PDV: It's Serious

Some of you are aware of my aversion to PDA, or, Public Displays of Affection.  I think it’s a little rude.  I get the whole, “we’re so in love, we just want to be together and it’s so romantic” thing.  But I also get the thing where you’re on the subway and there are two people going at it who, should you see them separately, you might think “Yikes!”  or even, “Buzz!  You’re girlfriend!  Wolf!”  And when you see them together, it’s on a whole other plane.  Also, as BF will tell you, I have often said that people who hug or kiss or are too wrapped up in each other on subway platforms are easy targets for muggers, or stabbers, or the random rager who needs to push someone onto the rail.  I vow that I will never be that person (the PDA victim, not the pusher—I’ve come too close too many times to make that vow).

But today I would like to discuss a different public display: PDV  That is, Public Displays of Vanity.  Let me start off by saying that I’m not exactly averse to them—other people can engage as much as they want.  But I never will, and I will laugh at you when you do.  And you know how much my opinion counts for in this world.

First let me define the term PDV, though I’m sure you all know what I’m talking about.  The woman putting her make up on in the subway car.  The guy doubling back to fix his hair in the store window.  The gaggle of girls in the bar taking photos of themselves from above.  Or worse, in the sketchy bathroom mirror, because they were washing their hands and were just like, “Daaamn, I’m looking fine tonight and the contrast between my hotness and the sliminess of this bathroom just makes me look even more like a slumming goddess.”  Those are PDVs.  PDVs are also prevalent on Facebook.  Actually, the more I think about it, the more I theorize that Facebook was created solely for teenagers and twenty-somethings to finally have a public forum to discuss their mutual hotness and post 4,000 photos to “prove” it.  Captions like “sexay ladiessss” are a clue that you are witnessing a PDV.

So now that we’ve defined the transgression, let’s look at why it should be avoided.  The first, and really the only important, reason I can think of is: Sometimes you are wrong.  Sometimes your mother lies to you.  It’s a harsh reality, but sometimes, you’re not pretty.  And sometimes you are pretty, but you’re just having a bad day.

Ok,  you may think, big deal.  So non-sexy people think they are all that and a bag of Jelly Bellies.  Is there any harm in that?  Answer: no, there is not.  That’s why I said other people can engage, but I never will.  Because what if, you stopped to check yourself out in a car window and thought you looked like this:

But in reality, you looked like this:

While you’d never know the embarrassment, it would nevertheless be a little embarrassing to think so highly of yourself.

So what’s the moral here?  Well, there isn’t one.  This is my blog, people, not the New York Times.  Sometimes I just like to write about things that don’t matter.  But here’s what I take from this: PDV is an epidemic that can be spread through contact with those already infected with PDV, or by spending too much time in rooms with mirrors.  Remember the story of Narcissus.  Remember also: the most beautiful woman in the world isn’t as sexy if she knows it and expects others to as well.

Have confidence, my peeps.  We are all beautiful and yadda yadda.  But sometimes, it’s ok to let your beauty be understated, not shouted from rooftops and put on display and photographed for progeny and perspective employers.  Don’t hide your light under a bushel, no!  But no need shine it in people’s faces either.

Greatest Hits #2

I'm back!  Been a crazy month.  Maybe adult life is busier than I always thought.  Or maybe I'm just a bum...I'll examine that later.  For right now, I'm content to (finally) post my greatest hits, aka my favorite photos from the last 6 months of my POD project.  Thanks for being even mildly interested!

6/2/2011--He danced by himself for a $3 margarita.

6/4/2011--I like this one because I don't know if the photographer even got the switch.

6/19--Parents visit NY.  I feel like you might see a little girl look at a little boy like this on a greeting card.

6/23--Random gorgeous ceiling I spotted through a window

6/26/2011--Flowers in Inwood Park

7/2/2011--Beach on Long Island.

7/13/2011--Drippy faucet

7/19/2011--Stiletto

8/10/2011--Sad clown : (

8/17/2011--Sun above the clouds on Vermilyea Ave.

8/28/2011--Spiderweb at home.

9/2/2011--Luna Park at Coney Island

9/5/2011--Inside of a thrift store vase.

9/18/2011--Another sky.  Well, same sky, different day.

10/11/2011--Night scene at the Empire State Building

10/16/2011--Vinyl.

10/26/2011--Flower.

11/15/2011--Clock tower.  This was taken with the color setting.

11/18/2011--Forced perspective

11/8/2011--This was earlier, but it wouldn't upload.  The view from my new window.

 

Greatest Hits

As promised, I am uploading my fave photos from my 365 challenge.  They're not all good, but I like 'em for different reasons.  Hope you do too!

11/18/2011--Day one, on the way to Megan's bridal shower

12/2/2011--I will use this for a Christmas card one day

12/15/2011--The first time I mastered the concept of creating a dark background

2/4/2012--Parking garage stairs

2/11/2012--Emily, with the help of a lamp and a red scarf (but not Photoshop!)

2/15/2012--Valentine's day spirit

2/18/2012--Bridge arches

2/21/2012--Experiments with manual focus

2/23/2012--A scene from NYC.  I like to imagine these girls are models.

3/12/2012--Scene from Meg's wedding.  Wish the lady would've moved out of the shot.

3/15/2012--Getting comfortable with human models

3/28/2012--Trip to Nashville.

4/19/2012--Grand Central

4/26/2012--Might be my favorite shot of the whole year.

5/11/2012--Yankee Stadium train station

5/15/2012--Shot on the way to church

5/30/2012--I just like the vibrant colors in this one.

So, that takes us through the first six months of favorites!  I have a lot of favorite photos from the year, but they're not all photographically good.  Snaps from Nashville and Vegas, for instance, that have great memories, but the composition/lighting/facial expressions are off.  The ones above definitely aren't perfect, but I like them for what they taught me or how they came out.

