Open Letter #1

Dear college girls sitting behind me,

If you continue to kick my seat like a set of petulant 5-year olds stuck on an airplane that's been delayed on the runway for 3 hours, I cannot be held responsible for what will happen next.

Admittedly, I've had a very long, sleep-deprived, draining and slightly disappointing week and perhaps I've a wee bit less patience than normal on a rainy Friday afternoon at quarter to six. Perhaps, even, I should turn the other cheek, so to speak, and turn to politely ask you to keep you rear end on the seat and feet on the floor.

Unfortunately, feeling your knee in my lower back for the 547th time has activated my Hulk mode and a sane, non-violent response is no longer on my radar.

Might I also remind you that this is not a lounge in your dorm. Get your feet off the seat. People do not pay $20 round trip or, in my case, $314/month to sit where the nasty bottom of your shoes have been. The general state of the train is bad enough. No need to leave a contribution.

Let me just close with this - your entire conversation has done nothing but reinforce the stereotype of today's teenager's as selfish, entitled and lazy. Though I don't consider myself old by any means, let me explain to you a little life lesson that will serve you well the sooner you learn it:

This life doesn't owe you a damnB thing.

So the next time you want to whine and moan about not having to pay for this or that and demand that mommy and daddy buy it because you "deserve" you'd be much better off to remember that without them you wouldn't be sitting on this train coming home from the college education they're paying for in your pink UGGs, your Louis Vuitton bags hanging off your shoulder.

Look, now you got me really upset. If only you'd kept your knee to yourself...

Love & Kisses,

The enraged woman in front of you in desperate need of a heating pad

Wait...WHAT?!

I am so overloaded today. Like way overloaded. Like, so overloaded I feel guilty that I'm even taking my lunch (read: mindlessly eating mostly while trolling Pinterest). However, I also simply had to take the 5 minutes to write this post and share this experience.

Some people like sweets. Some people prefer salty snacks. Some like sour-tasting things. I, personally, am a gal who'll take French Fries over a candy bar every time (though a cupcake trumps anything), but I can understand people who crave sugary stuff.

EXCEPT the woman in front of me at Dunkin' this morning.

I haven't been going to Dunkin' much since I started eating healthy, whole foods (because, unfortunately, there's really no way to make a glazed donut healthy) but this morning I needed the caffeine. Generally, I'm more of a tea girl than a coffee girl. However, when I do drink coffee it's usually flavored and/or lightly sweetened. In my youth (when guess was $0.89/gallon and I walked uphill both ways to get to the mall), I actually used to order it French Vanilla, extra cream, extra sugar. Nothing could prepare me, though, for what this woman ordered:

Large iced caramel swirl coffee, extra cream, extra sugar, and five Splenda.

I'm pretty sure everyone in line imediately became diabetic.

Um, also? It was 6:45 a.m.

Please, if there are any readers who drink their coffee like this, explain it to me. I use the sweetener and milk to cut the bitter taste but...I'm pretty sure you'd be better off just eating bulk white sugar with a spoon than drinking this coffee.

Now, if you'll please excuse me, I need to go call my dentist for a cleaning...

Veeery (P)interesting!

Yes, Pinterest.

The neverending time-suck of do-it-yourself door wreaths, 10 course crock pot dinners, and every e-card ever created. 

And yes, I love it just as much as the next girl. 

(I'm pretty sure if there were any guys reading this post, I just lost them. Don't worry, fellas, it's just as likely as anything else that the next post will be about the circus that is reffing in the NFL right now. Granted, it could also be about cuppycakes - whose recipe I got from Pinterest - but who doesn't love cuppycakes?!)

While there is a good bit of carp out there (carp = crap), there's actually some good stuff too. Enough good stuff that I always sign off hungry, ready to reorganize every room in my home, with a grocery list of supplies from Home Depot and AC Moore. I don't have the time (or the energy) to turn this into one of those Pinterest Success/Fail blogs, and there are some good ones out there, but anything that I do try, I'll be sure to post about (with pictures, whenever possible because, honestly? There's probably not much better than seeing me up to my arms in hot glue, glitter and feathers).

