The Commute

Welcome to Friday. The day all is supposed to go well. And, for the most part, people are just relieved the weekend is so close. The work day sort of dribbles by, but as soon as the last minute is over, the pupils dilate, the pulse quickens, the senses tingle. It's either the heroin kicking in or the weekend beginning (for some, it may be both).

But, if you live in Connecticut like me, you know that the minute your car is out of the parking garage and onto public streets, the feeling dissipates. Gone are the ideas that were flooding you moments earlier with plans to start the weekend. Instead, brake lights are slapped in front of your eyes, as if to say, "Oh, silly you. You know this happens every Friday, yet you still anticipate me, whether you know it or not."

If you know back roads, you're at least moving along...but nine times out of 10 you're stuck behind someone who could care less about your need to feel the wind whipping through your hair, driving 45 in a 25 mph cop-less road. The car in front of you doesn't even has its brake lights on, yet you're still pumping your brake because sheer momentum seems to pull your car faster than the one in front of you. When they turn off you have a whole 23 seconds of freedom! You go for the gas pedal, you know these roads well enough, there are no brakes involved! And then, damn. Another one. These are YOUR back roads! How dare someone try to claim them for themselves and their slow vehicles.

The luck is no better on the highway. In fact, as you're inching along, plans for the weekend begin to be replaced by listing things you'd rather be doing than sitting in traffic. None of which are even remotely close to giving you the same misery going 11 exits in an hour and a half does. (This is Connecticut we're talking about; I realize that in some states where 11 exits in an hour and a half is a miracle and should be praised--I'm looking at you, upstate New York!) Somehow, you would trade your right hand to be on the floor of your bathroom using whitening toothpaste on grout instead of stuck in traffic.

An hour into your commute home, you go through the same weekly questions in your head: Should I move closer to my job? Should I find a job closer to me? If I went back to work at Carvel, could I somehow still pay my mortgage? (OK, the last one may just be me...)

You make a pact to look into your options when you get home, if you get home. This is, of course, in vain because once you get home, you're so happy to be there, the thought of looking for another job just seems ridiculous. You enjoy your job (or at least tolerate it). The commute only gets to you one day out of the week. How hard is that? You survived it before you'll survive it again.

Then you see the clock. It's two and a half hours later than you actually left. Your Friday night had such hope, such promise. But, now it seems wasted. Your energy level is shot. You don't even have the energy to think about trying heroine, just to see if you can bring back that fresh 5 o'clock feeling instead of the sloth-like 7 o'clock slump.

You wait for your third wind to hit. 7:30. Nothing. 8 p.m. Nothing. The phone is starting to ring with offers for the night, but nothing really gets you up and going. You'd rather sulk about your commute just ruining everything.

Three hours since work and what have you accomplished? Getting yourself home. In one piece. Without causing a lawsuit because you threw your water bottle at an old woman going one mile below the speed limit. (I know, I know, she totally deserved it. Especially when she stopped right before the light ahead turned yellow when she could have easily run it, with you on her tail.) Without even being that guy who decides he can't wait any more and drives five miles on the shoulder, almost careening into a Jersey barrier when the shoulder unexpectedly ends.

Well, when you put it that way, you've accomplished a lot! You deserve a reward for your hard work and effort! You didn't have to let people merge onto the highway from the on ramps. You could have been the four out of five asshats on 95 who don't let anyone get in front of them, thinking they're saving themselves seconds off their rides home. Yeah! You have good karma coming to you! It's time to celebrate! It's time to get up and change out of your work clothes, which you realize was one of the things holding you back...slave clothes, more like it.

OK! You're ready! You're in the car! You pull out of your driveway and get onto the highway to visit some friends and...oh shit...Of course. No longer is the highway full of commuter traffic, it's now full of former-commuters like yourself who went through the same after-work slump you did and are now ready to go downtown and enjoy themselves.

And, once again, that old lady is in front of you. However, now she is, clearly, high as a kite on medical marijuana (not legal in Connecticut, by the way, but it's not like anyone would suspect her for possession). And you know this because she throws your water bottle back at you, only she has used some Popsicle sticks and a glue gun to turn it into a bong. Sassy bitch.

The Weird Week

There's something about the week leading up to my birthday that has always been, well, interesting. I don't know what it is, but it's never just been a normal week. And I never remember or think about it until I'm smack-dab in the middle of it. By the way, my birthday's Saturday and it's the one year I haven't been noticing every day how much closer I am to turning another year older.

26 isn't anything too exciting, though. I mean, what's the big deal about 26? Not that I need any more birthdays that are a big deal. Turning 18 was big, although I don't know why, other than the fact I bought a lottery ticket that night and wasn't carded, unfortunately. 20 was such a cock-tease of a year. 21 was awesome and I got drunk on Mango Margaritas and shots of Southern Comfort (my gateway hard liquor, I call it). When I turned 25, it hit me I was getting married exactly three months later...and I wondered what I needed to finish up.

I don't remember much about the weeks leading up to these ages, but I know I've always noticed things were a bit off. Maybe it's the transition into springtime. I mean, the reason Miss Rhode Island won in "Miss Congeniality" has got to be because she was asked to pick the perfect date...and she chose my birthday: "April 25th. It's not too hot, it's not too cold, you just need a light jacket!" Oh, Cheryl Frasier.