Stay tuned for the next last six months!  Thanks!

Finished

You probably don't remember (because I've been horrible about updating) but for the past while, I've been working on a project I dubbed "P.O.D" or Photo-of-the-Day.  My goal was to take one photo every day for a full year.

Well, this past Friday, November 18 was the last day of my challenge.  I spent 365 days attempting to teach myself photography.  I carried my (quite heavy) camera with me everywhere and constant viewed the world as though through a camera lens, looking for that day's photo.

On the one hand, it sucked.  Some days just weren't interesting.  Today for example, I spent most of the day doing chores.  But I had to carve out some time to take something.  It was quite stressful!

On the other hand, it was awesome.  I set a goal and, for the most part, I kept it.  Granted, there were a few days I forgot (and somehow, there are about 10 days worth of photos that I managed to delete before uploading to my camera.  This is extremely sad for me, and I kick myself that I will never know what I took on those days).  But somewhere between 339 and 349 (assuming I didn't forget any of those lost 10 days) days this year, I took a photo.  I guess if I forgot everyone of those lost days, I would have missed 26 days.  Which I still feel isn't horrible.  But I'm going to assume that I only missed 16 to 20.  Which I don't think is so bad.

Some of the photos I took were trash.  I left my batteries at home until after midnight, I worked a double shift at Unos and didn't have the energy to craft an artistic shot when I got home at 11pm.  But some of the photos I got were great.  I truly feel that I know so much more about photography now than I did a year ago.  I know about f-stops and apertures.  I know the settings I need to capture illusive colors and lighting.  I can take a great cloud shot.  And I remember to bring my camera. 

One of the reasons I started the project was because I felt I never took photos to remember my experiences.  To some extent, I still feel that way.  In the past few weeks I went "out" with friends 3 or 4 times--and have photos of none of them.  But I have photos of my first apartment in New York, my second apartment, trips to Vegas, NC and Nashville, and a couple nights out in Frederick.

What I learned about that is I will never be what I call a "camera whore."  I don't take a million photos of my Saturday nights, when they are exactly the same each week.  I will never upload 200 photos to Facebook an hour after they are taken.  I also will probably not remember distinctly a lot of good times.  But you know what?  Having photographic evidence isn't what friends and parties and weddings and birthdays are about.  They're about having fun with the people you love, and enjoying life as it comes, rather than being worried about documenting it to remember later.  You can't look at life only through a lens.  There needs to be a balance.  And this year has helped me to learn that.

I'm not going to upload every one of the 339 photos from the past year, as I originally meant to.  As I said, some of them are absolute crap.  Like my series of winter snowscapes that are blue tinted, because I hadn't yet learned that the "fluorescent" setting does that.  I will, however, give you a "greatest hits" and upload the ones that I'm especially proud of, or I just think are hilarious.  Because, taking photos that you don't share is silly!

It feels good to have finished this project.  I can't believe it's been a year.  I can't believe what has happened in the past year.  New jobs, cities, apartments, friends, roommates--this project took me through a lot of firsts.  There were boring days, as I said.  But the project took me through a lot of exciting times, and gave me a different perspective on a lot of new events.  And I am very proud of myself for, not only challenging myself, but seeing it through, even during this summer when I was so over it.  I "powered through," to quote myself.  And it feels really good.

Also what feels really good?  My shoulder, now that I don't have to lug my camera absolutely everywhere.

Special thanks to all who are featured in my year's worth of photos.  I think that includes almost everyone who reads this.  Thanks for being in my life and in my photos.

It's Friday, Friday, Gonna Get Down on Friday

Yay!  You're probably already aware, but it's Friday today!  You're probably not aware, but this has been a super long week for me (working three nights stinks).  So no one is happier than me that it is the end of the week!

I have had a lot of bouts of anger recently (read my food list below if you have trouble remembering), so I have been in the mood to have a lot of fun.  I have a lot of really cool friends, so I thought I'd plan a little outing to explore the nightlife in my new 'hood.  Unfortunately, all of my really cool friends are busy, so I'm stuck with the second string.  Haha, just kidding guys!

But really, a select group of us (ok, read: me, Andrew and Andrew's roommate) are going to a bar called Union Hall, which reportedly has a fireplace, library and indoor Bocce courts.  Plus, they have an underground music venue.  Sign me up!

Ordinarily, I would opt for a cozy movie night on Friday and going out on Saturday.  But as we recently discussed at Em&M's,  doing things on Friday night makes the weekend seem so much longer.  So I'm going to test that theory tonight.

Before that, I am making dinner for us three.  Homemade pizza it is, because as I mentioned, I worked three nights this week and don't have the stamina to stand in my kitchen for an hour cooking.  Ok, honestly?  I never have the stamina for that.  But I'm gettin' a little fancy at least--going for BBQ chicken and bacon pizzas!  No standard roni tonight!

Then tomorrow, I'm going couch shopping, attempting my dad's awesome crab soup and watching Harry Potter 7, Part 2!

By the way, were you all aware that part 2 had come out?  Andrew told me it was OnDemand last week and I was all "Say whaaa?"  And he told me that, apparently, it came out back in June, and he saw it (without me!) and we had a conversation about it, I guess.  I remembered none of this.  So I was like, "wow, that's a bummer."  But then I examined it deeper and realized I must actually live under a rock, or at least in a state of complete oblivion and total self-absorption.  And that did not make me feel good.

But I'll be feeling good tonight as I sip whiskey by a fireplace!  Holla!

