And motherflipper look at that, it's Friday already. That wasn't so bad was it? In all likelihood I've forgotten all about you bitches and I'm enjoying one of my last days on the beach. So stop bothering me.
Here's one last gem thanks to Bradford Pearson.
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Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
VACAY NIBBLET: I love McSweeney's so much, I would marry it if I could and make little Internet babies
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
VACAY NIBBLET: Wednesday's Song of the Week
You like Vampire Weekend? You like Ra Ra Riot? I DO TOO. And I made you a present.
It's like if Vampire Weekend and Ra Ra Riot got together and made a baby and neither of them realized until one of them was walking down the aisle and SISTER MERCY I KNOW, it's stressful.
Actually, they DID get together and make a baby. And they named it Discovery.
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It's like if Vampire Weekend and Ra Ra Riot got together and made a baby and neither of them realized until one of them was walking down the aisle and SISTER MERCY I KNOW, it's stressful.
Actually, they DID get together and make a baby. And they named it Discovery.
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Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
PEACE OUT, PEOPLE.
I'm on vacation. For the entire week. I won't have any work to do. I'll have extremely limited access to e-mail. And in all likelihood I'll be drinking napping on the beach and drinking reading and drinking relaxing and drinking enjoying myself while I do all those things I've been doing on vacation for my entire life. Like oogling lifeguards and eating ice cream on the boardwalk and munching on pistachios on the porch and drinking.
But here's my problem. I seem to have grown slightly attached to some of you people. And the thought of being away for an entire week is starting to give me a little bit of ajada. Luckily, I have all those bottles of wine to keep me company. And, you know, ice cream. If you're not so fortunate to be staring at a case of chardonnay, I've picked out a few things that I've recently enjoyed. And every day this week, I'll give you a little somethin' somethin' that will, in all likelihood, leave you dumber than you were before you found me. And I shall call them Vacay Nibblets. And through them, you shall know how much I love you. Or maybe I'm just drunk.
To start us off, here's a little audio clip from This American Life my friend Caitlin recently showed me. Enjoy. And you're welcome.
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But here's my problem. I seem to have grown slightly attached to some of you people. And the thought of being away for an entire week is starting to give me a little bit of ajada. Luckily, I have all those bottles of wine to keep me company. And, you know, ice cream. If you're not so fortunate to be staring at a case of chardonnay, I've picked out a few things that I've recently enjoyed. And every day this week, I'll give you a little somethin' somethin' that will, in all likelihood, leave you dumber than you were before you found me. And I shall call them Vacay Nibblets. And through them, you shall know how much I love you. Or maybe I'm just drunk.
To start us off, here's a little audio clip from This American Life my friend Caitlin recently showed me. Enjoy. And you're welcome.
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Friday, July 24, 2009
True lurve on campus (part 5)
With the wedding coming up quickly -- 9 weeks to go -- I've been doing some thinking about everything that has happened in between the night B and I had our first date almost four years ago and today. All the things that have changed, and more importantly, the one thing that has stayed the same. You can catch up here.
The night of our first date I was a bundle of nerves. I knew it would be fun. I always had fun with B. We'd already discovered how much we enjoyed making out, so there was no need to worry about that. After B had made things official, we had been stealing kisses every chance we got. On the couch while watching a movie. In the kitchen while making tea. And when we weren't -- when we were sitting in class or walking across campus or standing in line waiting for the Boulder Cafe cashiers to ring up our sandwiches, strong hands and soft lips were the only thing I was thinking about.
For dinner that night, we had settled on Tir Na Nog in the Inner Harbor. We spent more time talking than we did eating. Pouring over each other's pasts while small boats swayed in the chilly bay outside. Brown eyes locked on green eyes. After dinner we had some time to kill before the movie, so we started walking around the harbor. Outside the planetarium, we were stopped by a middle aged man in khaki pants and a denim button down shirt with the Maryland Science Center's logo on his pocket.
"Excuse me, did you know tonight is the closest Mars will ever get to the Earth for the next 60,000 years?"
We stopped walking. Was this guy about to give us an impromptu science lesson? "Um. No, actually."
"It is. Which means tonight is the brightest the planet will ever appear to the naked eye."
"Wow," we both replied.
"Would you like to see it?"
B and I exchanged glances and smiled.
"Come in, come in." He excitedly ushered us into the science center with the wave of his arms.
Inside, we were greeted by another khaki-pantsed, denim-shirted employee, and followed a small group of visitors up the stairs, passed replicas of planets in the hallway and twinkling lights above our heads, and into the dim dome. B reached for my hand in the darkness, and whatever the guide was saying about Mars and rotations and gaseous bodies melted away.
Inside the dome was a telescope the size of a small bedroom. I stepped up to the lens, closed one eye, and there was Mars. Huge and red and glowing. I hadn't been to a planetarium since I was about eight, when my dad took me to one near our house to see the moon bigger than I'd ever seen it before. Suddenly, I was as excited as an eight year old, when the world was still huge and new and waiting to be explored. Suddenly, everything was new again.
Back outside, we laughed about how our first date had turned into a scene from a movie. Did that really just happen? Paul Rudd would totally play the role of B. I'm not sure who would play me, but they'd have to be a bombshell, obvi. I'm accepting applications, all you beautiful and talented female actors. There will also be a $200alcohol application fee. Please make all checks payable to Bridget Hanahan.
B and I had been reading "In Cold Blood" by Truman Capote in our Creative Non Fiction class, and decided that "Capote" would be the perfect movie to see on our first date, since it wasthe alcohol that class that essentially brought us together. "Capote" might not be the perfect date movie in normal circumstances, but it was that night. Everything -- the dinner, the stroll along the water, the view of Mars, the movie -- made for the most perfect date I had ever been on in my life.
Neither of us could believe what an amazing night that had turned into. The next week went by quickly, and that Friday we were out again, dancing and drinking good beers at a Karl Denson's Tiny Universe concert at the 8x10 club in Federal Hill.
Whenever I was with B, time bled and the hours passed in minutes. We could pass an entire day with a single conversation, which we had been known to do. We were shocked whenever we caught sight of a clock, and often ended up eating breakfast for dinner.
Things were going better than either of us could have dreamed. I'd never had so much fun with someone before. I'd never felt so at ease. He was charming, and caring, and oh-so-very handsome. I was absolutely, positively head over heels for this boy.
As I was throwing back the covers on my bed Sunday night, my phone rang. It was B.
"Hey. I don't really have an excuse for calling. I was just thinking about you."
I could feel my stomach flip.
"I guess I just wanted to say goodnight. See you in class tomorrow."
"Goodnight."
*****************************
The next afternoon was our Creative Non Fiction class. I slid into my seat and waited for B to show up. He was late, and rushed in as Bowden started his lecture. When class ended and students started filing out of the room, B came up to me.
"Hey, um, can we talk?"
What the fuck? What does he want to talk about? Nothing ever good comes out of can we talk. That's a horrible question. Can we talk is exactly how I'd broken up with every single one of my boyfriends before. Don't get crazy. This guy's so into you. It's obvious. Calm down.
"Yeah, sure."
We walked to cafe in the center of campus, both got a fountain soda, and sat down at a table tucked away in a corner.
"Listen, I know we haven't been dating for that long, but things have been amazing," B started.
"Yeah. I agree." I was flooded with relief.
"And I was really just thinking about things a lot last night ..." Last night, when he had called me just to tell me goodnight. "And I think we should break up."
Shock smacked me across the face. "What?"
"Listen, things are really good and in a few months you're going to New Zealand and while you're gone I'll be graduating, and then I'm moving back to Massachusetts and then what?"
"What?"
"I just have a lot going on now. I need to figure a lot of things out. You know?"
"No, honestly, I don't know."
"I just think we shouldn't be together. The timing. It just won't work. There's things ... to figure out ... and I just don't ..."
"Fine. If that's what you think."
"Okay?"
"Fine." I pushed my chair back and scooped my books up to my chest.
"So I'll see you soon?" he asked the back of my head. But I didn't turn around.
"What the FUCK" I breathed as I stormed across campus as fast as I could. I slammed the door to our apartment and Mojo, Caitlin, and Emily emerged from their bedrooms as I let loose.
Mojo and Caitlin seemed as dumbfounded as I was.
"What the fuck?" Emily tore in. "What the fuck does he mean he has to figure shit out?" She sneered. "What a shithead. Good thing you never slept with him because god what a DICK. That makes, like ZERO sense. I don't understand how boys can be such assholes. You are going to have so much fun abroad hooking up with all those hot New Zealanders, Bridie, so it doesn't even MATTER."
The night of our first date I was a bundle of nerves. I knew it would be fun. I always had fun with B. We'd already discovered how much we enjoyed making out, so there was no need to worry about that. After B had made things official, we had been stealing kisses every chance we got. On the couch while watching a movie. In the kitchen while making tea. And when we weren't -- when we were sitting in class or walking across campus or standing in line waiting for the Boulder Cafe cashiers to ring up our sandwiches, strong hands and soft lips were the only thing I was thinking about.
For dinner that night, we had settled on Tir Na Nog in the Inner Harbor. We spent more time talking than we did eating. Pouring over each other's pasts while small boats swayed in the chilly bay outside. Brown eyes locked on green eyes. After dinner we had some time to kill before the movie, so we started walking around the harbor. Outside the planetarium, we were stopped by a middle aged man in khaki pants and a denim button down shirt with the Maryland Science Center's logo on his pocket.
"Excuse me, did you know tonight is the closest Mars will ever get to the Earth for the next 60,000 years?"
We stopped walking. Was this guy about to give us an impromptu science lesson? "Um. No, actually."
"It is. Which means tonight is the brightest the planet will ever appear to the naked eye."
"Wow," we both replied.
"Would you like to see it?"
B and I exchanged glances and smiled.
"Come in, come in." He excitedly ushered us into the science center with the wave of his arms.
Inside, we were greeted by another khaki-pantsed, denim-shirted employee, and followed a small group of visitors up the stairs, passed replicas of planets in the hallway and twinkling lights above our heads, and into the dim dome. B reached for my hand in the darkness, and whatever the guide was saying about Mars and rotations and gaseous bodies melted away.
Inside the dome was a telescope the size of a small bedroom. I stepped up to the lens, closed one eye, and there was Mars. Huge and red and glowing. I hadn't been to a planetarium since I was about eight, when my dad took me to one near our house to see the moon bigger than I'd ever seen it before. Suddenly, I was as excited as an eight year old, when the world was still huge and new and waiting to be explored. Suddenly, everything was new again.
Back outside, we laughed about how our first date had turned into a scene from a movie. Did that really just happen? Paul Rudd would totally play the role of B. I'm not sure who would play me, but they'd have to be a bombshell, obvi. I'm accepting applications, all you beautiful and talented female actors. There will also be a $200
B and I had been reading "In Cold Blood" by Truman Capote in our Creative Non Fiction class, and decided that "Capote" would be the perfect movie to see on our first date, since it was
Neither of us could believe what an amazing night that had turned into. The next week went by quickly, and that Friday we were out again, dancing and drinking good beers at a Karl Denson's Tiny Universe concert at the 8x10 club in Federal Hill.
