Wednesday's Song of the Week

Look who's finally keeping track of the days this week. That's got to count for something right? I'm not going to tell you about how my alarm didn't go off this morning and I missed my run and I ran out of coffee and then got stuck in traffic for an hour and a half. I'm just going to go with the fact that I remembered that it's Wednesday and we're going to call that a win.

While sitting in traffic this morning I decided to pop The Decemberists' "The Crane Wife" album. It's been a while since I've sat down and had a really good Decemberists listen and I forgot how happy this band makes me. I seemed to have forgotten exactly how soothing Colin Meloy's voice is. It's kind of like a warm sweater on a rainy day. And being as it's raining in Boston again this morning, I really needed that sweater.

There was barely a day that went by the second half of college that I didn't have a Decemberists album spinning on my iPod. When I was in New Zealand, I listened to The Decemberists when I missed B. This might be why I'm still comforted by them today.

Their songs are conceptual. They all tell a story and are spun with such poetry that it amazes me just as much on the 100th listen as it did on the first. They tell stories that take place hundreds of years ago. Of love lost during the Civil War and revenge sought out on giant wooden ships at sea and pistols and sabers and old, quiet love. It's all just so ... adventurous and romantic and poetic and gah it just makes me mushy inside.

And I know I just went on this tangent about how soothing The Decemberists are and how much they settle my heart and blah blah blah but I just majorly stressed myself out trying to find my favorite song to highlight here. I just can't decide. Should I give you "The Bachelor and the Bride," the one I would listen to on repeat while drifting to sleep in New Zealand when I missed B so much it hurt my chest? Or "Red Right Ankle," the song I would always turn to on long road trips through winding hills? Or what about "The Sporting Life," the song I'd always include on my mixes for jogging through the streets of Baltimore? Or what about "Eli, the Barrow Boy," the very first Decemberists song I fell in love with? Oh wait, no, that was "The Engine Driver." Ugh ugh ugh ugh I just can't decide.

So what I'm gonna do is just go with the video that makes me happiest at this moment because I'm sitting in front of my new happy lamp and this video reminds me of something Wes Anderson would whip up and that just makes me happy. It's not the most romantic or the most soothing or the best, but it does make me happy and that counts for something. So enjoy. Be happy.

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SUCK IT, KEN FOLLETT

I consider myself very close to my godmother. She's also my aunt, which helps, but mostly because she's awesome. She sends the funniest birthday cards and always has plenty of wine ready for visits and knows how to throw a damn good party. She's also been a life-long advocate for my voracious appetite for books. For as long as I can remember, I've been receiving a steady stream of books from her for holidays and birthdays. I never know what I'm going to get, but it's always good. So a few years ago when I got Ken Follett's "Pillars of the Earth" and "World Without End" for Christmas, I was excited. These books were massively huge, and because they were coming from my aunt, they were just about guaranteed to be great reads. Everyone in the room ooed and ahhed and commented about how these were some of their own favorite books. These were worldwide classics. These would be good. And this is the story about how I was dead wrong.

A few days later I cracked open "Pillars of the Earth." My fingers tingled with new book anticipation. The story started out lukewarm for me. But as the pages wore on, my spirits began to falter. By the time I was half way through, I hated it. HATED. IT. THIS was a worldwide classic? THIS was everyone's favorite book? THIS?

The real problem here though, is once I start reading a book, I can't stop. Kind of like how B and I can't turn away from Cougar Town. I have to go through with it and finish it. Right until the bitter end. I have never abandoned a book. I'm like the Marines Corps of books. Never leave a man book behind. It's a sick compulsion. And even worse, "Pillars of the Earth" is just about a babillion pages long. That bitch is longer than the Bible.

And it's just about as engaging as watching my dog lick his own ass. Every night before bed I would pick up that book before bed and power through. And every night I would fall asleep mid-sentence. The next night I'd pick up where I left off on the page and have no idea what was going on because I'd zoned out three pages before the previous night. How was I ever going to finish this goddamned book if I had to re-read the same five pages every single night just to figure out what in the hell was going on?!

Worst of all? Ken Follett is a shitty writer. Now, I'm a not saying that because I'm not a shitty writer, but I don't make any money. There is no vacation home and sports car waiting for me to claim them every time I fart out a post here. I do it because I love talking about myself you. You're welcome. Therefore I'm allowed to be shitty. Ken Follett is not. I'm pretty sure there were girls in my tenth grade English Lit class with Mrs. Roby who could write a more graceful sentence then this baboon. How about some poetry in those words, Kenneth?! You're a professional author. IMPRESS ME WITH YOUR WORDS.