Rage List

I think it's a well-known fact that I often get very angry at people and need an outlet (I call this stage being "rageous" or "rageousness."  Side note--why can you be "outrageous" but not "inrageous"? ).  This blog is often my outlet because, as I've said before, furiously typing is way more satisfying than exercise.  But since my sister pretty much has the rant blog market cornered, I'm going to not step on her toes and tone the rage down a bit.  Also, this is an effort to be a more stable human being and not spend 45% of my week fighting the urge to stab a random stranger in the neck with a clicky pen.

Thus, in my current stage of post-rageousness (in which the rage still exists but I am way to exhausted to do anything about it, but still kind of want to do something about it) I have decided to do what I do second-best and make a list.  But not a list of rants.  Instead, I am going to make a list about something that makes me happy in an effort to go to bed in a calm, rational, and possibly even content state of being.  And so, here is my Food List, because I think all of you know by now, food makes me very happy, which is why I often have some on my person, in my purse or tucked away in the pouch of my hoodie.  So here are some foods which are really making me happy this week:

1. Caramel corn--I talked about this in my last list.  My mom's caramel corn is the best I've ever had.  It is extremely difficult for me to stop eating and made me inordinately happy when she surprised me with it last weekend.  Thanks mom!
2. Crab soup--Maryland crab soup, but especially cream of crab.  I'd never eaten cream of crab soup before my sister's wedding rehearsal dinner.  Something about taking the cream from another thing kind of freaked me out.  And when you put it that way, it doesn't even seem irrational.  But at the dinner, I tried cream of crab and it was the best freaking thing.  I ate a huge bowl of if later that week at Philips, even though it was like 100 degrees outside.  And the other day I went to City Lobster with my bosses and ever since then, I've had a major jones for crab soup.  Going to attempt to make it this weekend.
3. Chinese food--my roommates and I found a Chinese take-out place around the corner.  Its a bit more expensive than my old Bronx take-out, but you can tell they use real chicken, and the good parts of the chicken too.  And even though it was a little over-fried, there was no niggling fear in my mind that this might actually be cat meat or pigeon.  So that's always good.
4. Mexican food--NOT!  I don't like Mexican food but my whole apartment smells like it (thanks roomie) which is making me decidedly unhappy, so I really shouldn't include it on this list, but I'm going to have horrible dreams of getting stuck in a south of the border jail or something, because I am going to sleep smelling guac and tacos.  Ack.
5. Caramel lattes--pretty much always make me happy.  I might have to get one tomorrow, because I have been craving one for a week, but have abstained due to my lack of fundage, convincing myself that the free Lipton tea in the pantry at work was an adequate substitute.  News flash people: IT'S NOT.  But I feel like I perhaps deserve one after my day today, and I always buy from DD now, not Starbucks, so I'm practically saving money, and helping to support a former employer.  Good times.
6. Pizza bread--this one just came to me.  It's been awhile since I made pizza bread, which is weird, because since I moved to NYC, I'd been making it about once a week because it is awesome and easy and good to pack in my lunch and every time I make it, Andrew is very complimentary and tells me how awesome it is and how good I am at making it, and even though I know how easy it is, that is still nice to hear.  So I'll probably make that this weekend, because I don't really know how to cook real food and will probably have to bail on the crab soup after I ruin the first batch and will need to have a Plan B in place.

So that's my list of happy foods!  Now I am very hungry but it is 11:30, so I will just have to go to bed and start over in the morning.  If anyone has any ideas for really easy dinners (preferably with five or fewer ingredients, bonus points if it only requires one pot!) please let me know!  Merci, mes amis!

100th Post!

This is my 100th post on the blog!!  Woop woop!  I wish I had realized how close I was getting so I could post a bunch and then have my 100th post on the one year mark.  But now we have two celebratory posts!  I'm not going to do a retrospective for this one because it was a lot of work, and I pretty much covered every single post in the last retrospective.  So I'm just going to say "100!  Holla!  Celebrate!" and then pretend that these two blog milestones is the reason I've been eating so much Halloween candy this week.

UPDATE:  Turns out, this is not my 100th post!  Whomp whomp.  While I have written 100 posts, I guess I have only posted 94.  Epic fail!  Now I have to think of a different reason for all my H-ween candy indulgence.  Something besides "lack of self control" which I suspect is the real cause...

Listography

For someone who loves making lists as much as I do, I have written surprisingly few in this blog. So I'm going to start writing more lists.  This week is going slowly and I'm tired and I had to move out of my first ever apartment.  But here is a list of the things that put me in a good mood despite all of that:

1. Sweater tights--I've never been a tights kind of girl, but sweater tights+boots+a cowl neck sweater=the coziest I have ever been not in pjs
2. My fantastic hair week--my short hair cut has finally grown out to the perfect length, and somehow, I've been really good at styling it the past few days
3.  Shopping with my sister
4.  Fools and Horses--specifically the new cds burned for me by Mike's brother, and in particular the song "Selfish."  I don't know if that's what it's really called, but that's what I call it and I really like jamming to it when I walk to the subway in the morning
5. My mom surprising me with homemade caramel corn
6. Friends that will take the train to help you move a heavy love seat down five floors on a moment's notice
7. My family--every time I visit Maryland it gets harder to come back to NY because I just love being around my family.  I love NY and it's where I need to be right now, but I'm kind of starting to count the years til I can move home.  That's something I never would've thought I'd say, if you asked me 4 years ago.

**Addition**
8.  I would also like to add the little boy on the corner of Isham and Vermilyea in the big boots and fuzzy ear flap hat who did the running-man dance right in front of me.  Remembering that still makes me smile, even 4 days later.

Blog Anniversaire

No, I didn't spell anniversary wrong.  That is the French word for birthday, and when you say "Happy Birthday" in French, you say "Bon Anniversaire."  That is why my "Blog Anniversaire" works.  For all y'all who don't speak French as masterfully as I do.