Whenever I was with B, time bled and the hours passed in minutes. We could pass an entire day with a single conversation, which we had been known to do. We were shocked whenever we caught sight of a clock, and often ended up eating breakfast for dinner.
Things were going better than either of us could have dreamed. I'd never had so much fun with someone before. I'd never felt so at ease. He was charming, and caring, and oh-so-very handsome. I was absolutely, positively head over heels for this boy.
"True love on campus!" our friends would yell at us as we walked across Loyola's campus together, our hands only brushing.
*****************************
As I was throwing back the covers on my bed Sunday night, my phone rang. It was B.
"Hey. I don't really have an excuse for calling. I was just thinking about you."
I could feel my stomach flip.
"I guess I just wanted to say goodnight. See you in class tomorrow."
"Goodnight."
*****************************
The next afternoon was our Creative Non Fiction class. I slid into my seat and waited for B to show up. He was late, and rushed in as Bowden started his lecture. When class ended and students started filing out of the room, B came up to me.
"Hey, um, can we talk?"
What the fuck? What does he want to talk about? Nothing ever good comes out of can we talk. That's a horrible question. Can we talk is exactly how I'd broken up with every single one of my boyfriends before. Don't get crazy. This guy's so into you. It's obvious. Calm down.
"Yeah, sure."
We walked to cafe in the center of campus, both got a fountain soda, and sat down at a table tucked away in a corner.
"Listen, I know we haven't been dating for that long, but things have been amazing," B started.
"Yeah. I agree." I was flooded with relief.
"And I was really just thinking about things a lot last night ..." Last night, when he had called me just to tell me goodnight. "And I think we should break up."
Shock smacked me across the face. "What?"
"Listen, things are really good and in a few months you're going to New Zealand and while you're gone I'll be graduating, and then I'm moving back to Massachusetts and then what?"
"What?"
"I just have a lot going on now. I need to figure a lot of things out. You know?"
"No, honestly, I don't know."
"I just think we shouldn't be together. The timing. It just won't work. There's things ... to figure out ... and I just don't ..."
"Fine. If that's what you think."
"Okay?"
"Fine." I pushed my chair back and scooped my books up to my chest.
"So I'll see you soon?" he asked the back of my head. But I didn't turn around.
"What the FUCK" I breathed as I stormed across campus as fast as I could. I slammed the door to our apartment and Mojo, Caitlin, and Emily emerged from their bedrooms as I let loose.
Mojo and Caitlin seemed as dumbfounded as I was.
"What the fuck?" Emily tore in. "What the fuck does he mean he has to figure shit out?" She sneered. "What a shithead. Good thing you never slept with him because god what a DICK. That makes, like ZERO sense. I don't understand how boys can be such assholes. You are going to have so much fun abroad hooking up with all those hot New Zealanders, Bridie, so it doesn't even MATTER."
But it did ...
... To be continued.
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... To be continued.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
HOLY SHIT IT'S TIME TO GO PAUL RUDD HUNTING
My little home town of Philadelphia has been buzzing for some time now about that new movie that's shooting downtown and blah blah Reese Witherspoon blah blah blah Jack Nicholson got mocked by the Phanatic at the Phil's game the other night blabbity blah Owen Wilson yawn yawn and HOLY SHIT PAUL RUDD IS HERE.
Ya'll remember my little deal with B, right? [Attention mother and future mother-in-law: EYEMUFFS] We each got to choose one celebrity that we'd sleep with if we could and the other person totally wouldn't even get mad? Well gu-u-u-eeee-ssssss who's in town. PAUL RUDD, MOTHAFLIPPAS.
I've been spending the past few weeks carefully designing a plan that, when executed, will lead Paul Rudd's eager tongue right into my open mouth. I've been walking around the city dropping notes like breadcrumbs that will inevitably go straight to the heart of the man that is Rudd. And I'll be ready. Oh yes. I'll be ready.
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Ya'll remember my little deal with B, right? [Attention mother and future mother-in-law: EYEMUFFS] We each got to choose one celebrity that we'd sleep with if we could and the other person totally wouldn't even get mad? Well gu-u-u-eeee-ssssss who's in town. PAUL RUDD, MOTHAFLIPPAS.
I've been spending the past few weeks carefully designing a plan that, when executed, will lead Paul Rudd's eager tongue right into my open mouth. I've been walking around the city dropping notes like breadcrumbs that will inevitably go straight to the heart of the man that is Rudd. And I'll be ready. Oh yes. I'll be ready.
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Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Wednesday's Song of the Week
DRUMS, EVERYBODY. DRUMS DRUMS DRUMS. I love drums. Lots of drums. Watching a good drummer hammer away at a set can be mesmerizing. I've always been impressed with proper stick control. That's what she said HEY-YO.
Songs with heavy drum lines make me want to jump and run and bang on things. Like drums. We all already know I've been in a relatively frantic mood recently, which has definitely been reflected in the music I've been listening to, and also explains why I'm constantly talking about running and banging and jumping and throwing plates. And that's why White Rabbits' "Percussion Gun" is this week's Song of the Week.
Just throw in a little child chorus line and I'd probably be having a seizure right about now.
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Songs with heavy drum lines make me want to jump and run and bang on things. Like drums. We all already know I've been in a relatively frantic mood recently, which has definitely been reflected in the music I've been listening to, and also explains why I'm constantly talking about running and banging and jumping and throwing plates. And that's why White Rabbits' "Percussion Gun" is this week's Song of the Week.
Just throw in a little child chorus line and I'd probably be having a seizure right about now.
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On vices
A little while back I agreed to take part in a 20 Something Bloggers blog swap because yea what the hell. I was paired up with a sweet little college grad from New York, Tara. The point of the swap is to switch blogs with your partner for the day to bring fresh eyes to the blogs and blah blah blah.
For the post that Tara prepared for Yellaphant today, she wrote all about her vices. And at first I was all oh sweet, vices, I am so good at those. But then I looked at hers and they were all Diet Coke and Twitter so now I'm all I wonder if I should tell her about the time I made out with her dad and stabbed that hooker.
My vices are a bit more vice-y. If I threw a party for all of my vices, someone would end up dead. Besides the hookers. I curse too much. I usually drink too much. Depending on the time of day, I have startlingly low moral standards. I often forget that it's socially unacceptable to smack people. I love giving the stink eye. And I'm totally okay with pushing.
Read on to meet Tara. Or don't. Whatever. I'm working on that telling people what to do and then stabbing them if they don't do it thing. And come back later today for Wednesday's Song of the Week. I really will stab you if you don't.
***************************
Hello Yellaphant readers, my name is Tara, a 20something blogger. I’m doing blog swap with Bridget today; I hope you like me!
I’ve been reading Bridget’s blog ever since I found out she was my swap partner, and I’m mucho jealous of her storytelling skills. I wish so badly that I could tell stories and be funny, but I just can’t hack it. I listen to The Moth Podcast every week and dream of sharing hilarious stories and getting major laughs, but a) I’m terrified of public speaking (good thing I went into public relations, eh?) and b) as I just said, I’m a terrible storyteller.
So I’ve been trying to think of something to blog about for a while. Basically, I would love for everyone to fall in love with me and also read my blog, so I know that I have to make this good. But the best blogs I’ve ever done are not pre-planned. So here goes nothing. I’m giving you all I’ve got.
I’m seriously addicted to a lot of things. And I’m just starting to realize what a problem it is.
Diet Coke is a given. Anyone who knows me well knows that it’s my biggest vice. I get lectures all the time like “it’s so bad for your teeth and bones!” or “you always feel bloated!” but I just don't give an eff and continue to drink it (I’m trying to wean myself off but it’s not going so well).
I just read an interview with Jennifer Aniston and she has the same problem, so again, beautiful people drink it and can be just fine. So I’ll continue my habit thank you very much. (If you have any unused coke rewards codes, please send them my way. I use them for a good cause/magazine subscriptions. Thanks in advance).
I’m also very addicted to M&M’s. As in, I’m currently on my third bag (LARGE SIZE) of M&M darks in my chocolate stash (that is also currently housing Mike & Ikes, but that is another story). Everyone in my family has their own chocolate stash. I don’t know how it happened. I guess one day I figured it was the most snackable chocolate (WHICH IT IS) and I can’t stop. This is bigger than Pringles, people.
Another addiction? Twitter. I know it’s lame, but I’m seriously so addicted. I update more than anyone I personally know. I’m sure people get sick of me, but I think it’s fascinating and I find out so many cool things from other people. Follow me! Is there a Twitter support group somewhere out there?
Some other addictions that I won’t get into but will just causally mention …
DO YOU LOVE ME YET? Good. You should read my blog. I’m very nice and I don’t bite.
Don’t forget to check out Bridget’s post on my blog today!
***************************
It's me again. I also have some additions that I'd casually like to mention.
For the post that Tara prepared for Yellaphant today, she wrote all about her vices. And at first I was all oh sweet, vices, I am so good at those. But then I looked at hers and they were all Diet Coke and Twitter so now I'm all I wonder if I should tell her about the time I made out with her dad and stabbed that hooker.
My vices are a bit more vice-y. If I threw a party for all of my vices, someone would end up dead. Besides the hookers. I curse too much. I usually drink too much. Depending on the time of day, I have startlingly low moral standards. I often forget that it's socially unacceptable to smack people. I love giving the stink eye. And I'm totally okay with pushing.
Read on to meet Tara. Or don't. Whatever. I'm working on that telling people what to do and then stabbing them if they don't do it thing. And come back later today for Wednesday's Song of the Week. I really will stab you if you don't.
***************************
Hello Yellaphant readers, my name is Tara, a 20something blogger. I’m doing blog swap with Bridget today; I hope you like me!
I’ve been reading Bridget’s blog ever since I found out she was my swap partner, and I’m mucho jealous of her storytelling skills. I wish so badly that I could tell stories and be funny, but I just can’t hack it. I listen to The Moth Podcast every week and dream of sharing hilarious stories and getting major laughs, but a) I’m terrified of public speaking (good thing I went into public relations, eh?) and b) as I just said, I’m a terrible storyteller.
So I’ve been trying to think of something to blog about for a while. Basically, I would love for everyone to fall in love with me and also read my blog, so I know that I have to make this good. But the best blogs I’ve ever done are not pre-planned. So here goes nothing. I’m giving you all I’ve got.
I’m seriously addicted to a lot of things. And I’m just starting to realize what a problem it is.
Diet Coke is a given. Anyone who knows me well knows that it’s my biggest vice. I get lectures all the time like “it’s so bad for your teeth and bones!” or “you always feel bloated!” but I just don't give an eff and continue to drink it (I’m trying to wean myself off but it’s not going so well).
I just read an interview with Jennifer Aniston and she has the same problem, so again, beautiful people drink it and can be just fine. So I’ll continue my habit thank you very much. (If you have any unused coke rewards codes, please send them my way. I use them for a good cause/magazine subscriptions. Thanks in advance).
I’m also very addicted to M&M’s. As in, I’m currently on my third bag (LARGE SIZE) of M&M darks in my chocolate stash (that is also currently housing Mike & Ikes, but that is another story). Everyone in my family has their own chocolate stash. I don’t know how it happened. I guess one day I figured it was the most snackable chocolate (WHICH IT IS) and I can’t stop. This is bigger than Pringles, people.