Who knows. Maybe it's all in my head. It probably is. Although, that wouldn't explain the office fire I helped put out yesterday.

We had sort of a field trip to help clean up the beach by where we worked, so we were out in the rain doing so. When we got back, my coworker and I had our clothes drying next to a space heater. Well, he decided to drape his sweater over the top of it, and then left a few minutes later to go to the bathroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an orange glow coming out of the back of the heater. I grabbed the sweater off of it, then saw a flame inside. Well, I said something to the effect of "Oh crap, it's on fire." And started running to get the fire extinguisher. When I ran back, all the guys in the office were just starring at it, like "Oooh, fire!" Meanwhile, I'm practically dragging this extinguisher with two hands, when my boss finally says, "Oh, here, give me that." And he put out the fire.

But, what was funny was everyone was giving me the credit, including my boss. I think mostly because I didn't just stare at it in wonder. They didn't even know we had a fire extinguisher and was impressed I was able to find it so quickly. (Incidentally, it was by the door we all use.)

Following that rush, we got out of work early so the fumes could be properly handled. So, everyone decided to go for a drink. When I got there, they set up a game of pool, and asked if I wanted to play. Well, other than knocking in the 8-Ball on my third shot, I blew their minds. Granted, I've been around a pool table my whole life. My grandfather taught me to play. And I'm even better when I don't have to call what ball I want to go in. For some reason, I learned how to play left-handed, but that never seemed to hinder me. But the fact that I got to "impress" my coworkers twice yesterday, and at things that don't have anything to do with my actual job, made me realize I'm in the middle of my Annual Weird Week.

Oh, sure. Other stuff has happened a little out of the ordinary, but that was the adrenaline rush of yesterday I couldn't wait to write about.

The Cleaning Freak is Unleashed

I'll admit it: I'm a closet slob. My desk as work is very clean, and every few weeks I'll even wipe it down with anti-bacterial spray. But if you open the top drawer, there are plastic cutlery strewn about and old packets of duck sauce and Taco Bell sauce I'll use one day. Not to mention tampons, different medicines from the medicine cabinet at work and rubber bands here and there. But, at the same time, I get so annoyed at my coworker who sits at the same desk for having three old containers of take-out Miso Soup stacked by his monitor I know he'll never eat.

My dresser is dust free and the top is very organized and dust-free. But if you open a drawer, nothing is in a straight line. The top may be neatly folded because of putting away laundry, but the stuff I don't wear as often underneath the folded stuff is inside-out or crumpled messily or stuffed into corners so I can close the drawer.

Today I Swiffered underneath the bed and found four of my socks I took off during the night with the full intention of picking them up in the morning, but never seen or remembered.

My saving grace in my head is the mantra "Well, at least I'm not as bad as my husband," which is a terrible way to think of it! But I had to admit to myself that I will always have a messy streak.

I do, however, find a certain satisfaction (or schadenfreude, actually) in watching "How Clean is Your House?" on BBC America. In case you haven't had the pleasure of watching it, Kim Woodburn and Aggie Mackenzie are two "neat freaks", if you will. They surprise (as far as Reality TV lets you imagine, at least) slobs in their homes and open their eyes to just how disgusting they've been living. Then, with their decorated rubber gloves and English accents, they show the homeowners how to clean their house. I wouldn't have thought of this premise as a great idea for a reality show, but it's very addicting. And I get my "fix" almost every day because BBCA apparently knows it's a good show, so my DVR has at least two episodes waiting for me when I get home from work--some of them are repeats, but they're always fun to watch again.

Well, I've gotten so addicted to this show (in my effort to become the Grand Puba of Full-Time Career Girl/Housewife), that I found their book, "The Cleaning Bible", on Amazon and bought it immediately. Well, I can't even begin to tell you how clean my house is right now.

Hell, I'll let the review I posted at Amazon do the talking for you:

"I've recently gotten addicted to 'How Clean is Your House?' on BBC America. So much so that when I finish watching an episode, I start cleaning until my husband stops me or I have to go to bed or work. I have gotten so into the show, I now picture miniature versions of Kim and Aggie on my shoulder with their wit and wisdom as I'm scrubbing away at my bathroom or kitchen.  

When I found they wrote a book, I ordered it immediately, and even got Amazon Prime so I could enjoy it sooner. I've had it for a few days now and I can't say I've made much of a dent in the book. This is because I will read a few pages, then put it down to clean something. There's something about them that makes me want to clean and convinces me that I actually enjoy it somehow.  

We moved into a house built in 1928 last year, and we've torn the wall-to-wall carpets up and re-finished the hardwood floors underneath; taken the wallpaper down and painted; re-wired the kitchen; and basically had to start from scratch with this house. From all that work, cleaning seemed like such a chore, especially if we were to work on a new project that would inevitably make a mess. But now it's not so daunting.  

Maybe it's the thought of Kim saying, 'And look how it sparkles, dear! You wouldn't have known it could do that before, now, did you?' Or Aggie saying, 'You only need a cap-full of bleach, dear, not the whole bottle!'  