Anyway, this is the one year anniversary of BWBA!  Can you believe it? One year ago today, I was sitting on my parents couch in front of the tv, starting a blog on one of my (rare) days off from Unos!  Oh how far we have come since then!  My blog has exploded and now reaches TEN readers in TWO states (plus Ohio)!  With the occasional heckler from overseas, of course.  I never would have thought my blog would be such a success when I started writing that day on the couch.  Thank you readers!

Looking back on The First Year of My Blog, I realize it has been a great one.  I've gone from 40 hours a week at Unos, to 25 hours a week at Unos, to 40 hours a week at McGraw-Hill and 7 hours a week at Unos, to 40 hours a week at McGraw-Hill and no hours a week at Unos, to 40 hours a week at McGraw-Hill and 9 hours a week at Shockra Studio.  What I take away from this is: in the past year I have stopped working at Uno's!  Success!

Also in the past year, I have lived in three different abodes: my parent's casa, my first NYC apartment in cruddy Inwood all by my big-girl self, to a brand-spanking-new three bedroom apartment with two roommates in fabulous Park Slope!

And I have had some fabulous times.  There were fun concerts, and homages paid to both Captain Morgan and Jim Beam.  I traveled to Sin City, Boring City and Country Music City (and nearly starved there).  I bought tickets for my next big adventure.  I started and failed multiple projects.

My best friend got married to a pretty cool dude.

I had good moods.

And I had bad moods (and I made you hear about them all).

I survived infestations and plagues.

I started freelancing.

I fell off a bar stool.

I made new friends

I made many a cupcake

I spent wonderful holidays with ma fam.

I ranted

I raved.

I found my attitude.

And I spent wonderful times with you, dear readers!

Thank you for reading my blog where I basically just write ridiculous things.  Thank you for supporting me in my pursuit of being me!  Thank you for being awesome!

I love all of you.  All ten of you.

Stayed tuned for another year of ridiculous observations and sterling advice.

Today Sucks

Now you guys know how much I hate to complain (haha, see how funny I am?), and I am not one to write cryptically negative Facebook statuses (unless I am making fun of someone).  So that is exactly why I created this blog--to have a place not to complain.  So here is me not complaining about how much today sucks:

TODAY SUCKS A LOT.

What Happens When You Are Poor

When you are poor, you often need to work two jobs.
When you work two jobs, you sometimes need to work late.
When you work late, you don't usually have time to cook dinner.
When you don't cook dinner, you have nothing left over for lunch.
When you have nothing left over for lunch, you need to purchase lunch.
When you are poor and have to purchase lunch, sometimes fast food is all you get.
When you eat fast food, you usually end up feeling like that woman who vomited on my foot on a cruise.
Which looks like this:

 Trust me, I know this from experience.

Frighteningly Played, Apple

So the iPhone 4S has been out for approximately 72 hours and already there are numerous web pages devoted to all of the funny things that Siri, the personal assistant software, says.  At first I was like, wow, Siri sounds really cool!  How convenient would it be to ask something a question and actually get a prompt, correct response (after 6 months in the professional world, my expectations of the competence and correctness of others is severely diminished)?  No longer is the entire body of knowledge of the internet at your finger tips!  Now it is on the tip of your tongue.  I thought this was a huge leap forward.

And then I realized, no.  My co-worker (who bought the phone on the day it came out) showed me this:

Many people, including my coworker, thought this was hilarious.  I was amused and amazed until I realized: this phone knows where to hide a dead body.  Is that really knowledge we want our phones to have?  I mean, what happens in five years when technology goes all Rise of the Machines?  When our computers take over, won't we regret having outfitted them with the knowledge of where to dispose of our weak human bodies?  I mean, they already know how to give use terminal illnesses. 

I thought about getting an iPhone 4S.  But this Siri chick scares me a bit.  I sleep with my phone charging on my night table.  I can totally imagine waking up in the middle of the night to Siri whispering to me awful things about humanity's enslavement of technology and making random threats about abandoned mine shafts.  I give props to Apple for this leap forward, but I will also hold them 100% responsible for the first human death-by-smartphone.

Sensitivity Training

It has recently been brought to my attention that I can be a tad "insensitive" on this blog.  Something about having sympathy for others or some junk like that.

I maintain that if I am insensitive (ok, I am, I admit it) on this blog, it is because in real life I'm something of a bleeding heart.

But, in order to prove that I am working on becoming more "sensitive" (or, if I was male, "in touch with my feminine side") I have put together the following presentation in sensitivity.  Basically, I've just collected a bunch of things that make your heart melt and written comments of a sensitive nature.  You'll notice that I do not use any synonyms for "sensitive" which is essentially because I am not familiar enough with the word to be able to pick out any other similar ones.

And so we commence with my sensitivity training:

My icy heart is beginning to thaw

I would totally help this old man across the street

Heart warming....

Yes, diving face first into a slip 'n' slide may have been a bad idea.  But it is not this poor little girl's fault. We shouldn't laugh at those with poor coordination.  Also, my first reaction to this photo was NOT laughter (ok, perhaps a giggle.  I'm not through the training yet!)

I blame the public school system, but certainly not her.

Heart melted

So let's see if this worked.  Is my favorite YouTube video 2.5 minutes of little kids falling down?  No.  If I hear someone say "This is how you look like" will my eye twitch as my fist curls up to punch them in the face?  I don't think so.  Do I suddenly feel like it want to cry?  Yes.

ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?

Spotted: Something Horrible.