Another addiction? Twitter. I know it’s lame, but I’m seriously so addicted. I update more than anyone I personally know. I’m sure people get sick of me, but I think it’s fascinating and I find out so many cool things from other people. Follow me! Is there a Twitter support group somewhere out there?
Some other addictions that I won’t get into but will just causally mention …
- iTunes podcasts
- Google Reader
- "So You Think You Can Dance"
- Facebook stalking
- Pandora (eff you for only allowing 40 hours a month)
- "Friends"/"The Office"/"Arrested Development"/"30 Rock" (iwantotbelizlemon)/"CSI: NY & Miami"/"Law and Order SVU"
- Checking books out of the library and never reading any of them
DO YOU LOVE ME YET? Good. You should read my blog. I’m very nice and I don’t bite.
Don’t forget to check out Bridget’s post on my blog today!
***************************
It's me again. I also have some additions that I'd casually like to mention.
- iTunes podcasts make me want to stab someone.
- Google Reader makes me want to stab someone.
- "So You Think You Can Dance" makes me want to stab everyone.
- I Facebook stalk just so I can look at pictures and hate on people.
- The word "Pandora" makes me think of vaginas.
- I would totally go gay for Tina Fey.
- I write in the margins of library books because it gives me a little thrill to mess with government property.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
I bet you weren't expecting another post about poop
I swear to you this is totally true because not even I could make this up. Well, I probably could, but I wouldn't, because poop is fecking gross. Yeah, this is another post about poop.
So last night I was walking Rooney and as usual he pooped and I don't know where you heathens are from, but in my neighborhood, you pick up your dog's poop. Which I did, with one of those blue plastic bags that the dog poop fairy leaves around the neighborhood. Or, at least, I assume it's the dog poop fairy because who else would leave rolls of plastic bags to pick up your dog's poop? Last I checked, not Santa. Cheap bastard.
So I picked up the poop and tied the bag and was walking down a relatively busy street with shops and restaurants and walkers and all that stuff, and there was a little breeze so my hair kept blowing into my face but every time I pushed it off my cheek, I would get this really strong whiff of poop. And at first I was all whatever it's probably because I'm carrying around a bag full of dog shit.
But then it happened again, even after I threw the poopie bag into a trash can, so I looked down at my hand AND THERE WAS POOP ON MY FINGERS. THE FINGERS THAT I HAD BEEN TOUCHING MY FACE WITH. HOLY SHIT, YA'LL THERE WAS POOP ON MY FACE.
I rubbed my cheek with the back of my hand, but once you've had poop on your face, it doesn't come off so easily. So naturally, I started running home because what if someone I knew saw me with poopie hands and poop on my cheek? And what if I met someone who wanted to shake my hand so then I'd have to decide if I wanted to pretend nothing was wrong and shake their hand and get poop on THEIR hand, or tell them that I can't shake their hand because I have poop on MY hand and then forever be known as the blond chick with poopie hands? AND WHAT ABOUT THE POOP ON MY FACE? GAH.
When I got home I washed my face raw and I still felt poopie. And then later that night when I was telling B the story I was waving around the paint brush I had in my hand for emphasis because POOP, people, deserves a little emphasis. And B was all "you look like fecking Harry Potter waving that wand." And I was all "it's not a wand, it's a paint brush" and he was all "I'm totally using that for Halloween next year to be Harry Potter because it looks just like a wand" and then I got my paint brush all up in his face and was like "THIS STORY IS NOT ABOUT HARRY POTTER. THIS STORY IS ABOUT POOP. SHAZAM." And I waved the paintbrush that is not a wand in his face. And then B acted all offended and was like "th'fuck, Bridget, Harry Potter does not say Shazam." He says experion or experiment or expatriate or something like that I don't remember because I'm not a huge dork. And now I'm going to get 500 angry e-mails from everyone who loves Harry Potter and wants to use their tricks* to turn me into a huffelupagus or snuffelupagus or powerpuff girl or whatever. AND I'M SORRY I OFFENDED YOU BUT FOR THE LOVE OF GAH POOP.
SHAZAM.
*Illusions, Michael. Tricks are something whores do for money. Or candy Tweet
So last night I was walking Rooney and as usual he pooped and I don't know where you heathens are from, but in my neighborhood, you pick up your dog's poop. Which I did, with one of those blue plastic bags that the dog poop fairy leaves around the neighborhood. Or, at least, I assume it's the dog poop fairy because who else would leave rolls of plastic bags to pick up your dog's poop? Last I checked, not Santa. Cheap bastard.
So I picked up the poop and tied the bag and was walking down a relatively busy street with shops and restaurants and walkers and all that stuff, and there was a little breeze so my hair kept blowing into my face but every time I pushed it off my cheek, I would get this really strong whiff of poop. And at first I was all whatever it's probably because I'm carrying around a bag full of dog shit.
But then it happened again, even after I threw the poopie bag into a trash can, so I looked down at my hand AND THERE WAS POOP ON MY FINGERS. THE FINGERS THAT I HAD BEEN TOUCHING MY FACE WITH. HOLY SHIT, YA'LL THERE WAS POOP ON MY FACE.
I rubbed my cheek with the back of my hand, but once you've had poop on your face, it doesn't come off so easily. So naturally, I started running home because what if someone I knew saw me with poopie hands and poop on my cheek? And what if I met someone who wanted to shake my hand so then I'd have to decide if I wanted to pretend nothing was wrong and shake their hand and get poop on THEIR hand, or tell them that I can't shake their hand because I have poop on MY hand and then forever be known as the blond chick with poopie hands? AND WHAT ABOUT THE POOP ON MY FACE? GAH.
When I got home I washed my face raw and I still felt poopie. And then later that night when I was telling B the story I was waving around the paint brush I had in my hand for emphasis because POOP, people, deserves a little emphasis. And B was all "you look like fecking Harry Potter waving that wand." And I was all "it's not a wand, it's a paint brush" and he was all "I'm totally using that for Halloween next year to be Harry Potter because it looks just like a wand" and then I got my paint brush all up in his face and was like "THIS STORY IS NOT ABOUT HARRY POTTER. THIS STORY IS ABOUT POOP. SHAZAM." And I waved the paintbrush that is not a wand in his face. And then B acted all offended and was like "th'fuck, Bridget, Harry Potter does not say Shazam." He says experion or experiment or expatriate or something like that I don't remember because I'm not a huge dork. And now I'm going to get 500 angry e-mails from everyone who loves Harry Potter and wants to use their tricks* to turn me into a huffelupagus or snuffelupagus or powerpuff girl or whatever. AND I'M SORRY I OFFENDED YOU BUT FOR THE LOVE OF GAH POOP.
SHAZAM.
*Illusions, Michael. Tricks are something whores do for money. Or candy Tweet
Monday, July 20, 2009
Back On My Feet has knocked me off my feet. Because it's awesome, people.
First of all, I'd like to give a HUGE thank you to everyone who donated to Back On My Feet during our big fundraiser this weekend, 20in24. Your support was overwhelming. It was colossal. It was awesome. It made me want to clap my hands and dance a little bit. Instead, I went running.
Last week I made a trip to my local party store and picked up as many glow sticks as I could carry home to get ready for the 20in24 Midnight Madness run, and I'm pretty sure that everyone who saw me walking down the street could only assume that I was getting ready to throw the rave of the year in my apartment. And I just kept giving those nods like yeah you WISH you were invited to my rave right now maybe you'll think twice next time you tell me to get my gahammned dog off your gahdamned lawn. And now I really am considering throwing a glow stick rave in my apartment because when I typed glow sticks into Google just now, Google was all do you mean glow sticks rave? And you know what, Google, maybe I do.
So when Saturday finally rolled around I was physically and mentally preparing myself for the big race by eating donuts when B was all "GET IN THE CAR GET IN THE CAR FUTBOOOOOOOOOL" because he picked us up tickets to the U.S. versus Panama soccer game down at Lincoln Financial Field and gah be danged if he was going to miss even one second of play. The game was awesome and I'm pretty sure I picked up more Spanish sitting in those stands than I ever did in a Spanish class, puntas sucias. They didn't teach you that in high school did they?
After the game, B drove me down to the art museum for the race. I met up with my parents who were volunteering for the night and a few of my teammates from the Ridge shelter. I laced up my sneaks and covered myself in glow sticks, which I would then consider ripping from my body sometime around mile seven because for the love of gah this day glo is making me dizzy. Or, I suppose, it could have just been the running. I totally would have pictures of all of this glow in the dark awesomeness, but my mom took them on her camera and, you know, moms and technology. You can expect them to be uploaded as soon as my parents figure out how to plug the camera into the computer, probably some time around November.
The race itself was amazing. And inspiring. And totally fun. Some time around mile two I started chatting with a pretty serious runner and didn't realize exactly how fast we were going until we were coming up the hill to the art museum at the end of the 8.5 mile loop and I saw my parents and B cheering me on and it occurred to my that I might, in fact, die. Again. But I didn't. Thanks to the constant encouragement from my running companion, who I'd never even met and I don't even know his name, I came in third place for the women and 28th place overall. It was totally the donuts.
And now I think all these weeks of too little sleep and stress at work and wedding planning has finally caught up to me because all my body wants to do is sleep. Yesterday I went to the beach for the day with my mom and I'm pretty sure the only time I would wake up is when she would suggest getting something to eat. Because, hello, food.
Then today there were only a few of us at Back On My Feet because most people were recovering from their 20 plus miles (holy shit, ya'll) they put in this weekend, so we only ran a couple miles. Usually when I get back I'm totally energized and wishing I had a dance party to dance to, but today I walked back into the bedroom and literally faceplanted on top of the covers and didn't move for an hour. I woke up with cover creases all over my face and a mouth full of dog hair, which kind of made me want to cancel Monday.
So you know when people ask you what your superpower would be if you could have a superpower? I always used to say teleportation because I could just teleport myself all over the world FOR FREE which is way better than traveling in an airplane because again, it's free, and you could go anywhere in, like, two seconds, and also I'm sure teleportation has a lot more leg room and you don't have to worry about sitting next to the smelly dude who wants to talk to you the entire ride. But now I'm thinking that IN ADDITION to teleportation, I'd like to have the ability to just cancel days because Mondays are totally not doing it for anyone. I'd be doing the world a huge service by just getting rid of them. Or turning them in into another day of the weekend, which I would name NotMondayDay. I'd totally do that. I bet you I could win a Nobel Peace Prize for that.
ANYWAY. So now it's Monday and I'm totally just sitting here staring at the blinking red light on my office phone that's supposed to tell me I have messages because uhhh shouldn't it be NOTMondayDay right now? And also I'm pretty sure no one in the office remembers how to use the phone so I'm betting it's just my mom calling to remind me not to forget underwear for next week's family vacation like I did last year and THANK GOD FOR VACATION.
And also, just in case you didn't get a chance to donate to Back On My Feet with 20in24 and you woke up today feeling particularly assholeish, you still can. We're always accepting donations, so you can donate anytime. I'm always looking out for you, people.
