This one's for you, pal.

A text exchange between me and my bestie/BFF/BFF4EVA:

Me: What are you going to wear tonight????

BFF: I'm going to kill you.

Me: Well I will kill you if we are wearing the same thing.

BFF: Im not worried about that.

Me: Maybe you should be.

BFF: Oh are you planning on wearing yoga pants and an oversize t-shirt?

Me: Now I am!

BFF: I hate you.

Scene. 

Happy new year, everyone. 

Ruh roh.

So remember a few blog posts back where I wrote a really asshole strongly worded open letter to Comcast?  The gist of it was that some jerk lizard was parking the company van on my block for his booty calls and taking up precious parking space.  This prompted a reply to my blog from someone at Comcast who trolls blogs for mentions of the EVIL MONOPOLISTIC BILIOUS SOUL SUCKING CORPORATION THAT IS COMCAST.  My intention with that blog post was to vent, not to get anyone fired, so I did not reply.  Also, it turns out that I was, cough cough, wrong.  Home slice from Comcast actually lives on my block, so I guess he can park on this street.  Although I still call bullshit on putting the cones around the van.  Flash forward to yesterday morning when I was leaving for work and I saw the driver of the Comcast van.  And he's pretty hot. And he smiled at me, so ostensibly he's a nice person and we're going to married and then I'm going to have to tell him about the blog post and then we'll probably get separated but then maybe we'll get back together and have adorable little babies who come out of my good time genetically programmed to set up a wireless router.

So do you think I've mentioned Comcast enough times to get them to give me free ESPN, ESPN 2, Fox Sports 1, and Root Sports for the remainder of football season?

Calling bullshit.

I have two things on my mind: one, whoever broke into my apartment and stole my deoderant can go to hell.  (And by 'hell', I mean that godawful shopping center, University Village.  I hope this blog comes up when people google "university village."  University Village shopping center provides umbrellas to its shoppers so that they're precious highlighted hair won't get wet when they go from Restoration Hardware to Lulu Lemon to Starbucks to Hanna Anderson to Patagonia to FroYo.)

ANYWAY...WHO HAS MY FREAKING DEODERANT?

Second thing on my mind: stupid fucking Movember.  From what I gather from my sources (my sources are mostly Twitter  and what I overhear on the bus), there is a month where men don't shave and then they are celebrated and adored for it and also this has something to do with their prostate.  As someone whose entire sex is subjected to the belittling "support" for breast cancer awareness via athletes wearing neon pink and teenagers wearing 'I heart boobies' bracelets, I object. Strongly. But I guess I shouldn't be surprised: our culture and mainstream media sanctioning and praising men's lack of attention to hygiene and/or grooming norms in order to support a deadly cancer while a FAR MORE WIDESPREAD cancer that affects woman is supported by efforts that are overtly linked to femininity and/or sexuality is unfortunately not shocking.  Please let me know when I get to stop shaving something and it will be both socially acceptable and a philanthropic act of benevolence.

Shit, I just got political up in my own blog. 

(This post brought to you by graduate school.  And caffeine. And my feminist beliefs for which I will not apologize.)

Zach Braff eat your heart out.

(NB: If you haven't seen the film Garden State starring an earnest Zach Braff and a weirdly child-like Natalie Portman, the gist of this post will be entirely lost on you).

I have recently had occasion to coin a new dating phrase/phenomenon:

To be Garden Stated. 

As in, "Oh man, I totally got Garden Stated on my last date with so-and-so."

Let me explain: in the movie Garden State, Zach Braff's character returns home because his mother has died and/or because he has not confronted any of the issues of his youth that continue to plague him as a hypochondriac/neurotic adult.  While home he re-connects with old friends and family and meets the winsome Natalie Portman, for whom he instantly falls head over heels in love with.  They have a series of surreal adventures and interactions that are both charming and heartbreaking.