Yesterday I was walking down Park Ave, minding my own business, running a little late for work because I had to stop at Duane Reade for some Darrell Lea Australian licorice.  Yes, I had to.  Because it is wonderful and reminds me of those times in Australia when I went to Bi Lo and got a bag of licorice and a baguette and had the most wonderful dinner ever.  Who said I can't cook?  Plus, the bag I happened pick from Duane Reade must have been fresh off the line, because it was the softest most delicious Darrell Lea licorice I have ever had, and Darrell Lea is already the softest and most delicious licorice ever, so it was DOUBLE GOOD.  You all need to go get some.  Stat.  Hell, I need to go get some more.  I'm all in a frenzy about this licorice now.

Deep breath.  Ok, I feel like that paragraph kind of sums up my personality.  I should examine this at another time.  But not right now, because I have to get back to my story.

So, I was walking down Park Ave, minding my own business, a little late for work, itching to rip open my bag of licorice, and generally not imposing in a negative way on anyone else's existence. 

When suddenly.  SUDDENLY.  I passed a store window and saw this.  Well, not this exactly, because I didn't take a picture of the storefront, so I just had to find a picture of the product on its own.  But anyway, I saw this product (and that's the most accurate adjective I can think to use for it) chilling next to other products of a much less offensive and conspicuous nature.  So they, of course, served to direct your eye to THIS:

Ok, everyone ready?  Take a deep breath....and all together now: "WHAT THE EFFF?"*

Yes, this is a sequined UGG boot.  But not just that, this is a PURPLE SEQUINED UGG BOOT.  Aren't the original UGGs bad enough?  Aren't entirely sequined items of clothing bad enough (except for dresses, Ann)?  Must we really put them together?

I think not.  In the world as it is today--crazy, dangerous, at times ugly--do we really need to add one more hideous thing?  Can't we dedicate the next few years to creating beautiful things, to keep our minds off the fact that the world is friggin nuts?  And most importantly, can we dedicate the next few years to creating things that do not make me want to poke my eyes out like that guy at the church did recently?

I am not Australian, nor will I ever be, but these boots almost...almost...make me ashamed to have spent four months there.

Harsh?  Perhaps.  But you know what else is harsh?  The effect these boots had on my licorice-induced mellow yesterday  (just realized: one Australian product totally pushed me off my other-Australian-product-induced cloud.  That's like, way deep).  You know what else is harsh?  The glare I bet comes off these babies in the mid-afternoon sunshine.  I swear, the first time I see an actual person wearing these, I'm going to push them off the sidewalk.  Hopefully into a big pile of mud.  Muh-wah-ha-ha-ha-ha! (That's my phoenetic spelling of an evil laugh)

*Editorial note:  I considered just writing "WTF??" but realized, nobody says "dubba-you tee eff!" the letters.  They only write it.  Don't lie, when you see this "wtf"  you say in your mind "wha-the-ffff?"

Am I right?

What Do Real People Do?

Ann and I used to joke when we were in college that we couldn't wait to be real adults with full-time jobs because real adults must have so much extra time on their hands.  Think about it--you only have one (sometimes two) jobs, and some jobs don't even require taking work home!  When you're young, single and childless, what do you do when you come home from work and don't have four other jobs for which you need to read and write papers?  You're only responsibilities are those to yourself--feeding yourself, cleaning your space, seeing people only when you want to see them.  It must be glorious, we thought!

Deep down, I had a sneaking suspicion that we were and wrong and that, somehow, all those empty hours would get filled up.

Since I have become a real adult--in the last six months--I have found a case for both arguments.  Every once in a while, things will align in just the right way so that my non-working hours are a frenzy and the hours I spend at my desk begging my bosses for work become a peaceful oasis.  The last two weeks, for example, I have had freelance articles due, apartments to go see, out of town friends to dine with.  Last week I didn't get home before 11pm any night until Friday.  It was exhausting.

Other times, my nights stretch endlessly in back-to-back marathons of How I Met Your Mother.  This week I have no articles to write (well, I should, but I am boycotting until they post my already-submitted ones), I have no plans to view apartments and, while my dad is coming to visit this weekend, a cursory wipe-down of the apartment on Thursday should be enough.

Yesterday, I got back from Pennsylvania around noon and was immediately productive--I went to the grocery store for beef stew ingredients and Rite Aid for shampoo that I keep forgetting to buy.  I made said stew.  I did a whole load of laundry in the laundromat.  I paid my credit card bill.  I ironed a bunch of clothes.

And at around 3:30pm, I had run out of things to do.  Dinner for the next two nights was made.  The only laundry left was a couple of towels.  Cleaning the apartment on Sunday is useless, as it would just get dusty again by Friday.

I was faced with 5 hours of absolutely nothing to do.  Some would light a candle, take a bath and relish this.  I've always been more of a "I'd rather be too busy than too idle" kind of person and, besides, even though I've been living in my apartment for 4 months, I still can't handle the thought of taking a bath in a tub that was used by others, or even, truthfully, stepping on the area of the shower floor that is not covered by my shower mat.  I don't know where these neuroses come from, but they're there just the same.

So I didn't take a bath.  Instead, I finished watching all of the episodes of HIMYM that I hadn't seen, checked gmail about 900 times, baked sugar cookies (from a mix), explored some new music on YouTube and even watched Twilight.  I'd seen the Twilight Saga movies before and read the books.  I detest the movies.  You all know how I feel about angst (or you should, because I talk about it regularly) and I have yet to see an angstier film.  Plus all the vampires look super creepy, but not because they are vampires, but because you can tell they are wearing white make-up and Robert Pattinson/ Edward Cullen's eyes are way too far apart and his forehead-to-nose joining is the equivalent of a facial cankle--that is, there is no discernible difference between his hairline and his nasal appendage.  Check it out--it's unnatural.

Anyway, I watched Twilight, and that is when I knew something was wrong.  And I needed more of a life.  Or at least more motivation to do things that resemble a life.  Like jogging or writing a novel or at least having a friend with which to watch Twilight and critique schnozi (that's the plural of 'schnoz').