I have all sorts of random boards - amazing bathrooms, beds that I covet, inspirational quotes, beautiful things that are green or teal, cute things I want to snorgle, and, of course, a Disney board. My 'Can't...Stop...Laughing...' board is probably my favorite. At any given moment when I'm considering pitching something in someone's general direction, I can pull up that board for some laugh-so-hard-I'm-silently-shaking-and-crying moments.

But here's the thing, I've only ever re-pinned things others have already pinned. I have NO idea how to pin anything new. And honestly? I've not yet felt I need to. I figure, eventually, everything on the internet will be pinned to Pinterest. Woohoo! One stop shopping!

In the meantime, I'll just continue re-pinning the e-cards that aren't too raunchy or rude (and still laughing at the ones I won't re-post), wiping the drool off my keyboard as I re-pin things that are made of butter, sugar, chocolate, butter and frosting, and looking for inspiration to get my butt to the gym after a 10-hour workday (an elusive pin, at that).

So, dear reader, tell me what YOU pin! 

OMG! It's JOSH!

I'm pretty sure that God/the Goddess/the Universe/The Nothing allows me to see/hear/experience things for the express purpose of sharing them with YOU, gentle reader. Take this, for example:

I'm browsing around Barnes & Noble today (which, by the way, can range from a 20 minute to a 4 hour affair), I observed a 20-something year old guy walk over to a motherly Barnes & Noble employee working at the Information Desk. The following exchange ensued:

That Guy: (clears his throat) Hello there!

Mama Bear at the Desk: May I help...Oh my God! Josh! Oh wow! HI! It's been a while! It's SO nice to see you! We REALLY miss you! Tell me, what are you doing with yourself now, Josh?

That Guy: Um...I'm Eric.

I had to relocate myself. I was equal parts mortified for the woman and in borderline hysterics. And I'm not sure who I feel worse for - Eric or Josh.

27 Stories

27 Stories. Not to be confused with 27 Dresses. This post does not feature either cute Katherine Heigel (who I liked in that movie but LOVED in Life As We Know It) or Cyclops (a.k.a. James Marsden).

What this post does feature are stairs. A lot of stairs.

As we begin this saga, you need to know some things:

1. I wanted to post this when it happened, yesterday, but have been experiencing technical difficulties (read: User Error) with Blogger.
2. I work in a Boston high rise on, you guessed it, the 27th floor.
3. I am NOT in the best shape of my life and have not done any consistent exercise for about 3 months.

So yesterday was an early day for me. I took the 6 a.m. train into the city and was sashaying into my office around 7:20 a.m. Ok, maybe I wasn't sashaying. I was a wee bit cranky. I had just unpacked my bag and purse, turned on my computer, and was about to commence with the stress (also known as reading e-mail), when our building's emergency announcement system sounded.

Even if you were born without every necessary auditory organ AND the part of your brain that processes sound, you could hear this announcement. And, of course, because it was unexpected, I involuntarily vaulted from my chair into my recycle bin.

The way our emergency system works is thus: the emergency announcement sounds (and repeats her deafening message 4 times) on all 38 floors of the building. Then, if it is not disabled by Security (if a false alarm/accident) within a certain timeframe, the alarm sounds on the floor of said emergency and the one above and below. Once the alarms sound, our "smart" elevators immediately return to the Lobby where they sit waiting for Fire Department use.

So, there I am sitting at my desk, heart beating as if I'd just completed an Olympic sprint, listening to Ms. Emergency Announcement finish her fourth iteration and yes, of course, the alarm immediately sounds. I couldn't say I was surprised. They're doing pretty major construction in our building and they've inadvertently set it off before. 

Test, accident, false alarm, whatever, I never treat it lightly. Some people (somehow) ignore the piercing beeping and continue working through our full building practice evacuations. I cannot. I can't help but picture the Twin Towers in NYC that perfect September morning. It's one of the ways the world has changed me. I don't think I'll ever be that cavalier (or arrogant?) about my safety again. I quickly pulled on my sweatshirt, grabbed my phone, building pass, bag and purse and headed for the stairs. 

Long story, already longer than planned, short, I ended up descending the stairs with our cafeteria staff. This is the story (TRUE STORY!) of 12ish people picked to descend 27 flights of stairs and find out what happens when people stop being nice and start getting real...The Real World: 27 Stories. (Unfortunately no one wears a big ol' cowboy hat and plays guitar. Thankfully, no one is named Puck. No jacuzzis either.)