When I finally finished "Pillars of the Earth" I slammed the book down triumphantly and let out a woop. I was free from Ken Follett's 16-fucking-page description of a godammned bear fight! I didn't have to read about peasant sex any more! To cleanse myself, I gobbled up any and every book set in the present day I could get my hands on. No more pock-faced knights and nasty earls for me! No more.

Time went by and the second book, "World Without End" sat collecting dust on my bookshelf. I was NOT going to put myself through that again. I'd rather french kiss my dog every night than have to go to bed with Ken Follett for another six months. When my mom was visiting and looking for something to read, I pushed "World Without End" into her hands.

"Have you read this yet?" she asked.

"No, but you can take it."

"Well, I don't want to take it if you haven't read it yet. I'll wait until you read it."

"NO. Just take it. That'll take years."

"Do you think I'll like it?"

"No. Yes. Probably not. You should just take it."

So she did. Months went by and I never heard about it. Then while down the shore this summer, I read all the books I brought faster than I had anticipated. I had a full four days left of beach reading with nothing to read. So I scoured the beach house for something to hold me over for the next few days. But I'd read everything in sight. And then my mom pulled it out.

"You said you never read this one, right?"

And then there I was, sitting on the goddamned beach with goddamned Ken Follett and goddamned "World Without End." GODDAMNIT.

That was three months ago. It's now the end of October and I am STILL reading that book. Every night before I go to bed I get to spend some time with good ol' Ken the fucking asshole Follett. And this book? Is even worse than the first. The writing is still shitty, the story goes on forever, and to top it all off, I'm officially convinced that Ken Follett is a he-man woman hater.

Hear me out. This is about to get heavy, but Ken Follett loves raping all of his women characters. It happened a couple times in "Pillars" but I don't think there's been a woman in "World Without End" who hasn't either been raped or have been in danger of being raped at least once. BUT WAIT, I'm not even done. Ready for this? In this book, the women like it. THAT'S RIGHT, ERRBODY. They're always "ashamed" when the tinglies start a'coming mid-rape. [Ed note: I'm rull, RULL sorry for that last sentence. I feel like I need to go wash my eyeballs now.] That's just fucked up. I mean, really. I can't believe I even have to write about this, but that's what happens when you decide to write a blog post before the sun even rises on a Monday morning. You end up talking about the peasants gettin' the tinglies. Egh. Also? Lesbian nuns. Because, really? REALLY? That's all I'm gonna say about that.

To be honest, I don't think I would have disliked these novels nearly as much if half the world hadn't told me that they were their favorite books before I started. These? Really? But every night I slog on. Every night I heft up that Bible-length book and rest it on my chest because it's too much of an bicep workout to hold. And I realized recently that again, just like Cougar Town, I love to hate it. Every night I flip open the book and proclaim, "welp only 893 pages to go. Almost done." Whenever B asks me what part I'm at, I tell him "the part right after that girl got raped and now that guy is building things and everyone is dying of the plague," and no matter what page I'm on, it's a pretty accurate description. Do you know how many pages there are in "World Without End?" 1024. In 1024 pages, girls get raped, the man builds things and everyone dies of the plague. THE END.

SUCK IT, KEN FOLLETT.

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Wednesday's Song of the Week on Thursday. Again. Because someone doesn't give a shit.

You know I love my lady rockers. I just really dig it when a woman has pipes and uses them in a way that rocks. And Grace Potter has pipes. Nay, she has PIPES. And this song lets her use them. She gets down. She gets deep. She even gets a little guttural. It totally turns me on. The song itself is very 2010, but still obviously pulls a bit from influence of Joan Jett and reminds me a lot of some recent Black Keys stuff, which I also dig. Ooh la la, Grace. Ooh la la.

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Reason #612 I am definitely going to hell: the R Word

When I was a kid, there was one word that probably got more cycles through my relatively limited vocabulary than any other word in the English language. You know what word I'm talking about. The R Word. You're going to make me say it, aren't you? Fine. Deep breaths.

Retarded.

Don hate. Let me explain. When I was a kid, everything was "retarded." My little brother. The fact that I had to go to the dentist. Undoubtedly at points, my parents. The recess pretzel line at school. School itself. My dog. My parents' Ford Taurus. Winter. Our babysitter's boyfriend. At one point or another, you can bet your ass they were all retarded.

Just like that little diddy fuck today, the R Word could be easily slid into any sentence to express a range of emotions. It is all encompassing. It is noun, adverb and adjective. And today, it is a big No-No. But back then, I let that word fly without a second thought. Everyone in the recess yard did. Not that second thoughts are really my forte today, but back then? Woo, I was really retarded.

