switching off

I'll take the partially used one, thanks.

2009-02-03T15:57:00.000-08:00

Every year on our birthdays, my brother and I each get a box in the mail from our grandmother (hence forth referred to as G$ or The Force, for reasons I will leave to a later post). The boxes have gotten better the older we get and it is always the highlight of the week. The arrival of said package is immediately followed by a phone call, first to the other sibling & then to our parents.

Me: "Dude - guess what's sitting on my front porch?"
Chris: "G$'s Box O'Birthday Wonders?"
Me: "You know it."
Some of the past years' winners include:
- a two pound can of baked beans
- beef stroganoff mix
- a giant can of off-brand chicken chunks (in water)
- a pair of ceramic garden bunnies (those were in Chris's box - HA)
- some weird plug-in tong thing that you put in your drink to heat it up (if anyone knows what the hell this thing is called, I'd appreciate you telling me)
- a cat toy (for my cat, not me)
- a crushed box of brownie mix with a piece of chewed gum stuck to the top of it

But the winner came this year & the ceramic bunnies slipped to second place. I may have cried and/or peed my pants a little when I opened it. It was a box of Carnation Instant Breakfast, from which 3 of the 10 packets were missing. And it expired in 2005. Sometimes she shops in her pantry.

I decided that it would be unfair to keep such a treasure all to myself, so I sent it to Miles. Hopefully he'll give it to one of his brothers (or back to me) on the next birthday.

We aren't friends so stop trying.

2009-01-17T19:35:00.000-08:00

My brother has mice. Ok, I had mice but only a few & they're all dead now, thank you.

When I first found out they were in my home, I was disgusted. It was when I caught my cat watching one of the brazen little bastards toodle across my living room floor that I became pissed. But after a good deal of investigation, I learned that at least half of Richmond homes are infested with these Barbie & Friends fur coats to-be, at which point they became more tolerable and on some (sick) level, cute. The senitment was short lived.

And now, sitting in my brother's dining room slash library, it literally sounds like a reinactment of the annual halloween D.C. High Heels Drag Queen Race in the ceiling above me. Trust me - those bitches got skillz. And some loud-ass shoes.

Do-over

2009-01-17T11:38:00.001-08:00

Ok, skipping the formalities. No, I haven't blogged in almost seven months and, yes (duh), I'm aware of this. A briefing on life since July:

1. Started my second year at the Brandcenter.
2. Christmas came.
3. (Standard brandcenter a-social existence between #1. and #2.)
4. Started my last semester at the Brandcenter.

And here we are.

Hiatus.

2008-07-28T11:03:00.000-07:00

If being lazy is a crime then break out the ambrosia salad and Dave Coulier stand-up tapes because I OWN lazy.

My 2 month break from school has been lovely and amazing and completely advertising deficient. I feel partially like a schlub, partially like i'm on parole for good behavior.

Sadly, the sweet, sweet nectar of summer that has been dribbling down my proverbial chin is about to dry up and leave a sticky cesspool of despair in t-minus one month.

sigh. But instead of working myself into an anxiety-ridden Brandcenter tizzy, I think I'll wallow in thoughts of this summer by making one of much-loved lists.

Summer's Highlights
(or the little things that, were I in an internship, I wouldn't have been able to indulge in):
1. Miles
2. SGI, twice
3. Fishing
4. Traveling
5. Cooking
6. Decorating
7. Organizing
8. Cleaning

Simple pleasures.

Doggie-doors. (or, Ways to Entertain Myself)

2008-05-31T21:04:00.000-07:00

I crawled through the doggie-door at my brother's house tonight.
Why?

Because, apparently, I could.

Full-body rebellion.

2008-05-19T00:46:00.000-07:00

To say that my body is "unamused" with my recent lifestyle would be about as absurd as saying that, when asked about his stance on world peace, Ghandi rolled his eyes and passed a spliff.

Last night, por ejemplo, bedtime was at 4:15 a.m. I had attempted and earlier repose, but due to the months of only 4 hours of sleep a night, my body balked at such a pedantic effort (I yoose Big Gurl werds 'cause I'm in gradumate skool).

So an hour later, when kitty-foo decided to practice her deep-tissue massage (read: flogging) on my shoulder blades, I knew that Fate was a back-stabbing bitch that would dangle the possibility of sleep above me like dripping, ripe fruit. Or a diamond chandelier. Or those damn baby mobiles they put in cribs to amuse babies. Oh, I remember mine. Stupid animals kept smiling down at me. All I wanted to do was pet them, but they were miles away from my piggy little fingers. Objects closer than they appear, indeed.

Anyway, so 5 a.m. comes and kitty gets exiled to the floor (mind you, she's been sleeping on my favorite sweatshirt - on the floor - for a week and a half now, so she was perfectly happy with her banishment).
Awesome. Time to rock Sleep again. Except now Sleep is tainted with bizarro dreams involving toile curtains, mice and those sprinkles made for cakes and ice cream.

