom, Little One and I decided we needed a board game. Last night, after admiring our still-in-the-plastic purchase for two days, we sat down to a not so intense game of Trivial Pursuit. The only saving grace to this activity was that it was not on a Friday night (give me SOME credit). My dad was supposed to join us so we could play teams (parents vs. kiddies), but he was feeling slightly under the weather. I think he may have just been resting up for his birthday festivities today (hi Dad! happy birthday!), but that's something we'll never know.

My mom and Little One, being Trivial Pursuit novices, got a thirty-second refresher course and off we went. Of course, my mother, being the public figure that she is, received about 4,907,843 phone calls in the first five minutes of the game, and quickly abandoned her puzzle piece and went off to...I don't know...end world hunger or save the whales or something. This left Little One and I to finish the game by ourselves. We seem to have picked up a 'more British than you could ever imagine' version of the game, and with the relatively little knowledge we have of English history/athletes/odd drinking games, we got creative with our clue-giving. Examples include:

• Think...that random Seinfeld quote from 30 Rock I'm always saying
  
• Rihanna's from there (My dad (after he'd woken up): Germany!)
  
• They ruled the Congo at one point (Me: Switzerland?)
  
• Sounds like "The Shmeatles"

With all the "assistance," Little One ended up winning. This game has taught me so much in so little time. One, that I should never look to Little One at times when cheating is desperately needed, and two, that I'm not above reading and memorizing every one of the four hundred cards that came with this game so as to win each and every time I play again. So there.

Relativity

My dad flew in last night and promptly informed me that he spent the morning with the president of Lebanon. I now follow Snoop Dogg on Twitter. It has yet to be determined which one of us will benefit more from these nuggets of life. It might also be time to set some new long term goals.

For When You Don't Have an Actual Gift (Yet)

* Happy birthday, Mom! *

Look - a post specifically for you (and not about anything humorous/embarrassing you've done!). In honor of one of my favorite movies, 10 things I love about you:

1. I love that even though I've learned how to use my opposable thumbs, you'll still make make lunch when I ask you to. I haven't quite figured out if you do this because you truly love me or because you don't want to hear me whine, but either way, I love you for it.

2. I love that even though I yell when you comment on my driving, you speed up and change lanes when I tell you to without uttering a peep.

3. I (secretly) love the songs you sing to the cat even if I roll my eyes and try to cover her ears. All the single kitties...all the single kitties...

4. I (secretly) love your corny jokes. I find myself thinking things that you'd say all the time, but I feel like you should maintain the monopoly on relative lameness.

5. I love that even though you never want me to admit that I'll never wear diamonds (Internet, CTRL + Z that bit of information), you support my decision.

6. I love that you get excited and clap at the tv sometimes, even if it is super weird and you must know they can't hear you.

7. I love that we're becoming better friends. It's a shame we're not the same size. I hear sharing clothes is what friends do. Look into it.

8. I love that we can look at each other without saying anything and know that the other is thinking "o no...what is she WEARING?!" when questionably-clad women walk by.

9. I love when you try to impersonate me and get over animated and squeaky. I guess living with me for 25 years makes you pretty much an expert.

10. I love that after you read this, you'll probably lean over, tell me I could have been funnier and ask why I stopped at 10.

The Little Things

Things I'm most happy about right this minute:

• Chatting with my sister (even though she just made reference to rat excrement)
  
• Buying Betty Crocker cake mix in anticipation of my mom's birthday tomorrow (Hi Mom. No, don't worry, I won't say how young you're turning.)
• It almost being the end of the work day
• Already knowing what I'm going to blog about tomorrow
• My sister agreeing that birds have weird (i.e. no) necks
• Remembering, thanks to More Positive Than Your Average Bear, Forsooths' penchant for pretending to really cry while chopping onions. She writes: When I'm cutting up onions, I pretend that I'm really crying because a super sad thing has happened and say appropriate lines while sniffling and wiping tears away. "She was so young!"
• Having a hot dog at the softball game tonight. Might even bring my own pickle!
  

Notice

Dear Birds,

Don't think I haven't noticed that you've recently taking a liking to the balcony railing right outside my window. While one of my main issues with you lot is "WHERE ARE THE BONES IN YOUR NECKS?!", the bigger issue (right now) is: why MY balcony? In a city of roughly 13 million people, an average family size of eight people, four windows per house per family, (and my incredibly limited math skills), there should, in theory, be about 406,250 other windowsills, balconies, and other perches for you to rest your weird three-pronged, clawed things on. I don't loiter around your pigeon coops, so stay the hell away from my railing and out of my peripheral vision.

Thank you,
Disgruntled Bird Hater

Good While It Lasted

This weekend was a nice break from the monotony of bed/bathroom/kitchen routine I had going from Monday afternoon to Friday morning. I was worried the vitamin D my body would get from being out of the house early on Friday would be too much of a shock to my system, but fortunately there was no hissing at the sun. I took in a (relatively) good softball game with Female J and Male J's cousin, went on a (relatively) unsuccessful run to City Stars (Female J made some good purchases and we had a great lunch at Wagamama), and went to a (wildly) successful party at the Js' house at night. Would post photos from the party, but Internet, I don't think you're ready for them.