Dear readers, imagine my surprise when on a second date with So-and-So, I casually ask how his week was.  He says he's had better, and that it was kind of a hard week, because his father passed away.  THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENED.  It turns out that there exists ABSOLUTELY NO set of guidelines for this type of date; the date where you don't actually know someone, but you're kind of into them, and then they share something so personal and heartbreaking that you are instantly connected to them in a way that is hard to blog about flippantly.  So while I am going about the usual process of vetting a guy, I am now also considering that this guy's father passed away less than a week ago. 

Date one with this guy was a motorcycle ride, a walk along the ocean, dinner and music and ping pong (read: winning).

Date two was preparing food for a barbecue at his father's house where family and friends would gather to celebrate and be with one another in their sadness. 

You can't make this shit up.

No, YOUR the best :)

Hi friends.  It's been awhile, I know.  What can I say?  I've just had so much free time on my hands, and I've been so relaxed and not stressed out that I couldn't bring myself to blog about how spectacular my life is.  Oh, wait, I got that backwards.  However, I have recently entered the shitstorm/maelstrom/impending disaster that is dating.  Some of it online, and some of it the result of what happens when I blithely give my number to strangers. 

I have been on a few dates this week, and there is a lot to be said about each. Here's a teaser:  on the first I got the ole "bait and switch" wherein the photos of said person were clearly from another era in their life/taken from a sufficient distance to entirely misrepresent the person's appearance.  I also was the unwitting audience for what I can only assume was a dress rehearsal of a recitation of this man's medical history.  Not joking.  On the second, I went out with someone who unabashedly answered and made phone calls without any explanation or apology.  Call me old fashioned, and I'll call you a dick.   On the third, there was a lot of nervous and enthusiastic rambling accompanied by spitting.  He later admitted to drinking a Red Bull prior to the date.  Sweet.

Additionally, I think you can say a lot about a date judging by the follow-up texts.

Dude #3:
I can't stop smiling :) your pretty great.

Me:
Thank you.  I had a good time.

Dude #3:
:)

_____________________________________________

Dude #2:
Miss u already.

Me:
--------- (no response and filing paperwork for restraining order)

How my parents chose my name

Yesterday while attempting to learn how to spell "wilin' out" as in "all of my white friends and I are wilin' out!!" (said no one ever)-I was alerted to the hilarity that is typing your own name into Urban Dictionary.  Srsly.  Try it.  Here are some excerpts found when I typed in my name:

"Usually a some what shy girl who you find out is really funny once you get to know her. People can't get mad at ______ since you can't take her seriously. She likes to have a good time with her friends and get's along with everyone. She's extremely artsy. She finds a way to like everything and is overall always happy." Uh, yeah.  ALWAYS happy.  Riiiiight.

"An ______ is something very clean, polite, and well kept. Distancing herslef from anything dirty or anal, _______s tend to remain superior. They also obtain the tastest bags of food that are frequently stolen by inferior surrounding beasts." I think my old neighbors wrote this one while they were taking a break from their weekly RPG session.

 

"Don't ever overlook and ______, theyre beautiful, hot, funny, crazyyyy lol and you will deff have a hella time with an ______. And they loveee guys who flirt flirt flirt, none of tht serious shittt." Duhhhh.

And my personal favorite:

"A crack whore whose really cool"

An Open Letter to Comcast

Dear Comcast,

You must be opening my letter assuming you are about to be assaulted by another dissatisfied customer who is tired of being tied to the burning stake of your services because of the ridiculous monopoly you have over the media world.  This is not that letter.  You're gonna wish that was this letter by the time I'm through. 

And to be fair, this letter is really only intended for one person who works for Comcast: the MISCREANT ASS HAT who parks his Comcast utility van in front of my house and places cones around it as if he is doing work.  You are not doing work.  Unless by "work" you mean "hittin' it with someone who lives on my street."  News flash, asshole: getting laid is not official business, and unless your shit is real weird, you don't need the work van for it.  So kindly go home, drop off the work van, change your fucking clothes, and then take some form of public transportation back to my neighborhood.  I am not trying to hate.  I am not trying to cock block.  I am trying to park my car on the street that I live on. 