Either way, because of these two wonderful women, I get a kick out of cleaning and my home has been spotless for about two weeks (since becoming addicted to the show). My husband, who is probably 'quite a filthy little beggar' in Kim's mind, is happier as well because I haven't been complaining as much about cleaning. (Don't get the wrong impression of him--he helps out more, and from watching the show, I've noticed his complaints about cleaning are becoming few and far between.)  

The best thing I have to say about the book AND the show is the Mother-in-Law test. She came over this afternoon for coffee, and was stunned at how clean everything was. I wasn't even expecting her and I had no doubt when she pulled in the driveway that everything would be to her liking. I was even able to give her some tips I picked up from the show and the book!  

I can't say enough about this book or the two wonderful women who wrote it. It's not even something you have to read before cleaning--the personal stories they put in make the book easy to read before going to bed or lounging around the house (when you run out of stuff to clean...or so you think).  

As a childhood fan of Mary Poppins, these two women are probably the closest I'll ever have to having someone say 'spit-spot' and snapping their fingers and it's clean."

LINK

Last Night's Project

For the past three weekends, now, I've pulled all-nighters.

Two weeks ago, I came home from a roadtrip to the casino to write a play. I got a good chunk of it written, then I had the people I wrote it for come over to read it. Now I'm being told I need to add a second act, change things around, and add more to it. Needless to say, I haven't worked on it since.

Last week, I found myself in bed reading a home decorating book lent to me, then after two hours of brainstorming ideas to use in my house, I got up and began moving furniture around, killing time until Lowe's and IKEA opened so I could finish my masterpiece of a living room.

From these all-nighters, I developed a cold--or, at least they contributed to getting the cold. Friday night, I was worn out from working and being sink, so I took some NyQuil and went to bed. "Finally," I thought. "The all-nighters are over." Spoke/thought too soon.

Yesterday, I was in the car with one of our friends and stopped at a light. A pre-teen girl walked along the sidewalk with her two younger siblings. And, as my friend called it, as soon as my light turned green, they walked across the street in front of me.

Now, when I was growing up, traffic safety was ingrained in my head. So much so that I am petrified of crossing the street, actually. I not only look both ways, I look up (for falling pianos and anvils), I look down (for open man holes), I look everywhere. This girl did no such thing. So, of course, my friend and I made fun of her.

Somehow, the phrase came out of my mouth, "Get your Valley Bangs now, bitch!" And my friend laughed the rest of the way home. I tried to explain Valley Bangs to him because he never heard the term. (Well, of course not, because I made it up years ago.)

Valley Bangs - (pl. n.) Little wisps of hair cut in the front of one's face. Usually seen curled under. Still embodied in areas of the country that have not left 1987, 1991 or 1994 just yet.

I call them Valley Bangs because it seems whenever I drive through the part of the state we refer to as "the valley", I spot them. I went to a wedding a few years back in that area and they were extra crispy with DEP gel and LA Looks hairspray, no joke!

So, after I got home, I went on a Google Image search, just for a picture or two to show my friend who found the term so hilarious. Pretty soon, though, I had a folder filled with pictures of women (some of them famous, even!) with the horrid look. After collecting 20 or so, I decided to put them into a blog.

For the rest of the night, I kept myself occupied by searching for Valley Bangs and posting them. The blog now has more than 50 pictures of the catastrophes. I even submitted Valley Bangs to urban dictionary to get the term out. What fun is having a word/term if no one knows what it is? Also, the shameless promotion doesn't hurt either.

Valley Bangs

Please Don't Use Craig's List for Personals

This is why.

Boycott Hugging

I've decided to give up hugging in 2009. Resolution No. 11. The only person I want to hug unconditionally is my husband. And maybe family, however my dad's side doesn't hug and I like it that way. Lately, every time my husband and I go to the bar, I get a sinking feeling in my stomach because I know I'll be in for a lot of hugging. Maybe it's the theater crowd who usually go, and their inclinations to hug because "none of us got enough love in our childhoods". But I, on the other hand, "could never be a [hugging] person!" This will be a crusade, maybe even a T-shirt I'll make, that will go on all year long.

Reasons:

1. Just because fat people give good hugs doesn't mean we like doing it.

Hugging a fat person is like eating comfort food: we're warm, we're soft, we're squishy, we're full of carbs and cheese. But that doesn't mean we like doing it.

2. A smile and maybe a wave will suffice.

I saw you come in, don't worry. I'm aware of your presence. I will greet you accordingly.

3. A hug is just a cheap thrill for people in need of being touched.

Get a significant other. Or a puppy.

4. A line usually forms. No one likes lines.

What are you, the DMV? I have to wait in line to hug you? Forgive me for not rushing to do so right away.

5. Some people take it a little too far.

A hug, I can tolerate. What next? We'll become European and kiss on both cheeks? Hell, why don't we put together little beds and have sex as a way of greeting!

6. Maybe I don't like you that much.

OK, this is on the cruel side, I know. But, let's face it, in everybody's circle of friends, there are the people that are inevitable that you can't really get rid of completely. And, in order to keep the sanctity of the group, all must hug or else the drama will start.

7. "Didn't I just see you yesterday?"

