Captain Jack Sparrow and the Greyhound Funk Express

How was my weekend? GLAD YOU ASKED.



That about sums it up, I'd say.

Tweet

CAPTAIN, TAKE ME TO SUMMER

Today is the THIRD day in a row of sunshine after 23 consecutive days of clouds and rain in Boston and I am just about ready to LOSE. MY. MIND. Which is good timing, because this weekend we're kicking off the return of summer by heading down to Cape Cod with a rambunctious crew of VGF revelers. Whereas three days ago I was face down on my desk contemplating what kind of ritualistic slaughter would most appeal to the sun gods because for the love of GAH if I don't get some Vitamin D soon I'm going to set fire to my house; today I'm wearing sunglasses, listening to some choice tunes and thinking about sand, red solo cups and flip flops weather. And to top it off, it's been calling for rain all weekend this week and as of right now, I'm seeing nothing but sun on the five-day forecast and I just might shit my pants. But even if by some chance the clouds roll back in tomorrow and it's be cold and raining like hell all weekend, I'm going to be completely honest here, I'll probably be too drunk to care. I'll be with some of my best friends, at the beach, with copious amounts of booze. Since sun DOES seem to be a bit too much to ask for up here in Massachusetts, I'll go ahead and say that three out of four ain't bad. And no, I don't take any issue whatsoever with drinking away my anxieties, why do you ask?

Being as last Memorial Day Weekend left me sunburned, lying on a wooden dock, wearing nothing but my bikini, a soggy hooded sweatshirt and a pair of men's large white fishing boots, I'd say I've got some work to do to keep everyone's high expectations of my low expectations for myself. The way I see it is, I have a lot to celebrate. I know I said last year was a long, cold, lonely winter and swore up and down I was going to hang myself from the shower rod. Well this year ... this year wasn't any better, actually. The only real difference is that this year B will tell you he's just glad I didn't hang HIM from the shower rod. Progress? Nope, but I'll drink to that anyway. Plus, down at the Cape we're staying with Doug's cousins and all of their crazy friends and so far the emails have consisted of mostly incoherent inside jokes, Kenny Rogers references, a man named "Pukey" and a variation of everyone's favorite binge drinking game known as Wizard Staff Beer Pong. If I'm going to surpass last year's lack of dignity, this is certainly the crew I'm going to do it with.

See ya on Tuesday, folks. I've got some good times to have.

Tweet

Wednesday's Song of the Week

Oh holy gawd. Sweet goodness. Jesus Mary and Joseph on a croissant. Israeli-Palestininan Conflict muffin. FI-YAAAA. In other words, I think we know which album I'll be listening to over and over and over and over again this summer. Back and forth. Forever.

Tweet

Voicemail messages with my mother regarding the Rapture

Me, to mom (Saturday 5:55 p.m.)

"Happy Rapture! I don't know if you'll be here tomorrow but I sure as hell will be! If I don't see you, put in a good word for me!"

Me, to mom (Sunday 10:17 a.m.)

"So I haven't heard from you yet and it's making me a little nervous that maybe you DID get raptured and now I'm all alone with the heathens. You didn't leave me, did you? Don't worry, if it comes down to it, I am not above looting and/or killing a small child for the last loaf of bread. I'll be just fine."

Mom, to me (Sunday 2:01 p.m.)

"I'm just calling to let you know that I was on my way up to heaven when I realized that you definitely would not be a chosen one. So I begged and pleaded for them to send me back down. I made a deal that I would come up to Massachusetts to convert all those heathens you spend your time with. I'll be a Eucharistic Minister at that church. You know, the one down the street from you? THE ONE THAT YOU'VE NEVER BEEN TO. I assume I have a lot of hard work to do."

Tweet

Graduwasted

More actual excerpts taken from emails from Very Good Friends.

Mojo (8:53 PM)

On another note, I know why I was thinking about you guys today...its been exactly 4 years since we graduated...and 4 years and 1 day since we were graduwasted. Miss you all!

Conor (9:02 PM)

Wow that's a long time. Girls, you could have each had 5 babies since then. That would be 50 total babies. Imagine that!

Laura (9:10 PM)

That would really suck.

BABIES EVERYWHEREEEEEEE.

Tweet

And perhaps some dangerous toys

Excerpt taken from actual emails from Very Good Friends

Mojo (3:24 PM)

I really want to have a "LAST NIGHT ON EARTH" party tomorrow, but it's kind of last minute at this point. The party would consist of very fattening foods and tons of alcohol and perhaps some dangerous toys, such as fireworks, guns, etc.