Flights 27 through 20: Solo descent of our interior stairs, having to shoulder open the fire door on each level. It was almost like an office version of Wipeout, sans the big red balls and mud pits. And, I'll sheepishly admit, I did try to get into an elevator at some point but they had already all gone through the auto-shut down. I'm intelligent, but sometimes not smart. I mean really, my boyfriend is a fire fighter. You'd think I'd know better.

Floor 19: I meet my companions for the first time and have to show them where the emergency stairwell is. We begin our descent.  

Floor 18: Only 18 more flights? Psht. I got this.

Floor 17: Shoot. How did I get to be the 2nd person in line here? That's a lot of pressure. I better keep up.

Floor 16: I totally got this.

Floor 15: Glad I didn't wear flip flops today.

Floor 14: At least it's not 27 flights UP.

Floor 13: Shoot. I'm 5 steps behind the guy who made my grilled cheese a few weeks ago. He's never going to make me a grilled cheese again if he sees I can't keep up.

Floor 12: I could let them go in front of me...but then I'd be last and then who'll stop me from just laying down halfway through the next flight for a nap?

Floor 11: Why can't I feel my right quadricep?

Floor 10: I totally don't got this.

Floor 9: ...what do you mean, NINE?! We've totally walked down about 47 flights by now.

Floor 8: I actually think my left quad has detached and I'm 100% positive that if I even pause, I'll fall.

Floor 7: How did kitchen guy get so good at descending stairs?! Was he on his college intramural team or something?

Floor 6: Silence. And whimpers.

Floor 5: Ok, don't be ridiculous. You're going to (mostly) run a 5K in 5 months. You've lost 6.2lbs in two weeks. You can finish this.

Floor 4: See? Almost done. (I hope they're handing out Gatorade at the bottom. The red one.)

Floor 3: Sweet Baby Jesus, I see the light! Wait, what did that creepy, little lady from Poltergeist say? Don't go into the light, right? RIGHT? Oh...that wasn't THE light. I'm apparently seeing spots. 

Floor 2: If I start falling now, perhaps I can just somersault out the emergency exit at the bottom...

First Floo....r? WTH?

After the second floor one would think the ground floor would be next. But what was next was another flight of stairs. Now, I know I didn't finish my architectural degree, but I'm pretty sure I understood the whole stairs per flight per floor piece.

I stumbled out the fire door, through our back lobby, and out into the morning. I instinctively knew I had to keep moving as even just slowing down had caused my legs to shake a bit. I turned the corner and walked back up the street towards the front of our building, where Boston's Best were just arriving in their shiny red trucks. I found a 'No Parking' sign to lean against and watched them gear up and head into the building while my legs shuddered...er...sighed with relief. 

About 5-10 minutes later they cleared the building and we were allowed back in. False alarm (thank goodness).

Since relating this story, a couple of people have commented, "It was that hard? You were going DOWN. Gravity is working with you."

Um. Have you seen me? Gravity doing ANYTHING to me at this weight is not positive. Talk to me 113.6lbs from now. Maybe I'll tell you another story.

Also? While it takes more energy to walk up the stairs, it takes more muscle control to walk down them. Want proof? I've had trouble standing up from a sitting position unassisted all day. Also, my calves have put in for a leave of absence and are pursuing other opportunities. And these are not your friendly, everyday stairs. They're steep-ish, steel stairs descending a concrete shaft (with thick metal pipes, you know, for fun).

I wasn't hurting immediately, but as the day wore on I knew today would be tough. I drank more water and popped some Advil. Then, once again, at about 3 p.m. I lurched violently out of my chair...

"Attention please, attention please. There has been a report of an emergency in this building..."

The sound of my forehead hitting my desk echoed down the hallway.

Rules of the Road

"Life is a hiiighway..."

Ahem. Pardon me while I get some Tom Cochrane (sorry, Rascal Flatts) out of my system.

Let's lay down some rules reagrding this here little blog. I'll let you know what you can expect from me and what I expect from you. Fair? Fair.