Honestly, I can understand hugging if you haven't seen the person in a while. But, every time? I see most of these people on a semi-regular basis. Must the hugging insanity continue?

8. Spot the fake hug.

What's the point of giving hugs at all when there are so many so-called huggers who phone it in? There are the huggers who stick their asses out for all to see, as if they needed another excuse to do so. There are the one handed huggers who could care less (they should be the first to jump on my bandwagon). There are the bros with the handshake/backslap hug. Just admit it: you're not hugging people either!

9. Dress appropriately.

Don't come to me in the middle of January, wearing some Forever 21 skanky shirt and think you deserve a hug. I could show off the goods too, you know--although, Forever 21 hasn't made a shirt that accents my "sparkling personality" yet. But layers should be appreciated and implemented.

10. Ask yourself: "Do I really need a hug?"

Your dog died. Hug. You got into a car accident. Hug. You're just in a bit of a funk. Hug. Sometimes, you just need a hug. And that's FINE. When that happens, give me a call and I'll be the first in line to smother you with my carbs-and-cheesey goodness. There are reasons for hugs, but the overuse of hugs is just getting a little too redundant for me, thank you.

I am looking into the prospect of making this a national campaign, don't worry. boycotthugging.org is not a taken domain, just in case anyone would like to take this to the web, hint, hint. For now, however, I'll just wait for the facebook groups to start...

The Annual 10

...Yes, yes, I'm back after a very busy month. I kept myself away from my blog because I have been busy all month making (almost) all of my Christmas presents in December. And every time I wanted to blog, it would be about something I made, and I didn't want to give anything away.

But, now that that's over, I'll do my holiday bragging in the next few posts.

This post will contain my annual 10 Resolutions of 2009.

Every year, I don't just make one resolution; I make 10. Usually, I can get myself to accomplish at least one, no matter how small. But in looking at 2008, I realized that unless I write them down somewhere, I forget what they are and I can't track my progress. At least in 2006, I wrote them down and was able to follow just one: I was going to get into the habit of using my shoe rack (I told you they were small), and I did it! And, in 2007, I wanted to read more. And, had I not had all those bridal magazines, I probably wouldn't have done as well as I did! So, here's to the shoe rack and bridal magazine resolutions of 2009!

1. Lose 20 lbs.

I say that every year. No, really, I do. And every year, I look at the scale December 31st and smile anyway. Because I know in the fluctuations of my weight, if all the numbers were totalled up, I probably lost more than 20 lbs. ...However, in totalling these numbers, I probably gained more than 20 lbs., as well. One of these years, I'm going to have to add "...and keep it off!" to the end of that resolution. Maybe I'll do that next year.

2. Write More

Hell, I started this blog for a reason. I like my thoughts, I think other people should hear them (or, read them, in this case). Oh, and I'm not allowed to count Twitter as writing.

3. Keep Better Track of My Finances

As I was writing that resolution, I remembered the organizer I spend $20 on last year to become more organized. And, in my January 1st panic of "Holy sh*t, I'm getting married this year!!!", I was able to get tons of information I needed for my planner. After July, however, the planner was only used on occasion (mainly to check when my next paycheck was coming in). I may not get another huge planner, but at least I'll try to stay organized.

4. Write My Wedding Thank You Cards

Yes, yes, I know it's been five months. But, if anyone says anything, I will gladly send them a photocopy of my carefully preserved Emily Post column that states couples have a year to send out thank you cards. I thought, for a while, because I wrote all the shower thank you cards, my husband could write the ones for the wedding. Ah, the lessons of marriage.

5. Cook More

This is my project-resolution. I really don't mind cooking. In fact, when I cook, I find I don't overeat because by the time it's ready, I'll have looked at it for so long, I'm bored with it and not hungry. I just haven't been cooking very much because of time (excuse), convenience of delivery (a little closer to the truth), I'm afraid (ding! ding! ding!). Yeah, I'm afraid of cooking. I get  very anxious when I have a time constraint put on cooking. Basically, we cook/order food when we're hungry. We don't think ahead to start preparing something before the fact. So, I have this fear if I screw up dinner and there's nothing to eat, I've failed. Also, I have mini food fears. I worry I haven't cooked chicken all the way through and my husband will get salmonella and die. I worry I won't know if the milk has gone bad and my husband will get a stomachache and die. I worry the heat from the oven will get too hot, pieces of glass from the casserole dish will break off into the food, and my husband will eat it and it'll rip up his stomach and he'll die. ...Basically, I worry about killing my husband with food. But, this year, I'm determined to get in the kitchen and at least get dinner ready a few nights a week...and overcooked the chicken, buy new milk every day, and watch those tricky casserole dishes the whole time they're in the oven. (A friend suggested I have a few drinks before I cook. That might work, too.)

6. Take A Class

I hate to admit it to my "Mom-I-don't-feel-so-well-I-think-I-should-stay-home" self, but I miss school. I wondered for a while if it was the social aspect of it, and I realized it really wasn't (more on that later). I wondered if it was the changing schedule I enjoyed, but then remembered the nights I would get out of class and work six more hours, wishing I had a nice 9-to-5. I was shocked when I found myself looking for park & rec classes one day while I was at work. I realized, that's what I wanted; I needed a new skill to practice (other than not killing my husband with my cooking).