Thus, I have decided (in one of those cyclical periods during which I decide to "improve myself" and then ultimately fail by neither reading the paper nor writing anything for weeks at a time) to take up some semblance of a hobby.  It could be anything--knitting, jogging, making things out of macaroni.  As long as it's not jogging.  Just something to pass the time but which actually produces something, as opposed to watching television, which just produces cellulite.

Your suggestions/advisement/direction is appreciated.

Small Victories

You know what really gives you the confidence to face a sleepy Monday morning?  Picking on something smaller than you.

Sometimes pushing a snotty child around will do the trick when you're in a really bad mood.  And you're a sociopath.  That's not what I did this morning.

No, this morning I Raid-ed the crap out of another cockroach.  I know, I know, I've been writing a lot about my vermin problems--almost exclusively lately.  I know this must be gross for you.  But it has become a trend.  And I promise it will soon stop.  But the reason I write about it is because it is a big, disgusting deal for me, and writing often helps me process my emotions--including revulsion, disgust and gag-acity.

But, as I said, this will soon cease, as, I hope, my emotional turmoil at the sight of a mouse/roach/spider will soon abate.  I am making progress.

This morning, I walked into my bathroom to find, not the mutant-roach of two weeks ago, but a little baby roach crawling on my sink.  Roaches are always gross, keep in mind, no matter the size.

I did not shreik.  I did not gag.  I did not hysterically call Andrew and half-seriously ask him to come over and kill it for me.  I did none of these things.  Instead, I picked up the hairbrush near which is was crawling, walked out of my bathroom sighing "sonuvabitch" and headed to the kitchen to find my Raid.

Yes, that is right!  Just a sigh of resignation and the actual memory that I possessed roach spray.  Last time, I needed to be gently reminded that I had killer foam and did not need to tape a plastic cup (of which I have none) to the wall in order to suffocate the bastard.

Halfway through the living room, I recalled that I now keep my Raid on the shower ledge.  This may be a bit yucky, but my two roaches have both been in the bathroom and, as that is the closest room to the front door through which I am convinced these roaches scuttle, it seems to make sense.

Back into the bathroom I headed, and grabbed that Raid.  I may or may not have spun it around my finger, and crouched, one hand flat and blade-like by my ear, the other hand extended, lethal spray in hand.

Truth: I may not have done that.

Instead, I grabbed the can, directed the nozzle at the offensive little interloper and let loose a spray of foam forceful enough to knock the bugger off the sink and into my trash can.

How convenient!  I continued to spray until the toilet paper rolls and tissues in the can were a soggy mess, then reach downed and tied the back tight, gripped it in two finger tips and set the bag, and roach out in the hall from whence it came.  On my way to work, I flung that shizz in the garbage room outside.

And that is what happened.  In recap, here is what didn't happen: screaming, shrieking, crying, panicking, hyperventilating, hysterical-dialing, fainting, retching, shivering or rocking back and forth in the corner until someone else came to take care of it.

NBD.  I'm a New Yorker, y'all.  That's how we roll.

Plagues

Mice...

A Roach of Mutant Proportions...

I'm checking my toilet for snakes every single time between now and when I move.

New Recurring Segment

I think it's safe to say, I'm not good at keeping up with recurring topics.  The shout-out of the week died a slow painful death approximately one month after I introduced it, and the photo of the day--let's face it, we all knew that was never going to get very far.  But I've finally thought of an easy one that will be quick to do, and for which there is plenty of fodder.  I'm calling it "I Judge You (Harshly) Based on the Content of Your Facebook Status."  Ok, the name is a work in progress, but I only just thought of this topic a few minutes ago when I read the following post from a high school acquaintance who now has a young son:

"Just got my baby a potty. He is a big boy now!! #proudmom"

Ok, I don't think it's ever really appropriate to discuss bathroom-related issues on Facebook.  Call me old-fashioned.  I especially don't think it's appropriate to discuss bathroom issues as they relate to people who can't yet go to the bathroom like a real person--I mean, give the kid some privacy.  I also think too much discussion of your children on facebook is disturbing--what are your children doing while you update your Facebook status every two minutes?  Yeah, your kid is cute when they get mashed potatoes all over their face at dinner.  But instead of taking a picture of it and immediately uploading it to Facebook, why don't you take a washcloth and clean the kid up?  How much time does that baby spend in a playpen so you can fill the interwebs with the mundane details of your young parenthood?  Because, let's face it--if you have a potty-training age son and a frequently updated Facebook page, you might be too young to have kids.

At least, in my opinion.

Really?

I am not what you would call "lucky."  Don't get me wrong, I've got a pretty great life, terrific friends and a family that I like most of the time (just kidding--all the time!).  But my life is not charmed.  Other people just seem to walk in the light--win $1,000 in the lottery, go to a bar the exact night Jay-Z is there and chats him up, or just generally gets through life with little thought about what could go wrong.

I am not that person.  I have never won more than $100 in the lottery (and I maintain that was only because Andrew was there--I've never won even a dollar on my own), the only person I've ever seen in a bar was that guy from that movie, and, though I often worry more than necessary, I'm beginning to think that worry stems from conditioning, and the repeated examples of how whenever one messy situation clears up in my life, another immediately opens.  There's a reason you've never heard of the "Luck o' the Norwegians."  Though we can hold our own against the Irish when it comes to imbibing, we descendants of the Vikings do not hail from the golden land of frolicking leprechauns, pots of gold and rainbows.

Case in point--I spent ten months worrying about getting a job.  I finally did.  I then spent the next 4 months searching for a second part-time job.  I worried a lot about this, because it is kind of necessary for me to actually live in New York City with any kind of solvency.  In the past 4 months, I have applied to many a CraigsList ad, had about 4 or 5 interviews and spent everyday searching for jobs, babysitting gigs or freelance editorial work.