Caitlin (3:27 PM)

(Hey, guys. Did Moira just describe a gun as a toy?...)

Beer pong, anyone? No? How about Russian Roulette?

Tweet

Wednesday's Song of the Week

I had a really hard time choosing this weeks Song of the Week. I've had a great influx of good music recently, and each song has set a very different mood. And gah knows my moods shift faster and more dramatically than the damn New England weather. Speaking of which, it's been March up here for about three months now and if we have one more cold, rainy day I'm going to lose it. DID YOU HEAR ME? I'M GONNA LOSE IT.

That said, a lot of the tunes I've been keeping on rotation this week have been pretty mellow and moody and stare out your window into the rain while you contemplate your entire past, present and future-y. Uh ohhhh someone's been paid a visit by the black nail polish and heavy eyeliner fairy!

So instead of "making a decision," I'm choosing two. Because frankly, if the decision of what dumb song to post to this here idiot blog is just too much for me to bear this week, I think that's sayin' something. And I think that something starts with "I need" and ends with "a drink."

First up, we have The Head and the Heart. I heard this song on my way to work yesterday and could have sworn it was Ryan Adams. So of course I was completely schmitten.



Next up, The Naked and Famous. I'm not completely sold on this band and assume they'll turn out to be a one trick pony and this song sounds almost exactly like Passion Pit, but this song is sure catchy so I'm fine with that. It just makes me want to run and jump and throw things and make loud noises. So on days like today, when it's been raining for 40 days and 40 nights and we're probably all going to die because the world is ending on Saturday anyway which is really a drag because I have a hair appointment next Thursday and I'd hate to die with split ends, it's a good way to get the blood pumping. Plus, I dig the video so whatever, dudes.

Tweet

Awkward conversations with strangers in the cafeteria

Man I've never met before, making polite conversation as we wait for the microwave: So, pretty bad weather out there, huh?

Me: Yeah it's gross. Nothing but rain for the next eight days too. I'm just hoping we get all this rain out of our system and then we'll have a beautiful summer.

Man: Come on, you know that's not gonna happen. This is New England. It's going to be wet and chilly, as always.

Me: DON'T YOU DARE TELL ME THAT. YOU TAKE THAT BACK. Oh my GAH I can't even stand the thought. I AM GOING TO MURDER SOMEONE.

Man: ...

Me: I ... like the beach.

Man: ... Well ... I REALLY hope you enjoy your lunch.

Tweet

Wednesday's Song of the Week

I totally meant for this to be last week's Song of the Week, but then came Wednesday morning and I totally forgot about it. You know how my brain works. Sometimes it just doesn't. I was just distracted by ... oatmeal. And ... socks.



The song makes me tap my feet and on this dreary, chilly Boston morning, that's just what I need. Plus, the delightful quirkiness of the video reminds me of a video a friend sent me recently that I absolutely adore. If you're a big fat sap who hides behind the veneer of a sarcastic asshole, like me, you'll love it too. Or, you know, if you're just a sap. It's rather lengthy (if, like me, you have an online attention span bordering somewhere around 46 seconds on a good day), but it's just so warm and fuzzy that it's worth the watch.



You've got powerful features, man. Anyone ever tell you that?

Tweet

Just Avoiding Mother's Day for Another Year. Alternate Title: I Definitely Shouldn't Post This

After a night of heavy drinking this weekend, B decided to take Rooney for a hike through the woods and I decided to tag along, hoping the fresh forest air would exorcise the demons that were currently taking a pickaxe to my brain.

B: WOW you are moving really slow today.

Me: It's not me. It's the tequila. Plus I'm having some major cramping issues right now in my abdomen.

B: Strange, I thought it would be in your liver.

Me: Oooh gah I bet it's cancer. Whenever I have stomach issues I assume the cancer's back to get me. Or maybe I'm pregnant ... Jesus Christ, I hope it's cancer.

B: You are one of the worst humans I have ever met.

Well would YOU want to find out your were with child the night after a tequila binge?

Tweet

Be very careful

I can't decide if he's talking about love or the Human Centipede. I'm guessing the Human Centipede.

Tweet

Let's go ahead and add yoga to the list of things I am too immature for

Last night I went to one of the longest, most ridiculous yoga classes of my life. Longest because, well, it was long. And most ridiculous because there was only one other person in the class besides me, which drew a lot of individual attention to my bad posture and shaky noodle arms for the entire class. And maybe it's just me, but I can't help but get a little giggly when I'm in downward facing dog with my ass in the air and someone places their hands firmly on my hips while speaking to me in soothing tones about the beautiful engagement of my pelvic bowl. Excuse me what? Are you flirting with me? Because I know I've been out of the game for a little bit but this is ... well actually it's working, don't stop.