Tweet
Last week I made a trip to my local party store and picked up as many glow sticks as I could carry home to get ready for the 20in24 Midnight Madness run, and I'm pretty sure that everyone who saw me walking down the street could only assume that I was getting ready to throw the rave of the year in my apartment. And I just kept giving those nods like yeah you WISH you were invited to my rave right now maybe you'll think twice next time you tell me to get my gahammned dog off your gahdamned lawn. And now I really am considering throwing a glow stick rave in my apartment because when I typed glow sticks into Google just now, Google was all do you mean glow sticks rave? And you know what, Google, maybe I do.
So when Saturday finally rolled around I was physically and mentally preparing myself for the big race by eating donuts when B was all "GET IN THE CAR GET IN THE CAR FUTBOOOOOOOOOL" because he picked us up tickets to the U.S. versus Panama soccer game down at Lincoln Financial Field and gah be danged if he was going to miss even one second of play. The game was awesome and I'm pretty sure I picked up more Spanish sitting in those stands than I ever did in a Spanish class, puntas sucias. They didn't teach you that in high school did they?After the game, B drove me down to the art museum for the race. I met up with my parents who were volunteering for the night and a few of my teammates from the Ridge shelter. I laced up my sneaks and covered myself in glow sticks, which I would then consider ripping from my body sometime around mile seven because for the love of gah this day glo is making me dizzy. Or, I suppose, it could have just been the running. I totally would have pictures of all of this glow in the dark awesomeness, but my mom took them on her camera and, you know, moms and technology. You can expect them to be uploaded as soon as my parents figure out how to plug the camera into the computer, probably some time around November.
The race itself was amazing. And inspiring. And totally fun. Some time around mile two I started chatting with a pretty serious runner and didn't realize exactly how fast we were going until we were coming up the hill to the art museum at the end of the 8.5 mile loop and I saw my parents and B cheering me on and it occurred to my that I might, in fact, die. Again. But I didn't. Thanks to the constant encouragement from my running companion, who I'd never even met and I don't even know his name, I came in third place for the women and 28th place overall. It was totally the donuts.
And now I think all these weeks of too little sleep and stress at work and wedding planning has finally caught up to me because all my body wants to do is sleep. Yesterday I went to the beach for the day with my mom and I'm pretty sure the only time I would wake up is when she would suggest getting something to eat. Because, hello, food.
Then today there were only a few of us at Back On My Feet because most people were recovering from their 20 plus miles (holy shit, ya'll) they put in this weekend, so we only ran a couple miles. Usually when I get back I'm totally energized and wishing I had a dance party to dance to, but today I walked back into the bedroom and literally faceplanted on top of the covers and didn't move for an hour. I woke up with cover creases all over my face and a mouth full of dog hair, which kind of made me want to cancel Monday.
So you know when people ask you what your superpower would be if you could have a superpower? I always used to say teleportation because I could just teleport myself all over the world FOR FREE which is way better than traveling in an airplane because again, it's free, and you could go anywhere in, like, two seconds, and also I'm sure teleportation has a lot more leg room and you don't have to worry about sitting next to the smelly dude who wants to talk to you the entire ride. But now I'm thinking that IN ADDITION to teleportation, I'd like to have the ability to just cancel days because Mondays are totally not doing it for anyone. I'd be doing the world a huge service by just getting rid of them. Or turning them in into another day of the weekend, which I would name NotMondayDay. I'd totally do that. I bet you I could win a Nobel Peace Prize for that.
ANYWAY. So now it's Monday and I'm totally just sitting here staring at the blinking red light on my office phone that's supposed to tell me I have messages because uhhh shouldn't it be NOTMondayDay right now? And also I'm pretty sure no one in the office remembers how to use the phone so I'm betting it's just my mom calling to remind me not to forget underwear for next week's family vacation like I did last year and THANK GOD FOR VACATION.
And also, just in case you didn't get a chance to donate to Back On My Feet with 20in24 and you woke up today feeling particularly assholeish, you still can. We're always accepting donations, so you can donate anytime. I'm always looking out for you, people.
Tweet
Friday, July 17, 2009
True lurve on campus (part 4)
With the wedding coming up quickly -- 10 weeks to go -- I've been doing some thinking about everything that has happened in between the night B and I had our first date almost four years ago and today. All the things that have changed, and more importantly, the one thing that has stayed the same. You can catch up here.
My birthday had come and gone and still nothing had happened with B. If it hadn't been for the birthday confession, I'd have given up all hope of ever getting anywhere. I started to reason with myself. Maybe it's for the best. After all, in four months I was leaving for New Zealand, where I'd be staying for five months. While I was there, B would be graduating and moving home to Massachusetts, while I still had another year left at Loyola in Baltimore, even after I got home from the other side of the world. Did I really want to hunker down with a guy right before I was about to set out on the adventure of a lifetime?
But he was just so damned handsome. His greenish eyes and sandy brown hair and still slightly tanned skin, even in October. His sturdy arms that I'd still never felt. And we had, like, everything in common. We both laughed at inappropriate times, we were obsessed with all things Wes Anderson, we had a passionate appreciation for music, we were happiest on a beach, we could talk for hours, and we found few things more attractive than humor.
One night while on the phone with my mom I confessed, "He's just great. Everything about him. I've never really met anyone like him. It's really too bad about the timing with New Zealand and graduation and stuff. I swear, if he had met four years from now, he'd absolutely be the guy I would marry."
*******************
The night after all the birthday celebrations I was completely partied out. It was Saturday night and instead of heading out for another night at the bars with my friends, I decided to put on a pair of sweatpants and watch a movie because for the love of gah please don't make me take another shot.
B had decided the same. He called me as I was about to settle on the couch. "You're not going out tonight?"
"No, are you?"
"No."
"Well, I was just about to start a movie if you want to come over."
"What are you gonna watch?"
I looked at the selection of movies I'd pulled out sprawled in front of me and read him off some of the titles.
"Did you say 'The Notebook?'"
I blushed, a little embarrassed to admit it. "Yeah, I've never seen it, but I'm leaning towards 'Eternal Sunshine' again."
"Oh, well I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I actually liked 'the Notebook.' STOP JUDGING, I have three sisters. And don't tell anyone that."
"Seriously, dude? Well fine, maybe I'll watch it. Do you want to join me?"
"I'm kind of restless actually. I was going to drive to the beach."
"The beach?" The nearest beach to Baltimore had to be about an hour away. And he was leaving at 11 p.m.? B had grown up on the beach though. His town was right on the water in Massachusetts. The closest thing to Dawson's Creek you could get in real life. It was charming and completely fascinating for me, who grew up in the first ring of suburbs outside of Philadelphia and did most of my growing up in a concrete jungle. And as he said, that's where he felt best. It's where he did his thinking and his growing up.
"Yeah. I just kind of wanted to think."
"Do you want some company for the drive?" My hope buoyed. A late night trip to the beach. Could you get more romantic than that?
"No, it's okay. I'm gonna go though. I'll talk to you tomorrow." And like that, the balloon deflated. What the hell did he call me for? What was WRONG with this kid? I tossed my phone to the other end of the couch and pushed play on "The Notebook."
*******************
That Monday, we had our Creative Non Fiction class with Bowden and everything was as it always had been since the first day. After class, when we were both back in our apartments on opposite sides of campus, B and I were chatting when he stopped suddenly.
"Hey, listen, can you meet me?" he asked. "I need to talk to you. In person."
"Uhh, sure." We had practically just left each other when class had let out an hour before. "Where?"
"I'll come to you. Let's go to the Evergreen."
I turned to Mojo who was sitting at her desk in our bedroom. "HOLYSHITHE'SCOMINGOVERHEWANTSTOTALKWE'REGOINGTOTHEEVERGREEN."
What came next can only be described as a SQUUUEEEEEEEEEE.
*******************
Within ten minutes he was outside my apartment.
"That was fast. Did you run here or something?"
"Uh ... yeah." He put his hands in his pockets and looked down at his feet as we began to walk the few blocks down Coldspring Avenue to the Evergreen Cafe, a worn in coffee shop down the street from Loyola's campus. We chatted along the way, and I did my best to ignore the fact that he had just urgently interrupted our chatting ten minutes before and then run to my apartment.
We both ordered a tea and sat down on one of the worn couches by the front window.
"So listen," he started. "I know starting something with us wouldn't make the most sense right now with New Zealand and graduation, but I don't think that should stop us if we feel something -- like, really feel something -- do you know what I mean?"
I could feel the color rising in my face. Was he really saying this stuff? After all those weeks of possible kisses and late night drinks and sunny lunches and borrowed pens. I looked at his hands as he spoke. They were moving, fiddling, they were strong. "Yeah. I know what you mean."
"So let's try it, yeah?" Wait a second. Was he asking me out? This wasn't how things worked in college. In college, you drank too much, flirted too much, and maybe went home with someone every once and a while. Then when you saw them next, you'd act like it never happened, or smile knowingly, or call them the next time you were on your way home from the bar to meet up late night. Then maybe you'd do it all again. That's how relationships formed, right? Was this kid asking me to be his girlfriend? Before we had even KISSED? What was B doing?
He was being completely charming. He was being classic. He was being respectful and slightly flirtatious and old fashioned and he was sweeping me off my feet.
"Yeah," I said. I could feel my blush starting in my stomach, moving up my chest, and out of my mouth with my response. My stomach flipped and it took all of my effort to not jump out of my seat. I crossed my legs and flitted my foot, a nervous habit.
B looked down at my rapidly moving foot as a smile spread across his entire face. "I like your shoes."
We sat at the Evergreen talking as the sun started to slink behind the buildings before we started back home. "Can I take you out on Friday?" He asked me. "We'll get some dinner and go see that movie we keep talking about." We were studying the book "In Cold Blood" in our Bowden class and the movie "Capote" had just hit theaters.
"Sure."
"Perfect."
B walked me to my door and I ran to my bedroom to pull out my favorite short story, one that B said he'd never read, "White Angel" by Michael Cunningham. I handed it to him. "It'll change the way you write."
He tucked the story under his arm. "I'll see you on Friday." His shaggy hair fell over his eyes and he nodded his head to push it aside.
"See you then ..."
... To be continued. Tweet
My birthday had come and gone and still nothing had happened with B. If it hadn't been for the birthday confession, I'd have given up all hope of ever getting anywhere. I started to reason with myself. Maybe it's for the best. After all, in four months I was leaving for New Zealand, where I'd be staying for five months. While I was there, B would be graduating and moving home to Massachusetts, while I still had another year left at Loyola in Baltimore, even after I got home from the other side of the world. Did I really want to hunker down with a guy right before I was about to set out on the adventure of a lifetime?
But he was just so damned handsome. His greenish eyes and sandy brown hair and still slightly tanned skin, even in October. His sturdy arms that I'd still never felt. And we had, like, everything in common. We both laughed at inappropriate times, we were obsessed with all things Wes Anderson, we had a passionate appreciation for music, we were happiest on a beach, we could talk for hours, and we found few things more attractive than humor.One night while on the phone with my mom I confessed, "He's just great. Everything about him. I've never really met anyone like him. It's really too bad about the timing with New Zealand and graduation and stuff. I swear, if he had met four years from now, he'd absolutely be the guy I would marry."