When I got to high school and actually started to develop things like compassion (finger quotes) and propriety (finger quotes) and an awareness for things outside of myself (animated finger quotes), I began to wean off the R Word in the big way. Mostly because I truly realized what it meant in the big pictures sense. I truly understood where this little playground vocab word came from. Then in college I had friends who majored in Special Ed and the word was eliminated completely. This word was a hate word and this girl don't play that way. See? I can empathize. I understand. I do not hit others. I do not use words that could hurt. Except for the word fuck. I use that one all the time.

ANYWAY. For years this word had been completely eliminated from my vocabulary without a second thought. And if ever anyone would use it, it would make me slightly uncomfortable. I'd imagine everyone else in the room must also be slightly uncomfortable because can you believe that man could be so insensitive as to use that word? And thinking about everyone else being uncomfortable would quickly escalate my own discomfort until I was squirming around in a giant gummy vat of awkwardness. Such is my life.

Well recently the R Word has been sneaking back into my vocabulary. I don't even know how it started. One day it just slipped out. I was quietly sitting at my desk, typing away at a webpage I was setting up for work when the page froze, crashed and I lost all my work. I leaned back in my chair, let out a long sigh and muttered, "huuhhhhhhhg this thing is retarded." I was shocked. I immediately gasped, threw me hands to my mouth and frantically looked around to make sure no one overheard me.

Okay whatever, at least I wasn't using it to describe a person. Calling a computer system retarded barely counts as anything. But then, not too long after the computer incident, it happened again. Only thing time I was talking about a man. I was having dinner with B and describing my day. It had been a particularly taxing day and I was venting. And as my story become more and more animated -- my arms were waving, the pitch in my voice was rising -- it slipped. "I mean, could this guy BE any more retarded?" As soon as I said it my story stopped abruptly. I watched for B's reaction. Would be point his finger and call me a hate monger? Would he tell me how disappointed he is in my using such an insensitive word? Would he give me the B sigh followed by the whispered "Briiiidgeeeeeeet reallyyy?" like he did when I insulted the neighbors for walking their children on leashes? I still contest that I was in the right there. WHO WALKS THEIR CHILDREN ON LEASHES? IN THE SUBURBS? WITH THEIR DOG? And I'm the ridiculous one?

But he didn't even respond. I felt almost as bad as I would have if I dropped the N bomb. I said almost. I hugged my goblet of wine to my chest and curled into my shell. But since then, it's been happening again and again, more and more frequently. Once again, my chair is retarded, this program is retarded, people who love Cougar Town are retarded, B is retarded, my student loans are retarded, I myself am retarded.

The R Word is back with a vengeance. It just rolls off the tongue so easily. It's so very pleasing to the mouth. (That's what she said?) Clearly, letting it slip once had opened the floodgates of verbal retardation. It's like one retarded is the gateway drug to a million more retardeds and all of a sudden I'm spinning out of control and nothing will stop me until I get the shit kicked out of me and pass out next to the Boston Medical Center dumpster. I'm working on pulling the reigns in on this before it slips in front of the wrong crowd. I can only imagine how disastrous that could be for my career or worse, my social life. Welp, see ya in hell.

Don't judge.

Also? It's my birthday today and my Back on My Feet team made me muffins and sang me songs and read me letters and now I want to marry my team so you should love them too and donate to Back on My Feet! It would be really retarded of you not to. I'll even run a marathon for you if you do it. THAT'S how good of a friend I am.

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The weekends of doing really awesome things that only really awesome people do

So yeah I've been totally MIA lately. My bad. It's not because I was kidnapped by a bunch of gay pirates in leather underwear -- I wish -- it's because I've been really busy at work. Like, really busy. Like, before this weekend I hadn't even slept in my own bed for days and I don't mean that in the awesome dirty way. I mean that in the I'm getting out of work so late that it doesn't even make sense for me to drive an hour home because I have to get up in a couple hours to come back anyway way. But now I've had a full weekend to recoup from last week and I must say, it feels good to be human again.

And now you're probably wondering how PTown was. Or rather, you were probably wondering how PTown was last Monday and you've totally forgotten all about it right now and/or lost interest entirely because you saw a video of a goat who screams like a man on YouTube and that's way better than any recrap I could give anyway. So just indulge me.

Provincetown was amazing. It was the perfect place to spend a beautiful fall weekend celebrating our first wedding anniversary. And I'm not just saying that because B and I were half crocked in the ass the majority of the time -- although I'm not NOT saying that either -- or because even when we weren't half crocked in the ass we were all extra in love because we were on vacation and everyone knows vacation sex beer is the best.