Because I hinted very heavily to my husband that I wanted a sewing machine for Christmas (and he got the hint!!!), I realized within the first few days of trying to use it that I only remember a few basics from home ec in middle school. I remembered how to thread the machine (well, more like I remembered how to read the instructions that comes with something before attempting anything with it), and I was able to get a few stitches down. My first project was two napkins I sewed together. I ran out to show my husband, saying, "Look what I made, honey! I made 2-ply!" He didn't find it as funny as I did, and said, "I better not have paid for a sewing machine so you can make us fancier paper napkins."

The next day, I went to the fabric store, got a pattern for pajama pants (easy, right?) and some flannel and got to work. However, once I cut the pattern and began piecing together what I had, I realized I had made a dire mistake: I hasn't flipped the pattern over and I had two left legs and no leftover fabric. That night, I looked up a sewing class I could take for a few weeks, and I plan to sign up as soon as registration opens.

7. Weed Out People I Don't Need In My Life

There are just too many people I feel guilt over not talking to, and I'm too busy worrying about the ones that I do talk to who just aggravate me. Personally, I was never one for giving up friendships, and I had to do a lot of editing and categorizing when I was making the guest list for my wedding. But, it's gotten to the point in a lot of relationships I have with people that I've realized I actually do not like spending time with them. Granted, my husband and I have become homebodies in the past few months, but I wouldn't mind occasionally going out, if I knew there would be a good conversation to go out to. So, to do a spin off of Bridget Jones, I will not [put up with relationships with] any of the following: alcoholics, snobaholics, everything-phobics, people with baggage or hangups, Me-Me-Me-Me-sogynists, dramalomaniacs, raging maniacs, shallow-ists, complete fuckwits or freeloaders, converts. (Read the book, you'll get the reference; the movie doesn't do it justice.)

8. Drink More Water

I think this is the third year in a row I've said this. I just don't like the taste of it! It's boring! Don't tell me to put a lemon in it, either. I went through a very long phase in college where that was all I drank, partly for financial reasons and partly because of some myth I heard about it speeding up metabolism. But I got sick of it really quickly. Once people were used to hearing me order it that way, and ordering it for me before I got to the table, I realized I was over it. But, for me to really drink more water, I just have to drink one cup a day. Seriously, that's how little water I drink now! It's surprising I've rarely been dehydrated.

9. Moisturize

As much as I hate to admit it, I've gotten to the age when I need to moisturize more. And, as the saying I heard five years ago echoes in my head, "once you realize you should be moisturizing, you're already five years too late".

10. Reconnect With The Single Me

In a few days, I'll find out if my husband is being sent overseas for a year again. When I heard about the 90 percent chance, I was a mess. A whole year. And he would be leaving shortly after our anniversary, not to mention the two months prior he would be spending in training in Texas. I kept waiting for the little voice inside of me to say, "I can't go on without him," but somewhere I think a part of me is squashing that. There's still a part of me I thought I wouldn't have to use again, but I'm glad it stuck around. It was the part that says, "If you can't live without someone else, you're not really living you're own life." I loved being single. And not in a sense of single-without-strings or anything like that, I enjoyed my own company, I could spend a week alone in my old apartment completely on my own schedule. It may sound selfish, but I look at some of my single friends who are constantly trying to make themselves into other people, just to get attention. I never thought doing that would land any sort of security and real love, so I was content to do what I wanted to do.

Of course, I hope that 10 percent chance does happen. There's a difference between can't live without someone and not wanting to with one's whole heart. But, in preparation for worst case scenario, I want to know I'll be able to deal with not seeing the love of my life every morning when I wake up and every night before I go to bed. If there was a resolution I have the most faith in keeping, it would be this one.

Happy new year, readers!

(And, for those of you who have given up on resolutions, or have already broken yours, here's an article on why resolutions don't work...clearly, these people haven't made 10 of them each year!)

There's An Off Button For A Reason

My husband tonight made the romantic gesture of handing me the remote when I got home from work. He was working on grading some papers, and in a tiff we had last night, I brought up the fact that I never got the remote. Once the "power" was handed to me, we went out to dinner, but when we got back, I settled into the chair and left the remote right where I left it. I went online and started looking at the things I wouldn't normally look at while I'm at work. He settled on the couch with his book. No one reached for the remote at all. We just sat in silence for about an hour with our respective forms of entertainment and it was heaven!

When I was younger, I was glued to the television. I read that statistic about the average adolencent watching three hours of television a day...and I realized I was "above average". I would get home from school and I had my schedule of programming from the time I got home to the time I went to bed all planned out. Weekends was nothing but television, from Friday night TGIF on ABC to Saturday night SNICK on Nickelodeon to Sunday night Nick at Nite. I would only fake sick until I was tired of trying to find something good on daytime television. And summer vacations started to get real tiring around August when there was nothing but reruns on.

When I was first learning to read, my mom got me the book "The Berenstain Bears and Too Much TV." Admittedly, I would read that from time to time as I grew older (when I realized I was bored with television, but couldn't think of something better to do). Basically, Mama Bear decided her family had been spending too much time in front of the television, so she turned it off for a week. The bears had to find other means of entertaining themselves. At the end, they were involved in other hobbies that once TV was no longer banned, they didn't want it. So I tried the experiment a few times throughout the years.