What you can expect from me is as follows (humor my minor obsession with lists and bullet points, won't you?):

• Daily to almost-daily posts. I promise you that I will not post for six days straight, achieve blogger exhaustion, and abandon all memory of this blog. If I'm taking a hiatus of more than a day or two, I'll make sure you know why. Chances are there's some sort of life event that in one way or another will prove obnoxious to me (read: hilarious to you) that is getting in the way and deserving of a post anyway.
• Honesty - honestly! You may or may not like and/or agree with what I have to say, and I respect that. But rest assured I'm not going to couch my opinion on anything. I'm generally pretty open minded and often play Devil's Advocate to myself (FYI - it is perfectly healthy to argue with yourself. It's also awesome. You always win!)
• A BROAD range of topics. Remember, this blog is about two things: random and ME. That means on any given day I may post about any or all of the following: macaroni and cheese, skinny jeans, cat vomit (and the effects of stepping in it at 2 a.m.), cupcakes, weight loss (and said relationship with all of the above...except maybe the cat vomit), politics, religion, and money (I'm controversial like that), Paula Deen, reality TV, Disney, Disney, Disney, Disney, shoes, Disney, my commute to and from work (by popular demand), the Mayans, other blogs, AND my theory that MATH is really a MYTH (only on dinky little difference in spelling - coincidence? I think not). Also, posts may range from outright comical and outrageous to serious or heartbreaking. Sometimes all of that, in the same post (what can I say? I can be moody.)
• Attention to your comments. I love attention. (See, there's that honesty thing.) I'm going to assume you like it too  So if you comment, I'll probably comment back. Gives me the warm and fuzzies.
• Privacy. There are a limited number of things I will not post about, the first being my job. Why? Because generally I like it and I'd like to keep it. Those of you who know me and/or work with me, let's please keep work references on the no-no list. You can also be assured that I will not refer to you by name and/or photo without your permission first. Not everyone wants to be featured on a future-superstar blog and I respect that. I will always contact you if I want to identify you in some specific way. Otherwise I'll refer to people generically if I feel it's necessary as friends, family, etc. (I'm in the process of getting blanket approval from my parents and siblings. There is too much funny stuff that happens in our family to NOT post it here. Seriously, I'm not sure why we aren't yet a reality show. Jersey Shore who?)
• A Rated PG-13 blog at worst...most of the time. I will do my best to use substitutes for expletives 99.9% of the time (sometimes it just slips out). If I think something in a blog might be any of the following, I promise to start the post with a disclaimer:
• offensive to specific parties or to finer sensibilities (I've always wanted to use that phrase...I've also always wanted to be Southern, so there's that...and I mean Scarlett O'Hara not Sookie Stackhouse Southern)
• inappropriate for children (Some of this stuff might make EXCELLENT bedtime reading)
• inappropriate for work (I know you read at work, don't lie!)
• inappropriate for your kittehs (they're sensitive, you know)

What I expect from you (it's a MUCH shorter list, I promise):

• That you read my blog. Oh, and share it if you like it! This isn't just a pasttime for me but the first steps on what I hope will be a successful (and I'm just pipe-dreaming here, prosperous) literary road. Follow me here on Blogger, link to me, e-mail me, repost on FB, it's all good!
• Please use the comments box RESPONSIBLY and RESPECTFULLY. I'm not stranger to, nor am I offended by, a friendly argument or difference of opinion. Key word: FRIENDLY. If you're going to insult or disrespect me or anyone else that has posted, I'd rather you keep it to yourself. Any outright rude, disrespectful or otherwise inappropriate comments will be removed. Otherwise, feel free to tell me I'm wrong! (I double dog dare you.)

That about sums it up, folks. I want to thank everyone again for all of their love, support, and ridiculing in the process of getting this blog off the ground. So far, it's little fledgling wings are flapping away to keep it aloft. I hope to make it SOAR.

Failure to Launch

Once upon a time there was a happy little blog*. This happy little blog had spent most of its Life as a figment of its blogger’s imagination, waiting to spring into being as the most SPECTACULAR, AMAZING, EXHILARATING BLOG ON THE INTERNET!!!