ANYWAY. We stayed in an adorable little bed and breakfast half a block off the main drag of downtown Provincetown. And let me tell you, there is nothing more relaxing than staying in an adorable little bed and breakfast run meticulously by three gay men who love the fineries in life. Love love love love love. Just. Amazing.

Home away from home

B planned the most perfect little weekend for us and I was in heaven. We spent our days riding bicycles and ducking in and out of art galleries and boutiques and bars. And we spent our nights doing much of the same. Minus the part with the bikes and the art galleries and boutiques and plus a few more bars and a splash of whiskey. And now please to enjoy a quick snapshot of our weekend in Provincetown.

The end. Jury says: Looooooooooooooove PTown!

And this weekend, because I wish we could be on vacation every weekend and fill our lives with vacation sex beer, we kept up with our new fall theme of "doing really cool things" by going to the Wellfleet Oysterfest on Cape Cod. Hooraaaay Oysters! And this is where you're all supposed to say Ooooh good job, Bridget. You're doing a great job of embracing the New England autumn! We can barely smell your winter anxiety! And I'm all I KNOW RIGHT?! I am having a freaking blast. Who knew there was so much joy to be found in pumpkin beer and fall foliage? WHO KNEW?!

And besides the pumpkin beer and fall foliage there's also those perfectly sunny days when you can just stand outside all day and slurp oysters and drink beer! And it doesn't even have to be pumpkin beer. Get crazy.

The end. Jury says: Hoooraaaay Oysterfest! Hooooraaaaaay fall! STAY AWAY FROM ME, WINTER. DON'T YOU RUIN THIS FOR ME.

Oh and P.S.? You know what else I did this weekend? I ran 20 miles. One more month until marathon day babiiiessss. You can still help me raise money for Back on My Feet! Let's make those miles count for more than just an excuse for overindulge in oysters and beer! Even though that's pretty awesome too.

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P-town here we cooooooooooooome

To celebrate our first wedding anniversary (again), the uber-romantical B planned a surprise weekend trip to Provincetown. About a month ago he told me not to make any plans this weekend because we were going on a trip. But he wouldn't tell me where. Naturally, at first I was all YOU'VE RENTED A LIMO AND YOUR TAKING ME TO P.F. CHANG'S! And when I was all done with that, as hard as I tried to get him to talk, the man's mouth was shut tighter than a 16-year-old girl's legs as she sits in the waiting room of her very first gynecology appointment. OH, memories. And then as we were sitting down the dinner at Lauren's wedding feeling all lovey -- and I hope by now you know by "lovey" I mean "champagney" -- when he finally decided he would tell me if I guessed correctly.

Me: Oh! Yes! Okay ... Bar Harbor?

B: No.

Me: Portland?

B: No, think south. You really want to go here.

Me: NEW ORLEANS? Are we going to New Orleans?!

B: I already told you we're driving. This is a weekend trip.

Me: New York? Philadelphia? D.C.?

B: Are you being dumb on purpose? You were just talking about how you really want to spend a weekend here.

Me: Bar ... Harbor?

B: Ugh. It's on the Cape.

Me: Nantucket!

B: No.

Me: Martha's ... Vine ... yard?

B: NO.

Me: I don't know any other towns on the Cape.

B: Are you serious right now? Use your brain. You spent an afternoon here once.

Me: I've never been to the Cape. Hyannis?

B: Oh my god. You're doing this on purpose.

Me: ... Can you just tell me?

B: Thiiiiiiiink.

Me: PROVINCETOWN!

And then he told me that as an added bonus, he also got us tickets to go see a play that I would also have to guess but I've been dying to see it.

Me: OH! WICKED!

B: Um no.

Me: ...

Me: ...

Me: ... The Little Mermaid?

B: Okay hint: Jersey Shore.

Me: ...

Me: ... Jersey ... Boys?

B: YES!

Interestingly enough, I've never actually even thought let alone said that I had any desire to see Jersey Boys, but now that B's gotten us tickets, I'm pretty excited 1) because I love musicals and 2) because ah get all kahnds of excited whenever we dun get an excuse to slip off our small town overalls and spend a sophisticated-laik night in that thaire big fancy city. And who knows, I might get some P.F. Chang's out of it after all.

I don't actually know anything about Jersey Boys, but I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess that the storyline has nothing to do with Seaside Heights, family dinners or fist pumping put to music (if only), but that certainly doesn't make me any less excited.

