Questionable Music Choices
August 26, 2008
Remember in middle school and high school, you’d go to school dances and get so excited about every song you were already tired of hearing on the radio. You’d grab the closest friend you could reach and you’d jump up and down and then finally hit a groove that was acceptable for 1997. Let’s just not mention the time when an unnamed young lady requested a Hanson song only to find herself to be one of two young ladies dancing. Mr. DJ cut that song a bit short.
But it doesn’t change. Just because we’re out of school doesn’t mean we’ve grown up. We go to the bar and circle up, invisibly clutching to each other. And then that song comes on—the one you didn’t realize you liked so much until there were people watching—and you grab the first person you can find and you hit a groove that’s acceptable for someone who’s had one too many beers.
We’re just big kids.
Greetings from Blogistan
August 19, 2008
Over the course of my day, I run across a lot of blogs; I become quite fond of some of them. One is Shmitten Kitten, written by two girls in Philadelphia who blog about boys’n’stuff. Anna wrote a lovely post on Monday to discuss the boys we pine after. In her case, the young Michael J. Fox was the choice for unrequited love/lust/crushitude and hell, with all those sweater vests, who can blame her.
When it comes down to it, I have to give her serious props for saying what I’ve never been able to describe in 21st Century terms:
“If I run into him, I get all fluttery and nervous. When I hear his voice, my heart does cartwheels. Every glance he sends me across the room feels like a little present. And, when I see him with his girlfriend, I let out a heavy sigh. Ok, this all sounds pretty emo. But, the point is, I will sit on the sidelines waiting for him and his lady to break-up so that maybe, just MAYBE, I can have a go at him. When he changes his status from “In a relationship” to “single,” I throw myself a little party and high-five everyone in my immediate vicinity.”
What guy wouldn’t want someone there to carry the torch? Yet, these lucky torch-worthy guys…do they even have a clue of what’s right there in front of them, having heart palpitations and praying to Cupid?
Anyway. Anna made me feel good about my long history of unrequited loves.
And, you? Don’t cut your hair. I know I don’t get a vote. I don’t care. I like it long and bedhead-like.
More Olympic-sized beef
August 17, 2008
We’ve basically had NBC on all week at my place. And when you have the Olympics on all day every day (okay, just all night every night), you start to get a little exhausted by the commentary. Dara Torres: we know she’s 41. People can’t seem to say her name without saying her age in the same sentence. Michael Phelps: For the love of god, there are other athletes out there. I want to know more about the guy who threw down his bronze medal in protest of the scoring system (For wrestling, I think? Weight lifting? One of those W sports.) We only got to see a 5 second clip about him. What about the team that got disqualified in the women’s medley relay tonight? What happened there? There’s so much going on that we’re not hearing about because it’s not America, or it’s not Michael Phelps, or it’s not a feel-good story.
My favorite part of the Olympics so far? Watching the men’s 100m race. I didn’t care that it wasn’t live; it was great to see three athletes be so proud of their medals. They were each ecstatic and I couldn’t help but be happy for them. So many people dream of going to the Olympics but never get there. I don’t like seeing when silver and bronze medal winners seem upset or bitter. You know, someone would kill to have that third or second spot on the podium. There’s no shame in being a runner-up in competition like this.
August 15, 2008
It’s something when the woman who once asked you if you had gained weight asks you if you lost some. Yeah, you say, about 15 lbs. Running in the heat will do that to you. So will a divorce.
It’s something when you discover that you aren’t quite so self-conscious about your body. It is what it is.
And when you come to terms with the fact that you’re the awkward tall girl with the hips that showed up at age 21…well that’s something.
Scarves and Caps and Sweaters
August 12, 2008
I suspect that my neighbors may never get used to my fashion choices, no matter the season, sport, or occasion.
August 9, 2008
A few of us have been sitting around all night with Thai takeout and a very fuzzy broadcast of the Olympics. We have determined that we have the following issues (in no particular order) with this year’s games:
1. Michael Phelps shaved his head. We’re quite aware he wants to be quick and stealthy in the water, but hello, put on a cap of whatever sort swimmers wear. We like you mostly undressed and with a full head of beautiful hair, not mostly undressed and shaved like you just got drafted. 1b. Shaving the goatee, however? Wise choice, Michael Phelps.
2. NBC, you need to take some Adderall. We want to watch a sport–any sport–for more than ten minutes at a time. Please don’t skip from men’s gymnastics to women’s volleyball in thirty seconds. Just let us watch.