Some people don't like complaints if they aren't constructive in some way: Hey, I have an idea! Tell me where you live, I'll come park in front of your house and then we can carpool back to my neighborhood so I can get on with my day and you can bang my neighbor!

Seriously, dude, move your fucking work van.  Or give me free cable. 

Sincerely,
Another Comcast customer who thinks that an apocalyptic disaster would be worth it if it meant not having to do business with you.

Nostalgia

Remember when beer was such a novel thing that you had to talk about it how good it is on the bus?  I don't. But the young ladies behind me on the bus this evening were the poster-children for the newly 21 who struggle to name a beer that they like, but say things like "minimally hoppy" to describe their preference; they really should have considered going to college in Iowa if that is the case.  I was eavesdropping (and by eavesdropping I mean 'listening') to their conversations as I was reading a journal article (brushes knuckles on lapel) and felt compelled to take notes so as to record forever the things coming out of their mouths.  Things like, "I like beer that tastes like bread" and "I got another flat tire today, it's like the third one, and it just keeps going flat, I don't know what's wrong with it." 

It made my day, along with this gem of a text exchange between me and my boss:

Last night:
Boss: Let me know when ur avail again tmw to ck in
Me: Any time before 330 or after 7 is good

Tonight:
(my phone rings during class at 5:30).

Fin.

In all seriousness, what did make my day today was a phone call from my L'il Brudr!  It was only a few moments and I have never been so unable to think of things to say!  He sounds good, he sounds tired, he sounds like himself.  I think what weighs most on my mind is the importance of not forgetting that he is there: that every day when I do all of the normal, comfortable, luxurious things that I do because I'm not in a war, he is there. 

Ok, enough of the Dawson's Creek.  Just chillin' and eating chips and hummus for dinner.  Don't be jealous.

Oops...

....I totally thought I had something to blog about but I can't think of ANYTHING!  I did want to clarify that I harbor no ill-will for my friends who may have babies and/or put pictures of those babies on a mug and then give it to me as a gift.  It's just that three of those mugs staring at me when I opened the cupboard on Valentine's day (when the only valentines I received came from my parents and sister-in-law) was a little cruel even for my corporate holiday hating self.  I'm feeling much better now, and I didn't smash them, I would never do that.  But I did turn them facing the back of the cupboard.  Just for now. 

So yesterday was a long day, starting with an 8am meeting that two people couldn't make, two people showed up late for and myself.  Being more generous with people who are late is something I plan to work on in the future, like when I'm 80. 

Then a trip to an area high school for data collection, which was awesome.  I miss teaching, and I really miss teaching high schoolers. 

Then I had class where I received the best valentine ever: the professor said that an idea of mine was "brilliant."  BRILLIANT.  I can die now. 

Then I went swimming at the gym.

Then I went to mariachi rehearsal.  Playing in a mariachi band is a dream come true, one of those things I secretly wanted to do but thought would never happen (also in this category are things like getting married, finishing graduate school and going to Hawai'i.) 

Then I went and had nachos and beer with a good friend. 

So Crapentine's day wasn't as crappy as it started out, and I learned some things about myself in the process, things like: a holiday started by INSANE ROMANS to honor martyrs has no say in my value as a human. None.  Also, I am a morning person, which means I get up early but then I need to go to bed early.  I need to do a better job recognizing when I've reached my limits and can no longer make good choices or process information well.  Something that is totally devastating to me at 9pm is NBD at 6am. 

I hope you all had a (fill in the blank) day yesterday....I will happily receive your belated valentines in the form of 70% mark down chocolate from Walgreens if you wanna send me some. 

My plans

In honor of St. Valentine's day I'm smashing all of the mugs that people have given me with a picture of their baby on it. 