Anyway, I've been so excited for this upcoming trip that I was perusing through the local Provincetown calendar of events to see what's happening this weekend and I'm thrilled to report that not only is there an Underwear Party at Club Purgatory tonight, there's also a Leather Party on Saturday. It's going to be a good weekend, ya'll.

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IT'S POST SEASON, BABY

There's really only one team in all of professional sportsdom that I truly really, really care about. And those boys have done it again. Welcome to post season. I'm uncomfortably bloated just thinking about all the wonderful beer and fried bar food that awaits. Time to break out the ol' "For When You're Missing Philly" bottle of vino because GAH I wish I was in Philly right now.

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When it raaaaaains ...

It's been raining in Boston for what feels like weeks. People tell me it's only been three days, but when you're dragging your ass out of bed at 4:30 in the morning and you're out there running in the pre-dawn hours and it's cold and it's dark and you're wet, days feel like weeks. WEEKS. Also? I really need to invest in a solid pair of galoshes. Everyone in Boston has them and it's not hard to figure out why. It's fucking ridiculous up here. And I'm trying really hard to be all zen and shit right now and not even THINK about the impending winter months of hell and actually enjoy the autumn, which I hear is quite nice up in these parts. So far so good. Deep breaths. Pumpkin beer. Pretty leaves. Halloween and shit. Deep breaths. Savasana

Not to mention, whenever it's raining I now get throbbing arthritic pains in my thumb. Yeeeup, 25 years old and seem to be suffering from arthritis already. Self-diagnosed, obviously. I haven't yet been on WebMD to confirm my suspicions, but I can just TELL.

Obviously I have a story to share that I just haven't gotten into yet here. Partly because I'm still a little surprised at myself and I just don't know what to say about it and partly because I think I might be slightly embarrassed by it. Shocking right? I'm totally okay with talking my vageen at whim and yet when it comes to a little story about my thumb I'm a bit speechless. But hey, let go let gah right? That's what I said last Friday anyway when I forgot to pack a pair of pants and didn't realize it until after I got out of the shower at my friend's apartment and had to be at work in 10 minutes. No pants? Let go. Let gah.

To be honest, there isn't really much to say about The Thumb Incident. It all started about five months ago. I was doing ab exercises one morning before work ...

(So I like to start my day with a little abs, so what? Some people reach right for the coffee; I get on my back and punch out a quick hundred crunches. Stop judging me. Don hate.)

One second I'm lying on my back thrusting my legs above my head ...

(Stop, just stop. This is EXACTLY why I don't tell this story.)

And the next thing I know my right hand slipped a few inches and the entire weight of my body came crashing down on my thumb that had at that unfortunate moment been in what I can only describe as a Fonzie-esque "thumbs up" position.

(You know what? Fuck all ya'll.)

And that's when I heard the crack. And this wasn't just a cracking knuckles crack. This crack turned my stomach. The minutes that followed were so similar to this 2008 live news feed that it's rather uncanny:

In fact, as I was rolling around on my living room floor, holding my limp hand to my chest and grunting, this video is exactly what popped into my mind.

In the days that followed, my hand swelled, I couldn't use the thumb of my right hand -- which is a lot more inconvenient than you might immediately think (man grew thumbs for a REASON, it turns out) -- and I was pretty much in constant pain. If that thumb wasn't broken, it was at the very least badly sprained. Despite the fact that I could not longer button my pants, I never went to the emergency room or had x-rays taken. I couldn't. It was exactly two weeks before the launch of a major event at work and I was literally working around the clock to make sure everything was ready for launch day. There was no way in hell I could have taken what you know would be a minimum of five hours out of my day to go sit in an emergency room of a city hospital with a bunch of crying children and people with bloody bandages on their heads and questionable bodily fluids on the floor. I just didn't have the time. And I figured that even if it was broken, the doctors couldn't really do anything for it, right? You don't put broken fingers in casts. They would likely just splint it and send me on my not-so merry way. Right? Bueller?

It was about two months before I could hold a coffee cup in my right hand without pain. I still feel it if I am holding something heavy. And when it rains? There's that thumb again! At this point I assume whatever damage was done to my hand has healed (albeit possibly incorrectly) and now I'm stuck with a thumb as a weather vane.

I'm convinced the lingering pain I feel has now morphed into some early-onset arthritis because one time my mom and I were running a trail in the woods together and she fell and hurt her wrist. Since it was still hurting her about a month later she went to the doctor and he told her that it was arthritis. Well my thumb still hurts so it's totally arthritis too.

Arthritis, man. The old people disease. I already go to bed at 9 o'clock, so what's next? Losing my hair? Going blind? I have been having some trouble driving at night recently ... UGH. Getting old is SUCH a bitch, you guys.

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