3. The sob stories. They need to go. They are making us feel lazy. We want to watch some sports. SPORTS.
4. Olympians. Why don’t they compete naked anymore? That would make things a lot more interesting.
5. Olympic-themed porn. After extensive research, this seems to be an untapped genre. Someone should work on this. We’ve even come up with a few titles. ”Olymp-pimps” is a much better title than “O-Lymp-Dick,” which would be an interesting commercial for erectile dysfunction.
6. LIES. NBC was all like “Michael Phelps, live, Saturday night” and we all planned to stay home and watch. But NBC also failed to mention that Michael Phelps would not be swimming until 10 p.m. We were quite disappointed when we found out we’d be waiting around for two hours. Luckily we had other things to discuss, like men, and dating, and…men.
I’m sure we’ll add to this list again soon, but not until after we glue ourselves to the tv to watch Michael Phelps because he is apparently the biggest sports star we’ve ever cared about.
Five minutes later: See, told you I’d be back. Someone in the room just uttered this priceless quote as we watched Phelpsie get interviewed by the pool–
“If he wasn’t famous, and he was just some random guy, would you care? No, you’d be like ‘who’s this weird looking kid, and why is he in my way?””
File under “huh?”
August 8, 2008
I was reading Jossip the other day and decided I have beef with their advertisers. Or, just one- American Eagle Outfitters. They didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just that every now and then my common sense finally shows itself.
Look at this girl:
She’s all ski-bunny’d up with her hat, sweater, other sweater, and thigh-high socks. Oh, and her underwear. I understand that we’re trying to sell underwear here, but there are about 800 other ways to do it. She just looks like perhaps her pants got wet in the show and she’s stuck waiting for them to come out of the dryer. Or maybe she went home to visit her parents for winter break and forgot to take pants (don’t doubt it–it’s happened).
All I know is that if I were a ski bunny, I’d be a lot warmer if I had some pants.
Obligatory Late-Night Post
August 6, 2008
Listening to “Grapevine Fires” by Death Cab for Cutie is a great way to end the night, but it doesn’t help to solve the equation you’re trying to solve in your head as you’re laying there.
2:40. That’s when the song hits me and my memories start to play in my head like a movie trailer.
I’m so afraid I’ll forget all my favorite parts. For now I’ll just let people ask me what I’m smiling about, and I’ll just shake my head.
Going for Broke
August 5, 2008
You know that reality show with Ashley Paige where she makes funky swimsuits and makes money just fine but spends it all on her pets and doesn’t have any left for rent? I know you do, because like me, I’m sure you hang around all day flipping through channels wearing those clothes you don’t leave the house in.
Anyway, I had to take the Great and Powerful Cat to the vet tonight. I’m okay with getting orange and white hair all over my black shirt because I had to hold the cat down while he got his daggers of doom clipped. I’m used to him looking at me with his big green pleading eyes while he gets shots in his hips, which could stand to lose a few pounds. Sure, I’ll get him special food so he doesn’t eat his way to diabeetus.
But his teeth? Of all things, his teeth? My big creamsicle needs to have his teeth cleaned and x-rayed and might need to get a couple pulled while he’s under anesthesia for the cleaning. The vet gave me a very detailed description of what it’s all going to be like and why it needs to be done, but the question stood out in my mind: How much was it going to cost?
More than I was hoping, that’s how much.
I have so much hell to pay–student loans, credit card bills, lawyer fees. I’m on my own, but I’m in over my head due to various unusual circumstances. Hearing how much I’d be shelling out of my empty pockets for cat surgery was enough to make me cry all the way home in the car. And it’s not a terrible amount. But when you have circumstances, it’s a lot.
Maybe the cat needs me, but I think I need him more. It’s a terribly spinster thing to say, but it’s true. He was the last gift I got before I moved out on my own. I was there the day he was born, and he used to ride around my in-law’s house in my hoodie kangaroo pockets. Kitten went home to mom’s for the summer and got big, but he was my motivation for the whole summer. I had to make it on my own. I had to get him back. If I could take care of him, I’d be fine.
Now that I have him back and I can usually put myself in the “fine” category, I’m faced with this. A huge chunk of money to pay for the health of a cat. But there’s no question. He’s in pain. He needs me.
There are plenty of fish in the sea, but in their absence, having a giant creamsicle cat to be your inside spoon is a great comfort. I need him.
I might be living off instant noodles and pb&j for the next few months, but it’ll be worth it. Who cares if they all think I’m a crazy cat lady.