Usually, I realized how slow time moved without the TV. I realized I had to check the clock more often because I didn't have my usual schedule as a time-marker. (5:05-6:05 on TBS, "Saved by the Bell" was always my benchmark for when my homework should be done by...if I did it, that is.)

I learned how to knit, I taught myself basic sign language, I read all 32 of my collection of "The Baby-Sitters Club" books a few times, I memorized the order of birthstones, I looked up random words in the dictionary and tried to memorize them so I could impress people, I went through an entire cookbook of microwave recipes (and learned to always mix in baking soda really well when making brownies...blegh!), I made Creepy Crawlers, I played kickball with the neighbors, I played Mario Paint (I didn't count that as television for some reason), I listened to music with my dad, I taught myself multiplication (no, really, I did--I was in the bathroom and decided I wanted to learn and figured it out with the help of a calculator I brought in with me...I really was a weird child).

But, sooner or later, I'd go back to television. I was, however, trained very well in the art of turning the television off. I wasn't allowed to fall asleep to it, either. It was off at 10 when I went to bed. If I tried to turn it on, my mom would see that glowing blue light from under my door and yell at me to turn it off. This love of the television is still the reason today I don't like really crunchy foods. See, I had a television with an actual volume knob you had to get up to adjust, so I only ate chewy foods that I could hear the TV over, instead of loud crunching. Many Cheetos were sucked upon until they were the correct consistency to hear over...or I would simply suck all the cheese off, then throw the corn puffs away.

In high school, I didn't have a TV in my room. I watched Jeopardy in the living room with my mom and grandma with our little TV trays, or I would watch the TV in my mom's room. But that was also when the internet started to take off, so I had new and different entertainment to keep me satisfied.

Once I got to college, I had to extrovert myself a little, so the TV was out of the picture pretty much...until I discovered DDR, which, again, does not count as television. Once I moved back home, I had a TV in my room again, but I didn't feel the need to watch it a lot. Maybe a movie now and then, but that was about it. I was too busy being social and working.

Then came the summer of nightmares. Almost every night for an entire month before my junior year of college, I was having terrible nightmares. These were nightmares that made me wake up screaming, crying, sweating, panting, you name it. And it wasn't all monsters and stuff, it was nightmares about things happening to my family, friends or, the scariest of them, my future children. That was when I started falling asleep to the Disney Channel. Nothing bad happened on the Disney Channel. I could hear it during the nightmares and I was able to concentrate on it enough to wake myself up before a dream turned into a nightmare.

For the next five months, I couldn't sleep without it on. I remember wanting to so badly, too, but every time I would turn it off and lay in the darkness, I would get mini-anxiety attacks worrying about having nightmares and not being able to wake up when I wanted to.

Once January hit, though, I made it my New Year's Resolution to fall asleep without the television. If, for nothing else, so I could get a good night's sleep and not be on edge the whole night with background noise. One night turned into two, which turned into a week, and, before I knew it, I had gone a few months turning out my light, turning off the TV, and falling asleep.

Since then, the TV has been sort of like a pair of earrings that don't necessarily go with everything, but there are a few key outfits that look great with them. If that didn't make sense to you (I realized I could come up with a better analogy if I really thought about it), television went back to being a sometimes thing.

My husband, however, loves the TV. When I lived with him and his parents, it was very rare I came home to a turned off television. It got to the point where I could here the buzz from just the television being on, even if it was on mute, and it would give me a headache. Sometimes I have evil fantasies about my husband coming home and finding the television stolen, just so I can walk in the door to him. Not "him sitting on the couch watching TV", not "him sitting with his laptop, not even watching the TV, but it's still on", not "him shushing my until a commercial break"--just "him".

So, tonight was a real nice night for me, it really was. He's now in the other room and I can hear a clock ticking and his sighs of tiredness every so often. And it's the most relaxing sound I can think of to listen to.

Oh, and this was the inspiration to finally write about my anti-TV ways I thought were crazy.

Is It Just Me?

Or is MySpace becoming a thing of the past? I've seen two bulletins from friends this week, saying they were going to delete their MySpace pages because they never use it. Granted, that Facebook feed was annoying at first, but seeing all those changes it kind of nice (especially for stalking purposes...which I've given up, I swear).

I won't join those giving up MySpace just yet (because you never know when Facebook will be down or something). But I'm just wondering if we're going to see MySpace as a fad in a few years, something our children will write history papers on, or something we'll look back on in our old age.

If My Mom Used The Inter-Web...

...this article would completely apply to her.

Of Course This Takes Place in Vermont...

Real. Life. Quidditch.

(Need I say more?)

LINK

SICKIE WOO!

This is why I will barely call out of work when I'm sick, let alone when I just feel like a day off.

Poetry!

I've finally figured out the secret to understanding poetry.

WINE!

Yes, that's it! I get it! See, before, it was like reading some 25-cent words strung together in a crazy pandemonium of grammar. (Ooh, that was good!) But then you have some wine, and all of a sudden, the stuff I was reading in Intro to Creative Writing and Poetry finally makes sense! Son of a bitch...