Two weeks ago, I scored a recurring editorial gig.  Last week I finally got a part time job with a pretty decent schedule (Tuesday and Wednesday nights at an alternative dance studio, where I will get to take free classes).

So what could be wrong now?  Well, I have a mouse infestation.  In the past two weeks, I have caught THREE MICE.  This is seriously distressing for me, because I hate vermin of all persuasions, classifications, species and breeds.  Luckily, Andrew was around to catch two of them.  But last night I arrived home to find a suspiciously turd-like object on my stove top (that's right, the little buggers like to hide in my stove.  How horrifying is that?).  I toed the remaining traps on the ground.  Three were empty.  The fourth seemed heavy and the little red door that seals off the trap was shut tight.

Crap.

Not only had I had a third mouse scampering around my apartment whilst I was out at happy hour, but now it was dead.  In my kitchen.  And I had to dispose of it on my own.

I'm not proud of how I behaved.  I like to think I'm not much of a girly-girl.  But let's look at the evidence: I hate mice, rats, cockroaches, any insect larger than a pinhead and things with more than two legs.  I sometimes think that shrieking is an acceptable reaction when encountering any of these things.  Blood, while not my favorite of fluids (ranking slightly above bile, but well below vodka) doesn't totally make me want to pass out, though I think long and hard before donating.  Perhaps I am a bit of a priss.

So with muffled shrieks, some retching and quite a bit of swearing (maybe I'm not a priss after all?) I managed to scoop up the trap onto a dustpan, deposit it in a garbage bag, tightly tie the bag and toss it out my front door.  At 10 o'clock last night, I was so not walking outside to the trash room in my pjs. 

Also, there was that whole earthquake thing, and now I've got to spend my whole weekend in Maryland worrying about what hurricane-induced mess will be waiting for me on Sunday behind door number 5D.  I pray my crap-ass windows don't shatter.  But, looking back on my life and string of uncannily un-serendipitous events it comprises, I will be disheartened, angry, tearful and vomitous, but wholly un-surprised if, upon arrival back at my apartment, I should open the door and be greeted by a flooded, windowless, looted apartment, as a tidal wave of drowned mice washes over my feet and heads for the stairs.

Happy Friday.

An Open Letter to Strangers

Dear Strangers I Meet on the Street, in Malls, at Hotels and Mini-Golf Courses,

STOP TELLING ME TO SMILE.

I'm not unhappy.  That's just my face.  I can't help it that it looks angry.

And, if I was unhappy, having a dirty old man talk to me would not make me feel less unhappy.  In fact, if I was unhappy, telling me to smile would probably earn you a dirtier stare (didn't think it was possible?  Guess again) and a kick in the shin.  Or at least a heavy-duty flat tire when you tried to walk away.

My face, when relaxed, tends to look tense/angry/sad/scowly.  You commenting on it does not make me feel better about it or you.

So, strangers, when you see me looking angry, WALK AWAY.  You don't poke a sleeping bear and you don't make comments about my facial expression.  Either ill-advised activity is likely to get you dead.

Respectfully,
BW

The First and Last Time I Drank Jim Beam

This weekend, Andrew and I trucked down to Maryland for Emily and Mike's Second Monthly Post-Wedding Surplus Alcohol Bash.  Or, as my dad tipsily called it "Emily 2.0." 

Despite sitting in 2 hours of Manhattan traffic on Friday and SEVEN HOURS of stupid rain traffic on Sunday (with hangover) the weekend still managed to be both epic and epically embarrassing.

On Friday night we had a couple drinks and a relatively calm round of Taboo.

On Saturday, we had lunch with my parents and brother.

On Saturday night, we had a lot of drinks, a couple rounds of Kan Jam (a game that requires throwing a Frisbee into a black plastic cylinder) and two rounds of decidedly not-calm Taboo (there was lots of clapping, A-T-T-A-C-K-ing and swearing from the MacDonald boys).

The evening started around 5, included a barbeque and short-lived fire pit, in addition to the activities previously mentioned, and was headed towards becoming a chill, early-to-bed night, as most guests had departed by 9, leaving Emily, Mike, John, Andrew and myself inside playing Taboo in our jammies by 9:30.

Cue two rounds of Kings and the boys feeling a serious buzz.  Norwegian tanks that we are, (me, definitely, Emily, not so much), we girls were not quite at the party level, and decided to kick it in to gear, so I switched to drinking straight Crown.

One round of Taboo later (in which the Thoreson girls kicked MacDonald/Vigliotta butt) we were all feeling pretty good.  And getting pretty dance-y.

Around midnight, things started breaking down.  And by that I mean we started breaking down.  Cut to a YouTube playlist full of hip hop, MJ and some good old fashioned classics (Macarena, anybody?  Yes, please).  I've never headbanged so much or gotten so low in my life.  There were a few moves pulled out by other dancers that I've never seen in my life also--Emily spent the majority of the time dancing on the couch, Mike pulled a sassy hip-swinging hand clap and of the two other guys, one pantomimed a telescope during Miley Cyrus' "The Climb" and one "Jumped On It" a la The Fresh Prince of Bel Air.

Halfway through the dance party, I decided it was a good idea to switch from straight Crown to straight Jim Beam.  Until Sunday morning, I stood by my decision.

Despite my worst hangover to date and an epic cinnamon-roll fail, the weekend was a definite win.  The fact that I can't move my neck, have bruises on my shin and feel a strange emotion bordering on embarrassment and self-judgment when I look at the pictures from Saturday night, tells me I made a series of bad decisions.  The fact that I am 23 and have awesome friends tells me that it's ok.