*******************
The night after all the birthday celebrations I was completely partied out. It was Saturday night and instead of heading out for another night at the bars with my friends, I decided to put on a pair of sweatpants and watch a movie because for the love of gah please don't make me take another shot.
B had decided the same. He called me as I was about to settle on the couch. "You're not going out tonight?"
"No, are you?"
"No."
"Well, I was just about to start a movie if you want to come over."
"What are you gonna watch?"
I looked at the selection of movies I'd pulled out sprawled in front of me and read him off some of the titles.
"Did you say 'The Notebook?'"
I blushed, a little embarrassed to admit it. "Yeah, I've never seen it, but I'm leaning towards 'Eternal Sunshine' again."
"Oh, well I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I actually liked 'the Notebook.' STOP JUDGING, I have three sisters. And don't tell anyone that."
"Seriously, dude? Well fine, maybe I'll watch it. Do you want to join me?"
"I'm kind of restless actually. I was going to drive to the beach."
"The beach?" The nearest beach to Baltimore had to be about an hour away. And he was leaving at 11 p.m.? B had grown up on the beach though. His town was right on the water in Massachusetts. The closest thing to Dawson's Creek you could get in real life. It was charming and completely fascinating for me, who grew up in the first ring of suburbs outside of Philadelphia and did most of my growing up in a concrete jungle. And as he said, that's where he felt best. It's where he did his thinking and his growing up.
"Yeah. I just kind of wanted to think."
"Do you want some company for the drive?" My hope buoyed. A late night trip to the beach. Could you get more romantic than that?
"No, it's okay. I'm gonna go though. I'll talk to you tomorrow." And like that, the balloon deflated. What the hell did he call me for? What was WRONG with this kid? I tossed my phone to the other end of the couch and pushed play on "The Notebook."
*******************
That Monday, we had our Creative Non Fiction class with Bowden and everything was as it always had been since the first day. After class, when we were both back in our apartments on opposite sides of campus, B and I were chatting when he stopped suddenly.
"Hey, listen, can you meet me?" he asked. "I need to talk to you. In person."
"Uhh, sure." We had practically just left each other when class had let out an hour before. "Where?"
"I'll come to you. Let's go to the Evergreen."
I turned to Mojo who was sitting at her desk in our bedroom. "HOLYSHITHE'SCOMINGOVERHEWANTSTOTALKWE'REGOINGTOTHEEVERGREEN."
What came next can only be described as a SQUUUEEEEEEEEEE.
*******************
Within ten minutes he was outside my apartment.
"That was fast. Did you run here or something?"
"Uh ... yeah." He put his hands in his pockets and looked down at his feet as we began to walk the few blocks down Coldspring Avenue to the Evergreen Cafe, a worn in coffee shop down the street from Loyola's campus. We chatted along the way, and I did my best to ignore the fact that he had just urgently interrupted our chatting ten minutes before and then run to my apartment.
We both ordered a tea and sat down on one of the worn couches by the front window.
"So listen," he started. "I know starting something with us wouldn't make the most sense right now with New Zealand and graduation, but I don't think that should stop us if we feel something -- like, really feel something -- do you know what I mean?"
I could feel the color rising in my face. Was he really saying this stuff? After all those weeks of possible kisses and late night drinks and sunny lunches and borrowed pens. I looked at his hands as he spoke. They were moving, fiddling, they were strong. "Yeah. I know what you mean."
"So let's try it, yeah?" Wait a second. Was he asking me out? This wasn't how things worked in college. In college, you drank too much, flirted too much, and maybe went home with someone every once and a while. Then when you saw them next, you'd act like it never happened, or smile knowingly, or call them the next time you were on your way home from the bar to meet up late night. Then maybe you'd do it all again. That's how relationships formed, right? Was this kid asking me to be his girlfriend? Before we had even KISSED? What was B doing?
He was being completely charming. He was being classic. He was being respectful and slightly flirtatious and old fashioned and he was sweeping me off my feet.
"Yeah," I said. I could feel my blush starting in my stomach, moving up my chest, and out of my mouth with my response. My stomach flipped and it took all of my effort to not jump out of my seat. I crossed my legs and flitted my foot, a nervous habit.
B looked down at my rapidly moving foot as a smile spread across his entire face. "I like your shoes."
We sat at the Evergreen talking as the sun started to slink behind the buildings before we started back home. "Can I take you out on Friday?" He asked me. "We'll get some dinner and go see that movie we keep talking about." We were studying the book "In Cold Blood" in our Bowden class and the movie "Capote" had just hit theaters.
"Sure."
"Perfect."
B walked me to my door and I ran to my bedroom to pull out my favorite short story, one that B said he'd never read, "White Angel" by Michael Cunningham. I handed it to him. "It'll change the way you write."
He tucked the story under his arm. "I'll see you on Friday." His shaggy hair fell over his eyes and he nodded his head to push it aside.
"See you then ..."
... To be continued. Tweet
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Wednesday's Song of the Week
I love Peter Bjorn and John. I enjoy them so much that if I had triplets right now I'd seriously consider naming them Peter, Bjorn, and John because I like the ring of it that much. It's sort of like Peter Paul and Mary minus the whole Puff the Magic Dragon thing, which is kind of creepy, frankly, I don't care how much you loved that imaginary dragon when you were five. I'm also not sure why the idea of triplets popped into my head right now. It's probably because I had another dream that I was pregnant last night, which seems to be happening in alarming frequency now that the wedding is coming up. The worst part is in my dreams, I never realize I'm pregnant until I'm walking down the aisle or getting ready to put on my wedding dress and all of a sudden I look down and I've got this huge basketball-sized stomach and I'm all, "holy shit I'm pregnant." And everyone else is like "how the hell did THAT happen?" as if they don't know about the whole P in V thing, and I kind of just shrug because now is not the time for biology class. And then I panic because first of all, my dress does NOT work with pregnant belly, and two, I have been drinking a lot over the past nine months and now this baby is definitely going to have some problems and it's all my fault.
ANYWAY. A lot of people nodded their heads in approval when "Young Folks" hit the popular music scene a couple of years ago, but Peter Bjorn and John have been releasing a relatively steady stream of albums that proves that they are, in fact, fecking awesome. And perhaps best of all? They seem like damn funny guys.
HOLY SHIT, YA'LL IT'S A TWO-FER. LET'S GO CRAZY, SHALL WE?
Tweet
ANYWAY. A lot of people nodded their heads in approval when "Young Folks" hit the popular music scene a couple of years ago, but Peter Bjorn and John have been releasing a relatively steady stream of albums that proves that they are, in fact, fecking awesome. And perhaps best of all? They seem like damn funny guys.
HOLY SHIT, YA'LL IT'S A TWO-FER. LET'S GO CRAZY, SHALL WE?
Tweet
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Winning on Yellaphant is kind of like winning the lottery
Picking contest winners gets me all giddy. Every time a number gets pulled from the hat, otherwise known as random.org, my stomach does a little flip and I usually start clapping and B's all what are you clapping at are you okay do you need some water? And I'm all IT'S PRESENNTSSSS kind of like that dog that runs around yelling for bacon in that commercial, because giving presents is SO FUN.
If I ever got to be one of those people that pulls up the winning lottery balls, I'd jump up and down and squeel every time a number came up because SEVEENN ooohh someone out there's got a seven TWO oh my god who's got seven, two, NINE holy gah someone's gonna win lots of MONIESSS, which is probably illegal because why else would those people be so emotionless when they're potentially giving out MILLIONS of dollars every night? The suspense would just kill me. And then I'd probably do my model walk and give a little wink just in case someone important was watching, like a movie director. Or your dad.
Anyway, today I'm going to announce the winner of the $20 gift certificate to Sheila's Inspired Designs. Choosing today's winner was easy because it was NUMBER ONE. That's you, Hillary! Hooray, Hillary! I didn't even have to COUNT, which is awesome.
If you didn't win, stop crying, pick yourself up off the floor, and don't let today be your last trip to Sheila's shop. Have a friend's birthday coming up?
BOOM you're done. Your sister is graduating?
Let me make it easy for you. You just want to treat yourself because treating yourself is awesome? Here you go.
You're welcome.
And of course, a huge thank you to Sheila for flaunting her stuff. I'm sorry about that time I set my brother's room on fire while you were babysitting us.
As always, if you do stuff with things and whatever and you want to be a Yellaphant Featured Artist, send me an e-mail. I swear it's not contagious. Tweet
If I ever got to be one of those people that pulls up the winning lottery balls, I'd jump up and down and squeel every time a number came up because SEVEENN ooohh someone out there's got a seven TWO oh my god who's got seven, two, NINE holy gah someone's gonna win lots of MONIESSS, which is probably illegal because why else would those people be so emotionless when they're potentially giving out MILLIONS of dollars every night? The suspense would just kill me. And then I'd probably do my model walk and give a little wink just in case someone important was watching, like a movie director. Or your dad.
Anyway, today I'm going to announce the winner of the $20 gift certificate to Sheila's Inspired Designs. Choosing today's winner was easy because it was NUMBER ONE. That's you, Hillary! Hooray, Hillary! I didn't even have to COUNT, which is awesome.
If you didn't win, stop crying, pick yourself up off the floor, and don't let today be your last trip to Sheila's shop. Have a friend's birthday coming up?
BOOM you're done. Your sister is graduating?
Let me make it easy for you. You just want to treat yourself because treating yourself is awesome? Here you go.
You're welcome.And of course, a huge thank you to Sheila for flaunting her stuff. I'm sorry about that time I set my brother's room on fire while you were babysitting us.
As always, if you do stuff with things and whatever and you want to be a Yellaphant Featured Artist, send me an e-mail. I swear it's not contagious. Tweet
Monday, July 13, 2009
On totally NOT dying at the Philadelphia Women's Triathlon
FIRST PLACE FIRST PLACE FIRST PLACE WOOT WOOT WOOT. I'm sorry, I've gotten ahead of myself. On Sunday, my mom and I competed in our first triathlon ever. And remember back in January when I was all I have an announcement, I'm going to drown myself in July? Only I didn't really FEEL like dying, which is why I started swimming once a week so I COULD do a triathlon without drowning?
Well anyway, we've been training for a while now for the Philadelphia Women's Triathlon. The running and biking? Pff. No problem. But the swim? In the Schuylkill River? We were going to need a lot of practice. Which is why we started in January. Since JANUARY we have been swimming every week in the town's public high school's pool and you don't even wanna know about the hairballs I saw on the bottom of THAT pool for this triathlon.
So by Sunday, we were about as ready as we were going to be. And by that I mean we were fairly confident we wouldn't die on the course, but that's about it. Only when we got to the starting point the morning of the race, they had decided to CANCEL the swimming portion because a bad storm in Philadelphia on Saturday night had filled with river with all sorts of debris like tree limbs and garbage and old tires and I think there was a dead cat. Disappointing, to say the least.
Instead, we would be running 1.9 miles, biking 17 miles, and then running another 3.1 miles. But don't worry, they assured us, this course would be even HARDER than it would have been with the swimming. But you know what? We totally didn't die. We tore it up. TORE. IT. UP.