Except for that Carl Sandburg poem about "Little Cat Feet". Seriously! What the fucking bloody hell is that? God, I hated that poem. It never made any sense to me. I've been drunk many a time and a few of those many have I tried to reason with the poem, praying it would make sense to me.

And, alas (poetry speak, mind you), it a-fucking-lludes me!

I hate that poem.

Hate.

Pissed I had to memorize it.

Pissed it was supposed to make any difference in my life.

Pissed that the only thing I learned from that poem is how I enjoyed the writer using the correct grammar and spelling.

What the bloody hell is "little cat feet"?

Eh, fuck it all!

Fruit Salad

Right before work ended today, I started getting that warm, heavy feeling in my temples. Then I realized my muscles felt a bit sore. And my heating pad was all the way up and I was still shivering (we're worried about an economic crisis, but my building can't seem to economize on keeping the top floor cold enough). Then it hit me...

I was getting sick!

By the time I was stuck in traffic, it had turned into an "oh-I-just-want-to-go-home-and-get-in-bed" all-out fever. And, of course, I had to take back roads because they had to close the highway right before rush hour.

On my way home, I ended up listening to a bunch of music, mostly because I was skipping around so much because I was so impatient with the day. I noticed, though, that in my song choices I listened to the whole way through, I had inadvertently ended up listening to enough fruit-inspired bands and songs that I could have gotten my anti-oxidant content from my iPod:

Raspberries-Go All The Way


The Cranberries-Dreams


Harry Nilsson-Coconut


The Lemonheads-Into Your Arms


Bananarama-Last Thing On My Mind


Fiona Apple-If We Kissed
(Because there isn't an official video for this song, I had to look through the many interpretations on YouTube, mostly featuring WB teen crap--this one made me laugh, though, so I had to post it.)



And, of course...
The Beatles-Strawberry Fields Forever


Bonus
Because it's my favorite fruity flavor (I hate the actual fruit itself, though...), I thought I'd add just a little more to the fruit concoction.

Photo Memories #2

My Collection of Carvel Shirts

Oh, the five years of my life during and after college I would never trade for anything. Crazy Westport customers, late nights (doing things we shouldn't have been doing), lots of laughs, Rummy 500, getting bleach on almost every pair of pants I owned while mopping, squirrels jumping out of garbage bins, coming to work hungover and/or still a little drunk, arms covered in stickiness, always having the faint smell of dairy, unidentified bruises, dinners at Angelina's and Chef's Table, hopping all over the shelves while on an Ephedra high, driving the scary Carvel van, a highly defined scooping arm (and a less than stellar left arm comparatively)...oh, and ice cream, ice cream, ice cream!

I ended up holding onto one shirt and another will be used in a gift for a friend.

The Experiment

Hypothesis: The scale is evil.

How I will prove this: Weighing myself for two days after every event that may cause a fluctuation in weight.

Materials: Scale (batteries should be in full working order), myself (and my ass, which has taken on its own area code at this point)

Experiment:
12 p.m.-204.4-Just woke up
12:14-203.0-Made bed, went to bathroom
1:15-203.0-Ate scrambled egg with shredded cheese, two pieces of toast with butter and slice of cheese (Ha! No change!)
2:28-204.8-Put on extra pair of pants, cleaned upstairs
3:29-204.4-More cleaning, just had sip of diet soda
3:30-205.2-Holding can of soda while on scale
3:53-204.4-Soda made me have to use bathroom
4:29-204.8-Finished soda, worked up sweat from ripping down wallpaper in upstairs bathroom
5:24-205.0-Folded laundry, put away
6:16-205.0-Showered, hair still wet, standing on scale in towel
6:30-203.6-Dried hair, put clothes on
6:45-204.6-Ate a banana
7:00-204.8-Put more laundry away
8:09-205.4-Went shopping, put sweatshirt on, tummy's growling
8:13-205.4-Had a cookie
8:31-205.6-Had slice of cheese, dinner in oven
9:02-206.6-Ate fish sticks, french fries, half can of soda
9:21-207.0-Ate brownie
11:30-206.2-Fell asleep on couch, about to go back to sleep

End of Day One:
Total Weight Gained: 8.6 lbs
Total Weight Lost: 7.6 lbs
End Weight Lost/Gained: +2.2 lbs

Day Two:
8:30 a.m.-203.4-Woke up
8:51-202.6-Went to bathroom, cleaned up a bit
10:58-203.0-Woke up again, 1/2 bottle of water
11:13-204.2-Ate yogurt, put on sweatshirt
11:35-204.0-Went to bathroom
12:09 p.m.-204.2-Ate peanut butter granola bar
12:43-204.2-Ate two handfuls of shredded cheese and a slice of cheese
5:23-205.8-Got back from Dad's house, had one slice of pizza there
5:28-205.0-Went to bathroom
6:40-204.8-Ate some crackers and hummus
6:46-204.6-Went to bathroom
7:43-205.4-Ate one piece of lasagna
10:32-206.4-Drank a glass and a half of wine
11:38-205.4-Went to bathroom
11:42-203.0-Ready for bed, no pants or sweatshirt

End of Day Two:
Total Weight Gain: 5.2 lbs.
Total Weight Loss: 4.4 lbs.
End Weight Loss/Gain: -.4

Final weigh-in this morning: 201.8 lbs. (I'm not even going to put in that I somehow gained weight after I went to the bathroom; I like this number better anyway.)