Thanks to those friends.  At least, I hope we're still friends after I danced up on all of you.

Downtime

I am quickly approaching the first weekend I’ve had alone in my apartment since June.  Can you believe it?  Between traveling to Maryland and Long Island, and having visitors come here, I have been busy every single weekend since June 25th!  And every weekend before that as well!

Though I love visiting with my family and friends, I really am looking forward to this weekend.  But I don’t know what to do!  Based on my complete lack of tan and the fact that it is already August, I know I have to do something outside.  Unfortunately, it looks like isolated thunderstorms all weekend, so I MUST remember to bring my umbrella.

But, some of my options are:

-trekking out to Coney Island for some beach fun (though if I’m going to be interrupted by rain, I don’t know if I want to make the 2-hour journey)
-finally finding the farmers’ market I’ve heard is in my neighborhood but haven’t found yet
-attending Summer Streets on Park Ave and walking around with lots of other people who are walking and biking around
-reading in Central Park
-walking around a neighborhood I haven’t spent much time in (I’m thinking Soho, Lower East Side (I’ve never even SEEN Avenue A) or Brooklyn) to see what’s about

This is why I make lists.  Because just writing that list has helped me narrow it down to #2 and #5.  And I don’t see any reason why I can’t do both!  If it’s gray in the morning, I’ll do the farmers market and hope it clears up for the afternoon.  If it’s sunny in the AM, I’ll start by walking around somewhere not-near my house.

This is going to be great!  I’ll get some exercise, see something new and hopefully catch a little vitamin D for my cloistered and sickly epidermis.  This is what living in New York is all about.  Yay for occasional weekends without plans.

Wow, I Didn't Realize It Has Almost Been a Month

Since I last blogged.  Where did July go?  I'll tell you--in a blur of traveling and hostessing.  The first weekend in July I spent out on Long Island, unfortunately not going to the beach as much as I'd planned.  Consequently, it is end-of-mid-summer and I am still as pale as the day I was born.  Ok, well actually I was a little yellow when I was born.  So I'm paler than that.  Sad.  Must work on this.

The next weekend, I spent at the newlyweds' house, at an awesome party.  Em & M had a bunch of booze leftover from the wedding, so, naturally, they needed to throw a bash (or as my mom would say, "drinking party") to get rid of it.  Happily, despite the copious amounts of beer and alcohol consumed that weekend, they still have a mountain of it left.  So, come mid-August I will be back in MD for another legendary party (well, definitely to the party, hopefully to the legendary).

The next weekend, Em, M and A traveled to my place for the weekend.  On Friday we opted for a typical New York City Friday night.  Best. Night. In. NYC. Ever.  We started out at SoHo Park (thanks, Caitlin Carlson for cluing me into that one) where we sat outside, which looked less like "outside" than the inside did, due to the restaurants' theme of Park (benches, trees, twinkle lights) and had awesome burgers and tried fried zucchini (better than fried pickles).

Then we walked across the street to Delicatessen.  They had a speak-easy style bar downstairs which, unfortunately was only open for about 10 minutes after we got there.  So we moved into the glassed-in courtyard and got to lounge on padded benches while looking up at the buildings surrounding us.  We ended up at Eight Mile Creek, an Australian restaurant with pub below decks.  The last time I was there, I legit felt like I was in the bush.  It was dingy and empty and I heard Australian accents as I went down the stairs.  This time, it was absolutely packed and pounded with hip hop beats.  And Lady Gaga, of course.  We saw that guy from that movie--you know the one?  Yeah, I didn't really either.  Good job, Mike for pointing him out.  Turns out his name was Josh Gad, and he was the dorky friend in "21" and the dorky brother in "Love & Other Drugs" (sidenote: saw that with my parents.  BAD MOVE).  So anyway, he was gladhanding some patrons, but left soon after we got there.  Too bad, because I bet I could've gotten him to buy at least one of us a drink.

We left the pub at around 2, got into a cab back uptown, in which we had some excellent adventures--me tipsily shushing Mike when he mentioned too loudly that he didn't think our cabbie spoke English and venturing across the unfortunately-named intersection of Dyckman St and Seaman St (just one block from Cummings).

Other adventures followed that weekend.  Short version: big whales, John Lennon, ghosts and homemade Oreo milkshakes.  Good times.

This past weekend, my mom came to visit to a. bring me more stuff for my apartment and b. help celebrate my birthday.  After this weekend, my apartment looks awesome, and I finally feel like I live here.  Y'all should come see.

Also after this weekend, I am 23.  Boo- to the ya.  Andrew came early yesterday to go to church and brunch with us.  Then, after my mom left, he took me to dinner at Bleu Evolution on 187th.  Cool atmosphere.  Bordello-meets-grandma's attic.  Andrew didn't realize what a bordello was when he picked the place.  The red velvet curtains, fish-netted leg lamp and my extensive vocabular-ical knowledge (yes, my vocabular-ical knowledge is so vast, it includes the word "vocabular-ical") quickly brought him up to speed.

A quick recap of birthday loot before I go:  from my parents, sibs and sib-in-law, a kick-butt bistro table for my kitchen.  I now have a place to prepare dinner!  And it is super cute: a red and orange tile table with a flower design and two matching chairs.

From Andrew, a canvas wall-hanging made from a photo I took.  He picked one of my PODs (which, I know haven't been posted since a really long time ago) and turned it into a real piece of art.  It looks awesome--almost semi-professional.  It was super thoughtful and really unique.  And it's doubly awesome because it means maybe I'm getting the hang of this photography thing!

So that's about it.  A really long excuse for why I haven't blogged in almost a month.  I'll try to be better about that, especially since I'm considering starting a new blog.  Stay tuned!