Spent a lazy Saturday having brunch with some old faithful friends, and had coffee for a few hours with More Positive Than Your Average Bear. Closed off the evening with some good (for real, I promise) television and a sushi dinner. Couldn't have asked for a better weekend.

This morning, I got into the elevator and had the following conversation with a coworker:

Baby Mama: So, how was yesterday?
Me: *confused* Yesterday?
Baby Mama: O, I guess you don't have a boyfriend...

Yeah, thanks for that.

Losing It

It would seem that after only a day in the house, I already have cabin fever. While I've been known to watch some bad television in my twenty-five years, today takes the cake. After waking up from a one-nostril breathing-induced nap, I meandered over to the tv and began the requisite channel surfing.

Not wearing my glasses, and having the strength of a lab rat, I settled on The Hottie and the Nottie. Little did I know that this fine piece of cinematic history starred Paris Hilton and the lanky guy from Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story.

Internet, I don't know how to tell you this, but I watched about an hour of the film before I allowed my mother to pry the remote out of my cold (not dead) hands and change the channel. I don't know how much longer I can let myself make viewing decisions. If I report in here after watching the food network tomorrow, come find me. And bring reinforcements.

Blerg

Took the day off to recover from a nasty cold. Surprisingly, I have remained relatively healthy all winter.

(Let's take a minute to dissect that last sentence...

surprisingly: immune system equivalent to wet toilet paper
relatively: counting mental health
winter: ha - I've worn my winter coat a total of six days over the past four months

...and we're back)

It was only natural that I'd miss a day of work. I didn't think, however, that my day would consist of completing research I was assigned at 4:30 pm yesterday, finishing off the (overcooked) brownies I made two days ago, and eating pickles out of a jar. While the last two points are how I'd like to spend all of my days, I need to work on convincing my parents, and any potential suitors, that that counts as an acceptable lifestyle.

You'd Never Guess She Skipped a Grade

Conversation with my sister in the grocery store today:

Me: Ooo! Look at all the candy for Valentine's Day!

Little One: NICE! Is this for Halloween?!

O, Little One. One day you'll learn to tell the months apart.

Cynicism At Its Finest

Over the weekend, I went to an r&b and hip-hop event at one of the city's handful of nightlife-y venues. It was my first time visiting this particular spot, and I tried to keep an open mind. Tried being the operative word. Some observations:

1. (Fake) straight-haired girls standing around in the bathroom act like they've never seen curly hair before. Please, like you don't wake up looking like this.
2. The average age of hip-hop party goers is roughly ten years younger than those at any other event.
3. Wearing a faux fur-lined, puffy parka inside is now acceptable and actually encouraged by others.
4. After her 'comeback,' Britney Spears is apparently now an r&b recording artist.
5. I might be too old for events that start after 10 pm.

I don't get nearly enough good music in my life at other activities (Ha! Got you! As if I go anywhere!), so I reckon I'll continue to go to these once-a-month nights. See you next month with even more obnoxious commentary and hopefully incriminating photos.

Gold Star

What ever happened to the 'gold star' system? I can think of several things I've done over the past couple of days that are gold star-worthy. For example:

• I finished the book I was reading last night. BOOM - gold star
• I sent out the only e-mail I needed to send this morning. BOOM - gold star
• I made today's lunch last night so I could get a few more minutes sleep this morning. BOOM - gold star
• I finally put away the pile of clothes that was slowly taking over my room. BOOM - gold star
• I let numerous pedestrians cross the street in front of me while driving. BOOM - gold star
• I didn't complain like I usually do when my mother and sister wanted to watch Iron Chef last night. BOOM - gold star
  

These are just the things on the top of my head. Think of the possibilities! Now if I could only find a way to convert these gold stars into cold, hard cash...

With Conversations Like This...

Over e-mail...

Me: Almost had major spillage disaster!

More Positive Than Your Average Bear: Ooooh! Recovered in time i hope?!

Me: Yes, thankfully. Drinking tea out of a travel mug, and I hit it by accident. Wobbled for what felt like the longest two seconds of my life before coming to a rest.

More Positive Than Your Average Bear: Yipes! Close call!

Is there really any need to state the degree to which it warms my heart to see others using 'yipes'? Also, at times like this, I can't help but wonder how much more productive I could be at my job without needless conversations like the one above. The more thought I give to the matter though, the more I come up with this conclusion: not that much more.

Money Maker

Lately, I've been spending money faster than I can make it. I see only two solutions to this problem:

1. Make more money.
2. Find a sugar daddy (or mommy).

At this point, either option is welcome. I'll be accepting applications for the latter starting now.

Mental Math

Let's assume that the average age in my office is 35. Let's also assume that everyone in this office has been using the restroom independently since age three. I'm a social science major, but I'm pretty sure this means people would have had 32 years to master the art of aiming. It would seem, however, that I've never been more wrong.