My mom and I came in first place in the mother-daughter category, and my mom placed third overall in her age group. I won't tell you how old she is butit rhymes with shmifty shmour she's 30 years older than me she looks 35. But I am SO proud of her.
We didn't get to swim, but we still had an awesome time and helloooo, everything's awesome when you win. Now we just have to do another first triathlon so we can take care of that swimming thing. But already my super competitive streak has taken over and I am out for blood. When we got home, I spent some time Googling upcoming triathlons. And after years of being all oh we aren't competing, we just want to finish. Oh no, we just race to have fun. Blah blah blah. Now I'm all bring it ON because I will run you into the GROUND.
B's mom had always told me about a triathlon that takes place near their town in Massachusetts in June and how all the ladies of the town get uber competitive with each other and talk some major smack while they snap on their bike helmets and I was always, oh no no I will not be participating in any of that nonsense. But then after yesterday, I spent last night drawing EAT MY DIRT, BITCHES in big block letters on the back of a t-shirt that I plan on wearing to that triathlon next summer. It's gonna be awesome. Tweet
Well anyway, we've been training for a while now for the Philadelphia Women's Triathlon. The running and biking? Pff. No problem. But the swim? In the Schuylkill River? We were going to need a lot of practice. Which is why we started in January. Since JANUARY we have been swimming every week in the town's public high school's pool and you don't even wanna know about the hairballs I saw on the bottom of THAT pool for this triathlon.
So by Sunday, we were about as ready as we were going to be. And by that I mean we were fairly confident we wouldn't die on the course, but that's about it. Only when we got to the starting point the morning of the race, they had decided to CANCEL the swimming portion because a bad storm in Philadelphia on Saturday night had filled with river with all sorts of debris like tree limbs and garbage and old tires and I think there was a dead cat. Disappointing, to say the least.
Instead, we would be running 1.9 miles, biking 17 miles, and then running another 3.1 miles. But don't worry, they assured us, this course would be even HARDER than it would have been with the swimming. But you know what? We totally didn't die. We tore it up. TORE. IT. UP.
My mom and I came in first place in the mother-daughter category, and my mom placed third overall in her age group. I won't tell you how old she is but
We didn't get to swim, but we still had an awesome time and helloooo, everything's awesome when you win. Now we just have to do another first triathlon so we can take care of that swimming thing. But already my super competitive streak has taken over and I am out for blood. When we got home, I spent some time Googling upcoming triathlons. And after years of being all oh we aren't competing, we just want to finish. Oh no, we just race to have fun. Blah blah blah. Now I'm all bring it ON because I will run you into the GROUND.
B's mom had always told me about a triathlon that takes place near their town in Massachusetts in June and how all the ladies of the town get uber competitive with each other and talk some major smack while they snap on their bike helmets and I was always, oh no no I will not be participating in any of that nonsense. But then after yesterday, I spent last night drawing EAT MY DIRT, BITCHES in big block letters on the back of a t-shirt that I plan on wearing to that triathlon next summer. It's gonna be awesome. Tweet
Friday, July 10, 2009
True lurve on campus (part 3): The birthday special
With the wedding coming up quickly -- 11 weeks to go -- I've been doing some thinking about everything that has happened in between the night B and I had our first date almost four years ago and today. All the things that have changed, and more importantly, the one thing that has stayed the same. You can catch up here.
It was now mid October and B and I were great friends. But that was it. And it was driving me insane. The air was growing cooler, but the electricity between us so hot it was shocking. We talked every day. Grabbed lunch after class. And went record shopping, digging through stacks of dusty music together.
I spent a few evenings a week working in the school's darkroom, where I would monitor the chemicals and get some of my own photography work done at the same time. I loved those quiet nights, the smell of developing chemicals seeped deep into my skin. In most cases, it was just me in there, alone with the soft buzz of the dim orange lights. But recently B had started visiting me.
When he walked into the darkroom office for the first time, emerging from the unlit hallway, my heart skipped a beat. Holy shit, every darkroom fantasy I'd ever had was about to come true. Hands grasping for hands in the darkness, backs pressed against walls, lips searching for lips. I gave him a tour of where I spent so many hours of my week, and saved the best part for last.
The room where we take the film from out of their rolls and wind them into the canisters for development was so dark you couldn't see the hand in front of your face. To carefully break open rolls of film and correctly wind them around the developing reel without the use of your eyes heightened all of your other senses, especially your sense of touch. Every time I stepped into that room, I was keenly aware of everything that passed under my fingers, the sharp blades of the scissors, the smooth counter top, the rough surface of the walls.
We walked in and I shut the door behind us so B could get the full effect of total and impenetrable darkness. A matter of seconds passed before we were back in the dim hallway again. The moment had passed before I even knew what happened. WHAT LE FECK?
After about an hour of sitting in the all too well lit photography office, talking and laughing (and completely aware of all the touching we weren't doing), my shift was over and we both headed home in opposite directions. He disappeared into the darkness of the east side, and I walked over the bridge to the west.
"So let me get this straight," my friend Emily started as soon as I walked in the door. "He walked all the way to the darkroom and you guys didn't even KISS? SERIOUSLY?"
In the mean time, my 21st birthday was quickly coming up. And in college, 21st birthdays are like national holidays. Only bigger. And drunker. This had to be it. This had to be what he was waiting for.
The morning of my birthday I woke up as usual. Took a quick shower, ate a bowl of cereal, and headed to class. My mom called to wish me a happy birthday, and reminded me not to be too hung over for the next day. She, my two aunts, and my cousin were all coming down to Baltimore for a 21st birthday celebration that had become our family's tradition, embarrassing hats and obligatory birthday scavenger hunt included. I invited B to the big event, and he had eagerly agreed to come along.
I slipped my cell phone into my bag and opened the stairwell doors on the ground floor of my building, where I was greeted, face to face, with one of the most absurd pictures of me that I had ever seen. It had been taken at Bonnaroo the summer before. It was late, I was dirty, and we were all slightly out of our minds. Typical Bonnaroo.
This poster was a close up of my face, with BRIDIE'S 21! written in huge block lettering across the top. My roommates had printed out close to 100 of these pages, and taped them to lampposts, trashcans, billboards, doors, and even the bricks under people's feet on the bridge. It was amazing.
I spent the entire day giggling with my girlfriends, and deciding which bars we wanted to hit that night. When I got home from my last class later that afternoon, I got a call from one of my best friends from high school who wanted to wish me a happy birthday.
"So what are you doing right now?" she asked.
"Nothing, we're about to have some dinner and then later we'll head out."
"Awesome. So ... could you come downstairs and let us in?"
I ran down the steps and found Lauren and our friend Bill -- both students at St. Joe's University in Philadelphia -- standing on the steps. Lauren, with a bag of ringpops in her hand, and Bill with a large pumpkin. They'd driven down from Philadelphia to Baltimore in the middle of the Thursday afternoon to go out for my birthday, and they were planning on making it back to Philly in time for their 6 a.m. crew practice the next morning. This was going to be huge. Now there was no choice.
All of our closest guy friends -- who also happened to live directly across the hall from us -- came over and the celebrations began in earnest. Obligatory birthday jell-o shots were passed around, and we all took turns wearing the leopard cat ears that Falko had given me as a birthday present. Falko really knows how to please the ladies.
Bill played designated taxi driver in Lauren's purple family mini-van, the Hubble, which had been our trusted mode of transportation everywhere since we were 16. We headed down to Federal Hill and spent a few hours at The Thirsty Dog, where round after round of flavored beers were passed around. And, of course, a few too many shots of whiskey with the bartender.
B had called earlier that night to wish me a happy birthday. I told him I was going out with my friends, but I was sure I'd see him when we went to York Road after Fed Hill. After the Thirsty Dog, we all piled back into the Hubble and headed for York. Bill pulled to a stop in front of Craig's Tavern and we tumbled out. By this time it was close to 1 a.m. and Lauren and Bill decided it was time to turn the car around and drive back the two hours to Philadelphia in time for their early morning practice which, by the way, they attended.
And then it all gets a little fuzzy. But when I did find B, pushing one of his roommates into a cab outside Swallow's, WHILE WEARING A SKIRT, I was speechless.
"I gotta get this kid home, he's not doing too well."
"Um, skirt. Err?"
B was really working to get all of his roommate's limbs inside the cab. "Yeah," he grunted. "Magic eight ball night." B and his friends had determined his entire night by asking questions to a magic eight ball. Does B want to take this shot of tequila? Probably. Should B buy us a round of drinks? Yes. Will B wear a skirt to the bar? Most definitely. "Happy birthday again and I'll see you tomorrow!"
Tomorrow. My family. Oh my gah.
I went home slightly disappointed, again, but still generally on cloud nine from an amazing night with my best friends. "THAT IS IT," I declared to Mojo as I slumped to the floor, my back against the front door of our apartment. "I'm telling that big, fat MORON that I like him."
"Do it," Mojo encouraged.
"Are you sure you should be telling her to do anything besides go to bed?" her boyfriend asked from the kitchen. "Oops boobie, let's put that back where it goes, not looking, not looking, good job."
"No, I'm telling him that I LIKE him like him. Just watch me make my moves."
B answered his phone quickly. "Hey!"
"YOU just SHUT UP with your HEYS"
"Okay."
"Listen to me now. I am tired of wondering if you're wondering if maybe I like you because THAT is so sixth grade."
"Okay."
"Well, I do. Not that YOU'D ever DO anything about it. But I do."
"Bridget, I like you too."
"Oh, well I think I knew that. You do? Okay, well I'm glad we got that cleared up."
"Yeah ..."
"K'bye."
******************************
I woke up the next morning to my cell phone ringing under my pillow. It was my mom. "Are you awake? Get up! We're right down the street." Oh gaaaaah. I lifted my head. Oooohhhh gaaaaaaahh. I pulled a blue ring pop out of my hair and walked to the bathroom to look in the mirror. Ooooooohhhhh gaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh.
The entire left side of my face and a large patch of my blonde hair was stained blue. I was in the same clothes from the night before. And my family was down the street. I jumped in the shower while my roommates entertained my family as they walked in the door. My aunt however dropped some bags off in my bedroom and opened up my laptop screen to dozens of windows of instant messaged happy birthdays. She pulled up the most recent one, an IM from one of our friends and an ex-boyfriend of one of my roommates, Buddy.
Then she started typing. Thanks for the birthday wishes, I'm so nervous though.
Why are you nervous?
Well, my mom and my aunts are coming and I'm going to tell them.
Tell them what?
You know, TELL THEM. I'm coming out today. OF THE CLOSET.
LOL, this isn't Bridget is it?
As I was getting dressed I got a call from Buddy. "Hey, kid. Are your aunts there already?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Juuust making sure."
******************************
We did the birthday presents thing, then headed out to the campus book store so my mom and aunts could replenish their Loyola College gear.
"Oh no." It was coming.
"Are you okay? You don't look so good." My cousin turned around.
I made it to the student lounge and stumbled to the trashcan, where it all came up. "Are you SERIOUS?" my mom asked while my aunt took pictures.