Now I know the entire purpose of yoga besides all the stretching and strengthening is the whole connecting the breath to the body and finding your center and blabbity blah but I went to Catholic school. We weren't allowed to wear pajama pants on school property because the nuns were concerned that pajama pants would call to mind the bedroom which would obviously call to mind that wild sex thing and THAT was just not happening at Merion Mercy Academy. See how that logic works? Nuns are so smart. Girls will be girls, but Merion girls will be chaste little ladies.

We didn't even have sex ed, which I still feel kind of gypped about because all of my friends have these wonderful memories of putting condoms on bananas and you know what I got? I got the "The Miracle of Life" in biology class. This, I assume, served the dual purpose of both sex ed AND a valuable lesson on the importance of abstinence because OH THE HORROR. And for the record, it was YEARS before I learned that there really aren't 3,000 calories in a single tablespoon ... you know ... DESPITE what my freshman year bio teacher insisted, and as I've said before, if you really want to strike fear in the heart of a Catholic school girl, just tell her it'll make her fat. That, and show her a video of a woman's lady bits being sliced open with a pair of surgical scissors and you can pretty much guarantee no one in that class will want to go anywhere NEAR a wiener for a good long while. HA. Wiener. Ew. On a related note, I still don't know how that stork gets that big ol' baby in the mommy's belly. It's AMAZING. In conclusion: whenever you say anything in reference to my pelvic region, I'm probably gonna blush and I'm probably gonna giggle. And then I might even wonder what Sister Barbara would say. I'm sorry, but you just can't undo seventeen years of Catholic education in one sitting. I have years of awkward blushing and inappropriate giggle spasms ahead of me.

ANYWAY. As last night's class wore on and the poses became increasingly difficult, the instructor decided that we would be trying handstands. I've never done a handstand in my life. I've also never crossed a full set monkey bars or successfully completed more than two chin ups during each year's Presidential Fitness Tests and I don't care what my grade school gym teacher says, blowing that whistle in my face is just not going to get me to three! Damn noodle arms!

Now the challenge with noodle arms is that my arms hyperextend in weird and noodly ways. My elbows go places they shouldn't and what should be the front of my arm is usually the underside and many times my arms look like they are so twisted they must be broken. On the plus side, I could probably make some serious extra dough by renting myself out to stand in front of a used car lot and dance.

I make all the men fall in love with me on the dance floor. Me-oooowwww.

This sometimes makes holding particular yoga poses a challenge because I have to focus so hard on keeping my arms straight like a normal person's. So last night, when the yoga instructor had us throw our feet up and try a handstand, I was a bit flustered.

"I really don't know if I can do this," I said.

"Oh course you can," the instructor calmly replied. "Up you go."

"Okay, um, well ... " I threw my legs toward the wall behind me and hoped for the best.

"BEAUTIFUL, Bridget. Beautiful. Straighten your arms. My goodness they are so funny. Good, now engage your pelvis. Engage it. Focus on your pelvis. Don't unstraighten your arms. Keep your arms straight. Focus on your pelvis. Pull that pelvis in. Feel it." She grabbed my hips and thrust them against the wall as my arms shook like a fever patient, struggling to support the rest of my body above them as the blood rushed to my head. Thoughts started racing through my head and my face reddened. My arms shook harder. Oh my gah my arms are totally going to give out. I'm going to fall and break my face.

"Arms straight, Bridget."

Oh my gah this will definitely break my nose. Blood will be everywhere.

"Visualize your pelvic bowl. Engage it isometrically."

Visualize my pelvic bowl? Pelvic BOWL? Isometrically? What the fuck does that even MEAN? I started laughing. And once I started I couldn't stop. I was gasping for breath. Laughing upside down is harder than I would have anticipated. My face was tomato. Oh my gah I'm gonna drop. "Oh my gah I'm gonna drop."

"Okay let's go down nice and easy then. Bend your arms. Breathe and engaaaaage."

"Nope, dropping right now. Goin' down. Gooooin' down. Oh gah."

The floor came to meet me face so I tucked my head to my chest and rolled out onto my mat. No blood. No broken cheek bones. Just a lot of awkward pelvis moments. There's just something about the thought of isometrically engaging my pelvis bowl that tickles me. So yeah, I'm just going to add that to the list of Things That I Have in Common With a 12-Year-Old Boy somewhere in between #17: my affinity for fart jokes and #41: my inability to control myself when jelly beans are in the room.