6 a.m., cold sweat. I wake up panicked as I try to claw my way out of the noose I have somehow fabricated, in my sleep, out of my comforter. And its all because, in the netherworld of Leslie Dreams, those stupid mice grew sprinkles in place of horns (don't your mice have horns?) and the toile-scenery peasants were trying to poach them for their... well, sprinkles. True dream story.

For the next hour I watch the sun rise over the greyhound bus parked in the church parking lot across the street from my window. Finally, pissed, I get up, shower, and eat a half a banana slathered in Jif (which made the kitty-torture-methods and freakish toile dreams ALMOST acceptable).

And here I am, having endured an entire day of non-productivity, now putting up a half-assed fight against that pompous bastard Sleep (who I swear just scoffed at my Tylenol PM as being merely "a flesh wound.")

Kitty McShreddington better choose her battles wisely tonight.

Christmas 2008. I'm on it.

2008-05-09T09:26:00.000-07:00

I just emailed my mom.
Subject line: what i want for christmas.
Body:
"think you can arrange that?
get on it, woman.
xoxo,
moi"

Thats right.
Conchita the Baby Monkey. I want her.

Late-night snacks.

2008-04-29T02:41:00.001-07:00

I just found a stowaway Cheerio in my bra. From breakfast. Yesterday.

I'm not sure which of the following is more disturbing:
1. Changing my clothes (much less, showering) has taken a backseat to grad school.
2. I mistook it for a displaced body part.
3. I ate it.

I wish it had been money instead of a Cheerio. Or a bottle of wine. A wood nymph, perhaps. Those would at least suggest that I lead a more exciting life than that which a lone Cheerio implies.

::sigh::

Ghetto, in thee I live.

2008-04-19T22:23:00.001-07:00

I have not mowed my lawn. Ever.

It didn't matter over the course of the late fall and winter, since my backyard looked like a barren field once inhabited by Dog the Digger. But with March came rain, which was immediately followed by it's not-so-popular sibling, torrential downpour, in April. I now have knee-high grass in which I have lost my cat on more than one occasion. She is wee.

My neighbor even knocked on my door today and offered to let me use her lawn mower. I was embarrassed by the condition of my yard, so clearly I decided to launch into some preposterous excuse for my poor lawn care habits. I told her that I'm in the process of procuring a flock of sheep that would not only serve as an environmentally-friendly answer to lawn mowers, but as serious autumn barbeque fare. She finds me not funny. Shocking.

At any rate, if my apartment were a person, it would be homeless. Or a hippie.

Dietary Shortcomings.

2008-04-17T22:55:00.000-07:00

Rold Gold Pretzels and Diet Dr. Pepper.

This is what I eat, almost daily, at school. I did the math. Buying just one drink and just one snack from the vending machines at school, every day, I spend almost $60 a month. I've avoided doing the math until now for fear of the impending financial reality that would inevitably come with it. What's worse is that I usually buy TWO Diet Dr. Peppers and a bag of pretzels every day. I'm not calculating that. I need at least one vice during my 16 hour stints at school.

Therefore, I've decided to once again extend my culinary palette and go beyond the boundaries of a 3' x 6' glass case of glut. Starting May 14th-ish (Portfolio Review day), I'm dedicating my diet to those foods which are grown or raised locally and are organic. Ideally, I'll keep it up at least until August, when the Brandcenter vacuum sucks me back into the depths of advertising and $2.10 meals. Realistically, I'll last a week, but they say goal-setting is good.

Thank god for editing.

2008-04-07T21:58:00.001-07:00

I have lots of journals.

At least 7 or 8. None of them are full, but all of them are written in. This presents a two-fold dilemma: 1. no re-gifting. At this point, I should receive a government stipend for all the birthday, baby shower, and thank-you gifts that have required me to spend my hard-earned bartending money over the past few years. I mean, I don't understand why I can't just offer free drinks and lovely company in place of gifts. And I don't want to hear about the inappropriate nature of mixing breast feeding and Cable Car shots.

Dilemma 2: Hmmm... I don't remember, but I'm pretty sure it had to do with my inability to complete any project that isn't educationally or professionally required of me.

Having said that, it would probably behoove you to know that it usually takes me an additional 100 or so words to say what any (relatively) normal person might be able to say in 25. For instance, I could've just said, "I'm an overly verbose person with an inability to form concise sentences or follow through with simple tasks that aren't required of me." I mean, that was only 23 words (contractions not included).

Anyway, all of this is to say that, like cigarettes and tidiness, journaling/blogging is not woven into the fabric of my being. Don't get me wrong - I love writing, but not anything that people will actually READ (that would be preposterous).

So this blog is my little experiment. How long can I stick with this? How tightly can I embrace this absurdly uncomfortable display of myself? How many... er, times... can I... um... hmm. Where was I going with this? Bygones. Moving on.

It has taken me one hour to write three paragraphs. I'm awesome.

First blog posting? Check. Let's hope there's a round two.

Eh.

2008-04-03T16:16:00.001-07:00

Yeah, I know. I still haven't written anything.