"That's my girl! And it's the aunts!" It was Buddy. He patted my back as I leaned over the trashcan while greeting my family face to face. This was just wonderful.
******************************
After a dinner in Little Italy, we re-joined my roommates and B at our apartment, and split into cabs to go down to Fell's Point, another popular Loyola neighborhood. It's safe to say that B had no idea what he was in for.
We bar hopped through the neighborhood, took over rooms, started conga lines, and danced forever, and B was along for the entire ride. Inside Slainte, I sat down for a rest next to a group of new friends my family and girlfriends had picked up in the bar. B was surrounded by three middle aged gay men, and the woman they were with turned to me.
"Is that your boyfriend?" She nodded towards B.
"Oh. No, just a friend."
"Girlfriend, please. Not for long. He hasn't taken his eyes off of you all night. It's obvious he adores you."
I was floored. "He's been looking at me? Really?"
"Mmhmm. Totally obvious."
My face flushed. "Wow."
******************************
The night wore down and we ended the evening inside a small pub singing along to The Sound of Music's "So Long Farewell." We all split a pizza from the small shop down the street, the best pizza in Baltimore, I'll add, and reviewed the complete scavenger hunt. Picture with police officer. Check. Pinch 21 random guys' butts. Check. Get five random people to buy you a drink. Check. Get the entire bar to sing you Happy Birthday. Check. Check. Check. Check.
We made it back to my apartment, and my family eventually headed back to their hotel. My roommates scattered to their bedrooms. Finally B and I were alone in the hallway, the same spot where I had slurred my confession the night before, those words from still ringing in my ears. This was finally, FINALLY it.
"I had an awesome time tonight. Your family is so much fun."
"I know they're amazing. I had a great time too. I'm so glad you came out with us."
We inched closer.
"Of course. I wouldn't have missed your birthday."
Closer.
"Well, you know, after last night's little skirt debacle ..."
Closer.
"Magic eight ball night ... never again."
Closer.
"Well ... thanks again for coming."
Closer.
"YEPGOODNIGHTSEEYASOON."
And he was out the door and down the steps before I could even take a breath ...
... To be continued. Tweet
It was now mid October and B and I were great friends. But that was it. And it was driving me insane. The air was growing cooler, but the electricity between us so hot it was shocking. We talked every day. Grabbed lunch after class. And went record shopping, digging through stacks of dusty music together.
I spent a few evenings a week working in the school's darkroom, where I would monitor the chemicals and get some of my own photography work done at the same time. I loved those quiet nights, the smell of developing chemicals seeped deep into my skin. In most cases, it was just me in there, alone with the soft buzz of the dim orange lights. But recently B had started visiting me.
When he walked into the darkroom office for the first time, emerging from the unlit hallway, my heart skipped a beat. Holy shit, every darkroom fantasy I'd ever had was about to come true. Hands grasping for hands in the darkness, backs pressed against walls, lips searching for lips. I gave him a tour of where I spent so many hours of my week, and saved the best part for last.
The room where we take the film from out of their rolls and wind them into the canisters for development was so dark you couldn't see the hand in front of your face. To carefully break open rolls of film and correctly wind them around the developing reel without the use of your eyes heightened all of your other senses, especially your sense of touch. Every time I stepped into that room, I was keenly aware of everything that passed under my fingers, the sharp blades of the scissors, the smooth counter top, the rough surface of the walls.
We walked in and I shut the door behind us so B could get the full effect of total and impenetrable darkness. A matter of seconds passed before we were back in the dim hallway again. The moment had passed before I even knew what happened. WHAT LE FECK?
After about an hour of sitting in the all too well lit photography office, talking and laughing (and completely aware of all the touching we weren't doing), my shift was over and we both headed home in opposite directions. He disappeared into the darkness of the east side, and I walked over the bridge to the west.
"So let me get this straight," my friend Emily started as soon as I walked in the door. "He walked all the way to the darkroom and you guys didn't even KISS? SERIOUSLY?"
In the mean time, my 21st birthday was quickly coming up. And in college, 21st birthdays are like national holidays. Only bigger. And drunker. This had to be it. This had to be what he was waiting for.
The morning of my birthday I woke up as usual. Took a quick shower, ate a bowl of cereal, and headed to class. My mom called to wish me a happy birthday, and reminded me not to be too hung over for the next day. She, my two aunts, and my cousin were all coming down to Baltimore for a 21st birthday celebration that had become our family's tradition, embarrassing hats and obligatory birthday scavenger hunt included. I invited B to the big event, and he had eagerly agreed to come along.
I slipped my cell phone into my bag and opened the stairwell doors on the ground floor of my building, where I was greeted, face to face, with one of the most absurd pictures of me that I had ever seen. It had been taken at Bonnaroo the summer before. It was late, I was dirty, and we were all slightly out of our minds. Typical Bonnaroo.
This poster was a close up of my face, with BRIDIE'S 21! written in huge block lettering across the top. My roommates had printed out close to 100 of these pages, and taped them to lampposts, trashcans, billboards, doors, and even the bricks under people's feet on the bridge. It was amazing.
I spent the entire day giggling with my girlfriends, and deciding which bars we wanted to hit that night. When I got home from my last class later that afternoon, I got a call from one of my best friends from high school who wanted to wish me a happy birthday.
"So what are you doing right now?" she asked.
"Nothing, we're about to have some dinner and then later we'll head out."
"Awesome. So ... could you come downstairs and let us in?"
I ran down the steps and found Lauren and our friend Bill -- both students at St. Joe's University in Philadelphia -- standing on the steps. Lauren, with a bag of ringpops in her hand, and Bill with a large pumpkin. They'd driven down from Philadelphia to Baltimore in the middle of the Thursday afternoon to go out for my birthday, and they were planning on making it back to Philly in time for their 6 a.m. crew practice the next morning. This was going to be huge. Now there was no choice.
All of our closest guy friends -- who also happened to live directly across the hall from us -- came over and the celebrations began in earnest. Obligatory birthday jell-o shots were passed around, and we all took turns wearing the leopard cat ears that Falko had given me as a birthday present. Falko really knows how to please the ladies.
Bill played designated taxi driver in Lauren's purple family mini-van, the Hubble, which had been our trusted mode of transportation everywhere since we were 16. We headed down to Federal Hill and spent a few hours at The Thirsty Dog, where round after round of flavored beers were passed around. And, of course, a few too many shots of whiskey with the bartender.
B had called earlier that night to wish me a happy birthday. I told him I was going out with my friends, but I was sure I'd see him when we went to York Road after Fed Hill. After the Thirsty Dog, we all piled back into the Hubble and headed for York. Bill pulled to a stop in front of Craig's Tavern and we tumbled out. By this time it was close to 1 a.m. and Lauren and Bill decided it was time to turn the car around and drive back the two hours to Philadelphia in time for their early morning practice which, by the way, they attended.
And then it all gets a little fuzzy. But when I did find B, pushing one of his roommates into a cab outside Swallow's, WHILE WEARING A SKIRT, I was speechless.
"I gotta get this kid home, he's not doing too well."
"Um, skirt. Err?"
B was really working to get all of his roommate's limbs inside the cab. "Yeah," he grunted. "Magic eight ball night." B and his friends had determined his entire night by asking questions to a magic eight ball. Does B want to take this shot of tequila? Probably. Should B buy us a round of drinks? Yes. Will B wear a skirt to the bar? Most definitely. "Happy birthday again and I'll see you tomorrow!"
Tomorrow. My family. Oh my gah.
I went home slightly disappointed, again, but still generally on cloud nine from an amazing night with my best friends. "THAT IS IT," I declared to Mojo as I slumped to the floor, my back against the front door of our apartment. "I'm telling that big, fat MORON that I like him."
"Do it," Mojo encouraged.
"Are you sure you should be telling her to do anything besides go to bed?" her boyfriend asked from the kitchen. "Oops boobie, let's put that back where it goes, not looking, not looking, good job."
"No, I'm telling him that I LIKE him like him. Just watch me make my moves."
B answered his phone quickly. "Hey!"
"YOU just SHUT UP with your HEYS"
"Okay."
"Listen to me now. I am tired of wondering if you're wondering if maybe I like you because THAT is so sixth grade."
"Okay."
"Well, I do. Not that YOU'D ever DO anything about it. But I do."
"Bridget, I like you too."
"Oh, well I think I knew that. You do? Okay, well I'm glad we got that cleared up."
"Yeah ..."
"K'bye."
******************************
I woke up the next morning to my cell phone ringing under my pillow. It was my mom. "Are you awake? Get up! We're right down the street." Oh gaaaaah. I lifted my head. Oooohhhh gaaaaaaahh. I pulled a blue ring pop out of my hair and walked to the bathroom to look in the mirror. Ooooooohhhhh gaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh.
The entire left side of my face and a large patch of my blonde hair was stained blue. I was in the same clothes from the night before. And my family was down the street. I jumped in the shower while my roommates entertained my family as they walked in the door. My aunt however dropped some bags off in my bedroom and opened up my laptop screen to dozens of windows of instant messaged happy birthdays. She pulled up the most recent one, an IM from one of our friends and an ex-boyfriend of one of my roommates, Buddy.
Then she started typing. Thanks for the birthday wishes, I'm so nervous though.
Why are you nervous?
Well, my mom and my aunts are coming and I'm going to tell them.
Tell them what?
You know, TELL THEM. I'm coming out today. OF THE CLOSET.
LOL, this isn't Bridget is it?
As I was getting dressed I got a call from Buddy. "Hey, kid. Are your aunts there already?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Juuust making sure."
******************************
We did the birthday presents thing, then headed out to the campus book store so my mom and aunts could replenish their Loyola College gear.
"Oh no." It was coming.
"Are you okay? You don't look so good." My cousin turned around.
I made it to the student lounge and stumbled to the trashcan, where it all came up. "Are you SERIOUS?" my mom asked while my aunt took pictures.
"That's my girl! And it's the aunts!" It was Buddy. He patted my back as I leaned over the trashcan while greeting my family face to face. This was just wonderful.
******************************
After a dinner in Little Italy, we re-joined my roommates and B at our apartment, and split into cabs to go down to Fell's Point, another popular Loyola neighborhood. It's safe to say that B had no idea what he was in for.
We bar hopped through the neighborhood, took over rooms, started conga lines, and danced forever, and B was along for the entire ride. Inside Slainte, I sat down for a rest next to a group of new friends my family and girlfriends had picked up in the bar. B was surrounded by three middle aged gay men, and the woman they were with turned to me.
"Is that your boyfriend?" She nodded towards B.
"Oh. No, just a friend."
"Girlfriend, please. Not for long. He hasn't taken his eyes off of you all night. It's obvious he adores you."
I was floored. "He's been looking at me? Really?"
"Mmhmm. Totally obvious."
My face flushed. "Wow."
******************************
The night wore down and we ended the evening inside a small pub singing along to The Sound of Music's "So Long Farewell." We all split a pizza from the small shop down the street, the best pizza in Baltimore, I'll add, and reviewed the complete scavenger hunt. Picture with police officer. Check. Pinch 21 random guys' butts. Check. Get five random people to buy you a drink. Check. Get the entire bar to sing you Happy Birthday. Check. Check. Check. Check.