And because I know you were wondering, my pelvis bowl is feeling AWESOME today.

Tweet

Anything else I can get you?

Ya'll know by now which way I lean when it comes to politickin', so when the events of this week unfolded, there was no way I was touching any of that with a 10-foot pole on this here blog.



Yes, I know, sometimes I DO practice discretion. I KNOW RIGHT?!

But then I saw these and laughed so hard I just had to share. Oh, OBoyfriend, you and your adorable little bad-assery.

Tweet

I've got a suggestion for you ...

Subject: Suggestion for Yellaphant.com
Body:
Dear Bridget Horne,

My name is (PR Person) from (Company Name). We have a client who would like to pay you for the opportunity to sponsor a blog post that you have recently written. We know that blogs can be expensive to run and our client would like to opportunity to support you in that endeavor.

In return our client is asking for one link that they specify placed into the body of the blog post(no porn or gambling). Feel free to contact me with any concerns or clarifications you may have.

If you would have any questions or would like to start the process, please email me at PRPerson@CompanyName.org so we can begin.

Sincerely,

(PR Person)
__________________________________________________________

Subject: Re: Suggestion for Yellaphant.com
Body:
Dear (PR Person),

Feel free to contact me when you have the porn. And maybe the gambling. But definitely the porn.

Sincerely,

Bridget Horne

Tweet

Wednesday's Song of the Week

There is perhaps no band that reminds me of my early 20s quite like Death Cab for Cutie. I'd lie on top of my bed for hours reading to The Photo Album. When I was in New Zealand, few albums got as much play time as Transatlanticism. And I will always remember running through the streets of Baltimore with Plans spinning on my iPod.

I was disappointed with their post-Plans release, Narrow Stairs, and have been giving Death Cab for Cutie less and less play time throughout the years as other artists have wormed their way into the soft spot of my tiny, black heart. Though to be fair, they set the bar preeeeettty high with Plans, in my opinion. I'm cautiously optimistic about their newest release however, Codes and Keys.

I wasn't impressed the first time I heard the single "You are a Tourist." But after giving it a few more listens, Ben Gibbard is once again winning me over. While it's certainly no musical masterpiece (I'm currently shitting my pants over the upcoming My Morning Jacket album because oh myyyyyyy gah), but "You are a Tourist" is just hitting home right now. Really hitting home. You win this time, Gibbard. You got me back. For now.

Tweet

Back on My Feet

On Sunday I added another marathon to my running resume. Unlike my past two experiences with the Philadelphia Marathon, this race was not about me. I wasn't worried about my time. I didn't give a hoot about placement. And I wasn't at all concerned about how good my butt looked in my running shorts (you know it did HEY-YO). My one and only goal was to make sure the one registered Resident member from Back on My Feet crossed that finish line. Because I knew that adding the word "marathoner" to the description attached to your name can be a life-changing experience.

When you finish your first marathon -- after you get over the dry heaving, dizziness and promises to yourself that you will never, ever do this again (because you will)-- you begin to realize that there really isn't anything you can't do. Suddenly, the world presents a lot more possibilities than you had ever truly considered before. You did this. You worked your ass off. For a long time. You beat it. And whether it's addiction, bad decisions or a past that haunts you, maybe you realize that you can beat that too.

I had a blast every step of the way during this marathon; and that's not something I've really been able to say before and mean it. The happiness that flooded my body when I crossed that finish line with this member filled me with so much energy I felt like I could have run another 10 miles. Usually, I'm just looking for a soft place to keel over and die. But like I said, when you finish a marathon you feel like there's nothing you can't do. Which is why it's probably a good idea that no one let me make any life-altering decisions in the day or two following a marathon.

I will never forget the smile on his face that day. I will never forget the pride I felt for him. I will never forget the hope for a better future.


I've been walking around these past two days in a glow; all gushy with love and possibility and good intentions. So if you do come across me this week, watch your back. I can't promise I won't lick your face. I JUST WANNA HUG!



So yeah. I promise I'll be back to my snarky, offensive self soon. I definitely didn't reach my daily quota of people I've pissed off with this post. I feel like I need to end with something a bit more Yella-flavored. BOOBS! BALLS! I MADE OUT WITH YOUR DAD! AND YOUR MOM WATCHED! Phew, I feel so much better.

Tweet