Total results: -2.6 lbs. in two days.

Results: Seeing the weight gain over the course of a day = Hate the scale, I think I need a new one.

Seeing the results total for the weekend = Holy crap, really? So, you're saying I can have my cake (or cheese, from what I've realized is my downfall) and eat it too? Losing about a pound a day?

Sad conclusion: I will gain it back in three weeks when the bagel cravings begin again...

Variables:

* Knowing I had to get on the scale after everything made me a little self-conscious of what I was putting in my mouth...and made me very anxious to go to the bathroom more.

* I theorize that whenever my husband would follow me into the bedroom and catch me standing on the scale holding my notebook every few hours, the fear added at least half-a-pound.

* How the hell did eating a banana add a whole pound? And a brownie only made me gain .4?

* Have only looked at scale three times today. Can't wait for tomorrow morning. If I get below 200 this week, there will be celebration. Maybe in the form of brownies, as they are somehow better than bananas.

* OK, OK, before you comment about waiting for digestion to take place, yes, I know I shouldn't have weighed myself seconds after finishing the last bite of something...but I liked my brownie vs. banana discovery!

Final Analysis: The scale is evil, but only in large doses. (Brownies, however, are not! Ha!)

10 Universal Truths...

...or, at least they're universal to me.

1. Signals are on the car or a reason.
Or, at least they're on the less expensive cars sold outside Fairfield county. Apparently, if you own a Mercedes, Lexus, Bentley, or anything that costs more than $60,000, signals are an option that aren't available on even the most expensive models, I guess. Right? Am I wrong? I've never been in one. I drive a Kia and can't imagine not letting other drivers around me know where I'm going. Oh, and doing so before I put on my brake lights is an Amendment to this Universal Truth.

2. Dick Wolf should be considered a form of torture.
Oh, but it's sooo good. It's like, my husband and I watch an episode of "Law & Order: SVU" and we're always on the edge of our seats for all 60 minutes, than when we get attached to the characters and the stories and Dick Wolf twists our arms and as soon as we see the black screen with his name, we exclaim, "Damn you, Dick Wolf!" Immediately after, we search for another DVR'ed episode we haven't seen, as if to say, "Thank you, sir, may we have another!"

3. If we just sit down to dinner, the phone will ring, and it won't be for me.
No matter how late we eat, my husband will get a call from someone. It will only end when I'm finished eating and it's time to clean up. But, then again, I hate the phone so I'm not that perturbed when it's not for me.

4. If I wake up late, I will either be low on gas or cigarettes.
This means I will hold myself up having to get them on my way to work, making myself feel even more late. If I wake up early, I will have an adequate amount of both gas and cigarettes, then I'll have to find ways to kill time so I won't get to work super early and the day will drag.

5. If I'm doing laundry, the shirt/pants/underwear I'll want to wear that day will be in the washer or dryer at that moment.
It's just inevitable. I may not even think I have worn it in the past two weeks, but somehow it will end up in my laundry and I'll have to do some last minute planning on an outfit.

6. If I've been tired all day and can genuinely see myself easily taking a nap when I get home, plans will pop up and we will end up being out late.
It's very rare I'm tired at work and not get my second wind on the ride home, simply because I'm not at my desk anymore. But the days I can't keep myself awake on the ride home, I know I'll be coming home to company and/or we'll end up going out somewhere.

7. If I've found I've lost weight (seemingly overnight), I'll be starving the whole day.
I'll end up eating whatever and whenever I want to that day as a sort of "reward", bringing my weight back up to what it previously was sans miracle overnight success. Oh, and it'll all be crap, too.

8. If I play hookie and take a sick day, I will get sick the next week.
I would feel badly for taking a sick day when I wasn't really sick and go to work, looking terrible. Although, this works in my favor sometimes; it gives my boss a chance to see what I'm like when I'm sick, therefore assuming I must have been even worse the week before. The phrase "trouper" comes into play. However, being sick still sucks, especially when I feel too guilty to lie in bed all day like I would like to.

9. It is a bad idea to buy more than one book at a time.
Once I get the two books, I can never decide which one to read first. It has gotten to the point where I end up not reading either. Or, I'll decide on one and mid-way through, I'll wonder if I decided to read the "wrong" book first, put it down and start the second, and never get back to the first because my mind has already been somewhere else for too long and I don't want to start over.

10. I only notice how anti-social I can be when an elevator is present.
I don't get uncomfortable easily. If I do, the feeling usually passes quickly. However, whenever I have to share an elevator with someone I'm not familiar with, I get all sorts of flustered. I'll have just gotten in the elevator and if I here someone coming, I'll press the Door Close button as quickly and as stealthily as possible to avoid sharing the elevator. It's a confined space and what will have been 15 seconds seems to last hours sometimes, especially if I've just come back from a cigarette and I can only imagine what the poor soul sharing this 3x3 space with me is thinking as they smell the tobacco on me. When I get to my floor and the doors open up, it's like a weight's been lifted off my shoulders.