And then I'm eating nachos.

For my brother, on the eve of his deployment

I was crossing the street today and at the moment I stepped onto the curb a man walking with his cane caught his foot on a crack in the sidewalk and fell in front of me.  His cane dropped to the ground, his arms didn’t come up in time to catch himself, and he landed hard, partly on his face.  As I helped him up I saw the blood running from his forehead, catching on his bushy eyebrows and then dripping from his glasses onto his coat.  I asked him how he felt, worried that he had hit his head and he said, “stupid,” pulling a worn, folded handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing his forehead. Another passerby asked if he could call someone to come.  This elderly man, bleeding on a busy street corner, surrounded by well-intentioned yet clueless passersby, embarrassed to have fallen, said, “yes, call my sister.”

**********

I thought of the conspiratorial bond of brothers and sisters, how sometimes you want them to help you because you don’t want anyone else to know what happened. 

I think about the way you and I have an unspoken agreement about what is funny, what is serious, what is important and what we should and should not tell mom and dad. 

I think about our sameness and our difference and the ageless debate between nurture and nature.  I am glad for our similarities, and I’m glad for the departures.  But more than the genes and experiences that we share, I hope you are proud of me.  I am proud of you.  

Srsly?

My landlord's son who lives downstairs was apparently hosting some sort of fraternity reunion/Mensa meeting at 1am last night.  I have never heard so much spontaneous yelling.  I know that I am certainly no patron saint of coming home quietly from the bar but this was the kind of yelling that made me think there was a rodeo happening or that police intervention was necessary. 

I'm getting old and crotchety, I think.  Strange things really bother me: people not smiling back when I smile at them, people not holding the door for anyone, and the number one thing on my complaint list right now: the failure of men to recognize when they are speaking more frequently, for longer amounts of time and more loudly than anyone else in the room. 

On a happy note, my good buddy is coming to visit this weekend and there will be a party to celebrate a group of us ladies who have managed to turn thirty without having babies!  It's called "Beating the Odds" and we're having the party at the divest dive bar around.  YES. Ima start hydrating now. 

Uhhhh....kill fewer plants?

Not surprisingly, I was greeted by a couple of dead and withered plants when I got home today after a few weeks out of town with the family.  I'm not good with plants (or dudes, but at least I don't kill them and throw them in the compost bin).  Other than that, the apartment was in tact and I didn't realize how happy I was to be home and how much I really love things like not sleeping in a twin bed.  All of this to say that of course I should be offering up some resolutions for the new year, but I was just so intent on surviving 2012, I couldn't really think of anything for this year.  So "kill fewer plants" it is.  I also thought that it would be a good idea to try and dance more, so LOOK OUT SEATTLE.  I'm preparing for the onslaught of the academic quarter which will probably arrive on Thursday when I meet with my boss and she gives me a to-do list that looks like the Dead Sea scrolls and is equally as imperative for the trajectory of human history. 

The holidays were pretty alright.  I shot guns in the woods on New Years Eve, I got my fill of family drama (it's like some sort of weird battle where everyone uses the same strategy, in this case: passiveness).  I spent time with hilarious brothers, loving and kind sisters-in-law and adorable nieces.  I also saw some of my asshole friends.  I went to church a few times which was remarkable only in the number of instances when people thought that I was my brother's wife.  I visited some old running trails and enjoyed the luxury of someone pumping my gas for me.  All in all, can't complain.  Although I did have an epiphany (no pun intended, for those of your following the church calendar).  This is the second year in a row where a combination of being around all of my married/parenting friends and family made me feel stupidly alone after the holidays.  I'm thinking next year I'll book a flight on December 27th for somewhere sunny where I can drink on a beach and feel good and not like the creepy loner of the family who holds the cat during the family picture. 

That's all.  Over and out, good buddies.  Best wishes in 2013, and if "lose weight" is on your resolution list, I suggest hemorrhoids.