We made it back to my apartment, and my family eventually headed back to their hotel. My roommates scattered to their bedrooms. Finally B and I were alone in the hallway, the same spot where I had slurred my confession the night before, those words from still ringing in my ears. This was finally, FINALLY it.
"I had an awesome time tonight. Your family is so much fun."
"I know they're amazing. I had a great time too. I'm so glad you came out with us."
We inched closer.
"Of course. I wouldn't have missed your birthday."
Closer.
"Well, you know, after last night's little skirt debacle ..."
Closer.
"Magic eight ball night ... never again."
Closer.
"Well ... thanks again for coming."
Closer.
"YEPGOODNIGHTSEEYASOON."
And he was out the door and down the steps before I could even take a breath ...
... To be continued. Tweet
Thursday, July 9, 2009
You never say, "I'm gonna fight you, Steve." You just smile and act natural, and then you sucker-punch him.
I'm getting restless. You know that feeling right before the car crash? When you can see the back of the car in front of you getting closer and everything moves in slow motion but you know there's no way you can stop from ramming into it and so you just sit there, waiting for the point of impact and wishing it would just hurry up and happen already and wondering what it'll be like when it's over? Will every bone in your body be crushed, or will you walk away stronger and better than ever like the time that kid broke his arm and then was the best pitcher in major league baseball? You know, like in "Rookie of the Year." It could totally happen.
I'm NOT saying that the wedding and everything that follows will be a car crash. No, NO, NO. Well, the wedding itself might be a train wreck because open bar, beetchesssss, but I'm talking about change. We've reached the point of the final countdown. I've never been happier or more excited in my entire life. But following the wedding comes the move from Philadelphia to Boston, the change of jobs, the leaving of my family, the task of making new friends, and the all around starting from scratch that has me a bit antsy.
It's not that I'm dreading it. In fact, I'm pretty excited about it. And equally terrified. But I just wish it would happen already so I can stop worrying about it and just do it. Long planning periods get me all uppity. It's kind of like getting directions. If the actual giving of directions turns out to take more than 36 seconds of my time, my mind shuts off, I stop paying attention, and I start wondering how many eggrolls I could fit into my mouth at once.
Telling me a big change is about to happen -- a change that will literally rearrange every aspect of my life as I know it -- is kind of like locking a six year old in a room with nothing except a chair, a crate of fireworks, and a blow torch and telling him to be good, you'll be back in six weeks. Someone's either gonna go crazy or blow their arm off.
Or like when you're jumping out of planes. You don't make up your mind to jump out of that plane and then sit in the cockpit reading about the most embarrassing places to get caught having sex in this month's Cosmo and giggling over the word cockpit. You say you're gonna jump and you fucking jump. Like, right now.
B's gotten pretty good at reading my moods recently. He can usually tell in a look or two where my head is. This is probably because when he gets home from work I'm either bopping around, singing to myself, making dinner, and playing with the dog, or I'm lying on my back on the floor with no pants and an empty bottle of wine at my side. And I'm usually all, "don't speak, my head hurts from thinking." And B's always all, "oh, well does your face hurt?" And that's when I punch him in the mouth because we all know where that one is going.
So what I propose right now is that my job just let me go on a highly-paid vacation until September so I can mentally prepare myself and then everyone wins because I stop losing my mind and the people in my office stop worrying about the day that I actually do set my desk on fire.
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I'm NOT saying that the wedding and everything that follows will be a car crash. No, NO, NO. Well, the wedding itself might be a train wreck because open bar, beetchesssss, but I'm talking about change. We've reached the point of the final countdown. I've never been happier or more excited in my entire life. But following the wedding comes the move from Philadelphia to Boston, the change of jobs, the leaving of my family, the task of making new friends, and the all around starting from scratch that has me a bit antsy.
It's not that I'm dreading it. In fact, I'm pretty excited about it. And equally terrified. But I just wish it would happen already so I can stop worrying about it and just do it. Long planning periods get me all uppity. It's kind of like getting directions. If the actual giving of directions turns out to take more than 36 seconds of my time, my mind shuts off, I stop paying attention, and I start wondering how many eggrolls I could fit into my mouth at once.
Telling me a big change is about to happen -- a change that will literally rearrange every aspect of my life as I know it -- is kind of like locking a six year old in a room with nothing except a chair, a crate of fireworks, and a blow torch and telling him to be good, you'll be back in six weeks. Someone's either gonna go crazy or blow their arm off.Or like when you're jumping out of planes. You don't make up your mind to jump out of that plane and then sit in the cockpit reading about the most embarrassing places to get caught having sex in this month's Cosmo and giggling over the word cockpit. You say you're gonna jump and you fucking jump. Like, right now.
B's gotten pretty good at reading my moods recently. He can usually tell in a look or two where my head is. This is probably because when he gets home from work I'm either bopping around, singing to myself, making dinner, and playing with the dog, or I'm lying on my back on the floor with no pants and an empty bottle of wine at my side. And I'm usually all, "don't speak, my head hurts from thinking." And B's always all, "oh, well does your face hurt?" And that's when I punch him in the mouth because we all know where that one is going.
So what I propose right now is that my job just let me go on a highly-paid vacation until September so I can mentally prepare myself and then everyone wins because I stop losing my mind and the people in my office stop worrying about the day that I actually do set my desk on fire.
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Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Holla atcha, sportsfans
A big welcome to all you Deadspin, The Fightins, and Philebrity readers and any other sportfans who showed up today. I assume you're here for the free beer and peanuts. Possibly even some boobies. You'll find a six pack in your fridge when you get home, and I'll be leaving work early to take pictures of myself jumping on a trampoline in a white t-shirt while someone sprays water all over me. Then we'll make cupcakes. Typical Wednesday.
And an equally big thank you to Deadspin for throwing up yesterday's Cole Hamels photo. Heidi is totes gonna smack me in the mouth.
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And an equally big thank you to Deadspin for throwing up yesterday's Cole Hamels photo. Heidi is totes gonna smack me in the mouth.
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Wednesday's Song of the Week
I know I just featured a Passion Pit song in the last Song of the Week, but I'm kind of obsessed with this song right now SO GET OVER IT. This song perfectly fits my mood as of late. It's a generally mellow song, but if it hits you at the right time, it can be downright frantic. I'm talking lie on your back on a raft in the middle of the pool with a Corona and lime while you flex your toes to the beat mellow or jump up and down and shake your butt and yell and maybe even throw a plate or two frantic.
Also, I go a little nuts for the little kids singing in the background. You know how everyone has their own "porn?" Like some people go insane over shoes or built in bookshelves or the color yellow or porn. I lose it when little kids sing in non-little kid songs. Little kid voices are totally my porn. Maybe I'm a pedophile and I never even knew it. This post is going in the wrong direction.
Anyway, as I'm sure B will eagerly agree, I've had some dramatic, but thankfully short-lived moments of panic hit me recently. The wedding is in 11 weeks, we're actively house hunting, I'm passively job searching, we're worried about money, I'm training for a triathlon, and I'm buried at work. It's the kind of situation that could drive some people to black out and wake up in a pool of packing peanuts and their own urine in a parking lot eight miles from their house. I'm not saying I'm one of those people, I'm just saying.
Lately, this has been the song I listen to on my way to Back On My Feet in the mornings, as the sun just starts to peak over Boathouse Row and the eastern side of every sparkling high rise in Philadelphia glows orange. And again on my way home, with the windows down and my spirits high and my legs tired and my butt getting butt sweat all over the front seat of B's car.
Speaking of Back On My Feet, there's still time to donate to our big fundraiser, 20in24. I'll be running at midnight next Saturday, July 18 decked out in my finest glow in the dark ensemble. Every single dollar we raise goes to helping Philadelphia's homeless -- from running their first mile to their 500th mile, from joining a job placement program to maintaining a job, and from staying clean in the shelters to finding affordable housing.
And like I said before, chances are, if you're a regular Yellaphant reader, you're an asshole with a pretty messed up sense of humor, so donating even a single dollar is the perfect way to lure all of your friends into thinking maybe you're NOT that big of a jerk. And then you can push them down the steps. It's genius, really.
Also, I had planned to show you thisreally awesome kind of cool mediocre video today of the fireworks we saw this weekend down at the art museum but I was pretty drunk didn't know that if you hold the camera sideways, the video will stay sideways even when you take it off the camera, unlike photos that you can just turn, even though I'm pretty sure my boss had told me that like ten times before. So what you need to do is take four shots of that whiskey you have stashed under your desk right now and just kind of cock your head and it'll be totally fine. I'll even do it with you, for the sake of solidarity. And you should probably hurry up because I'm like three shots deep right now and no one wants to be the drunkest girl at the party office. Unless that's your thing, in which case, bellies up. Maybe you should even play "Little Secrets" at the same time, and then we can really shake things up around here.
Also, this post has far too many things going on at once, and probably should have been broken down into three short posts, but like I said, FRANTIC. It's probably the early morning whiskey. Tweet
Also, I go a little nuts for the little kids singing in the background. You know how everyone has their own "porn?" Like some people go insane over shoes or built in bookshelves or the color yellow or porn. I lose it when little kids sing in non-little kid songs. Little kid voices are totally my porn. Maybe I'm a pedophile and I never even knew it. This post is going in the wrong direction.
Anyway, as I'm sure B will eagerly agree, I've had some dramatic, but thankfully short-lived moments of panic hit me recently. The wedding is in 11 weeks, we're actively house hunting, I'm passively job searching, we're worried about money, I'm training for a triathlon, and I'm buried at work. It's the kind of situation that could drive some people to black out and wake up in a pool of packing peanuts and their own urine in a parking lot eight miles from their house. I'm not saying I'm one of those people, I'm just saying.
Lately, this has been the song I listen to on my way to Back On My Feet in the mornings, as the sun just starts to peak over Boathouse Row and the eastern side of every sparkling high rise in Philadelphia glows orange. And again on my way home, with the windows down and my spirits high and my legs tired and my butt getting butt sweat all over the front seat of B's car.
Speaking of Back On My Feet, there's still time to donate to our big fundraiser, 20in24. I'll be running at midnight next Saturday, July 18 decked out in my finest glow in the dark ensemble. Every single dollar we raise goes to helping Philadelphia's homeless -- from running their first mile to their 500th mile, from joining a job placement program to maintaining a job, and from staying clean in the shelters to finding affordable housing.
And like I said before, chances are, if you're a regular Yellaphant reader, you're an asshole with a pretty messed up sense of humor, so donating even a single dollar is the perfect way to lure all of your friends into thinking maybe you're NOT that big of a jerk. And then you can push them down the steps. It's genius, really.
Also, I had planned to show you this
Also, this post has far too many things going on at once, and probably should have been broken down into three short posts, but like I said, FRANTIC. It's probably the early morning whiskey. Tweet
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
My argument for why Cole Hamels is probably actually gay
Take my word that this is the unstoppable Phillies pitcher Cole Hamels. B and I walked right past Cole and his wife Heidi at Philadelphia's Fourth of July celebration on the parkway. We were all excited. And then he turned around. Seriously, dude?Tweet
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