(This blog had really great self-confidence. It spent a lot of its downtime watching Oprah and Dr. Phil and perusing the Self-Help section of its local bookstore.)

One Tuesday, no different from any other, the little blog awoke, ready to roll out of its comfy little blog bed, do some yoga and center its chi before making a nutritious and delicious protein smoothie. Only this morning, its feet didn’t touch the floor. The little blog looked around, mouth forming a soft, round O.

The little blog had woken up on the INTERNET! The world was suddenly loud and overwhelming and the little blog saw it had already smudged its blue-striped pajamas. It was becoming dizzy. All sorts of other blogs and news sites, chat rooms and e-mails…and wait, was that a can of SPAM?...whizzed by, shoving the little blog out of the way. They were all much bigger, much faster, and much brighter.

Suddenly the little blog didn’t feel like the most SPECTACULAR, AMAZING, EXHILARATING BLOG ON THE INTERNET!!! As a matter of fact, it was like it didn't even exist!

Carefully picking its way through the traffic (and almost being flattened by a Triple Letter, Triple Word play on the word ‘QUIZ’) it made its way into the shadow of an old building. It picked a piece of gum off the bottom of its foot. It looked hesitantly again at all of the commotion and then started to cry.

Suddenly, the little blog heard a voice in its head, “What’s wrong, little blog?”

“What IS this? This isn’t SPECTACULAR or AMAZING or EXHILARATING! Actually, I hate this! Why doesn’t anyone pay attention to me?”

The voice in the little blog’s head belonged to its blogger. “Oh! Well, that’s because you need a name, little blog!”

“Then they’ll pay attention to me?”

“Mhmm.”

“Let’s do this!” (Dr. Phil talked a lot about dispelling fear through taking action. The little blog was feeling more like itself already.)

“Ok…one second…hmm…nope…ugh…really? Harumph.”

“Everything ok?”

“Well, in order to be the most SPECTACULAR, AMAZING, EXHILARATING BLOG ON THE INTERNET you need a pretty SPECTACULAR, AMAZING, EXHILARATING NAME, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes.”

“Well, unfortunately all of the soulfully profound names I was thinking of for you are taken.” The blogger heard her little blog sigh in despair. “Wait! I know I’ll try…nope. Darn.”

The blogger continued plugging in blog names, determined to find her little blog a jaw-dropping, eye-popping, life-changing yet catchy name that would draw in all passers-by.  Six hours later, the blogger’s chin resting in her hand, she said, defeated, “That’s it, I’m naming you Smackaroni and Cheez…or Candy Corn Fussypants…or…or…Octopus Popcorn.”

The little blog does an EXCELLENT eye-roll, by the way. It, at this point, had pulled together a nice little cardboard box to sleep in and was eyeing a larger refrigerator box not too far away that might make an excellent three-season room.

“Wait a minute. No, really, wait just one minute!” yelled the blogger. “That’s IT! That’s the whole point! That’s JUST the kind of name that will make you the most SPECTACULAR, AMAZING, EXHILARATING BLOG ON THE INTERNET!”

The little blog continued to look unimpressed. “Huh? Those are just random words you put together.”

“Exactly! Isn’t that what Life is about, little blog? The random moments strung together? The things that make us laugh and cry and throw up in our mouths a little bit, when you look at them collectively, they make up a SPECTACULAR, AMAZING, EXHILARATING LIFETIME!”

The little blog was skeptical, but thoughtful. Its blogger looked like she could use a shampoo and a stiff drink, but she did have a point…kind of.

“I have all of these pieces of my Life. All these people in my Life. All these thoughts and experiences in my Life. They’re all so random but they are all a part of ME. And isn’t sharing ME with the world what you’re all about, little blog?”

Something funny was happening to the little blog. It suddenly wasn’t feeling so small and insignificant. It was standing a little taller. Its dirty, striped pajamas were gone. It had a new, shiny name tag. It looked up to find the world had slowed down a bit. The blogger watched proudly. Her little blog took a tentative step away from the building. Traffic slowed even more and as the little blog shimmied in between a social media site and a discount shoe site, the blogger heard:

“Hi. I’m Octopus Popcorn.”


*Not to be confused with Bob Ross’ happy little trees. That man was a GENIUS with a fan brush.