SHE SAID: Case of the Mondays?

June 10, 2010

So, in keeping with my epic late-ness, here is my case of the Monday’s post … on Thursday evening.  And here is my list of excuses.

1. I’m in the middle of moving.

2. My son is graduating from nursery school tomorrow.  Yes, now they have graduations although the cap and gown have yet to make an appearance.

3. I was planning to write Sunday night, only we got delayed on our way back from this awesome wedding in VA (the entire wedding was in the pool at the end of the night – in full wedding attire).

4. I’m always always late.  It runs in my family.

I’m done with the disclaimers.  Onto the links …

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I think I could pack this site with awkward photos, but they seem to be doing a great job without my input.

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Now the biggest spill in history, here is a way to gauge the size of the catastrophic Gulf oil spill in a way that hits home.

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“At 51, I have decided fantasy should be limited to sex, not football.”
David Remnick comes out against fantasy sports.

courtesy the Awl

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Forget bungee jumping and sky diving.  This looks pretty awesome.  This was shot in Bermuda.

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HE SAID: Birthdays

August 28, 2009

Today is my birthday.  In fact, apparently is made extra special because it is my “Golden” birthday or some shit like that.  I turn 28, on the 28th of August…this was most likely made up be females in an effort for even more attention on the celebration of the anniversary of their arrival (ironic, isn’t it? Here I am blogging about my own birthday claiming females crave attention).  Bottom line is I turn 28 today, and am starting to freak out a bit.

Exacerbating this tweak out episode is the fact that I start Graduate School Monday.  Take out the ‘graduate’ part though, and it simply reads, “I start school Monday.”  My fingers are twitching as I write that.  28, just starting school again, really? What the fuck have I been doing these last 5 years?

Truth be told, life has been pretty sweet since I graduated college, I just can’t believe it’s been five years…and truth be told, I’m excited about this next stage.  However, it does raise a few questions, the main one being – am I allowed to hit on undergrads?

When a friend found out I was starting grad school his first comment was, “I want to be attending a dorm party with you before the end of this semester.”  Is that allowed? Is it condoned? Fuck, is it even legal?  Am I really going to be doing an Around the World Party at the UVM dorms soon? Remember those, when like 5 different dorms would have 5 different drinks, good times.  I mean, I highly doubt this will actually come to fruition, but stranger things have happened.

Stranger things like holding down a steady relationship? I mean, I am 28 now, its about effing time.  I wonder what is actually more likely to happen – attending a dorm party sometime before finals or finding myself in a somewhat serious relationship.  My guess is Vegas would have the former being somewhere around 10:1, and the latter at 15:1.

What about intramurals?  I am pretty sure I spent a good amount of time as an undergrad making fun of the dbag grad students who participated in intramurals, and pretty much anything that related to undergrad students.  But now I’m starting to think it would be a good way of meeting some people; and not to be arrogant, but I’m pretty sure I’d clean house if I played tennis, and winning is always fun…even at my old-age.

Last Friday night was amazing…so amazing in fact that I really couldn’t tell you in detail what made it so amazing, not so much a black out as a brown out.  I’m sure doing that at age 28 is still fine, lets be honest, what makes 28 so different than 27.   But what about 29, one short of 30.  Hell, what about 30.  I would say that I’m pretty mature for my age, but I enjoy my immature moments as well…do I have to start phasing those out?

Ok, enough verbal diarrhea.  I realize this is not a typical post, but I needed to get it off my chest.  And you readers unfortunately have to deal with it, since I don’t have a diary…I stopped writing those when I was 24.


SHE SAID: Birthdays

August 28, 2009

I think my main issue with birthdays is that I peaked at eight.  My parents filled an entire car with balloons, they surprised me with a ridiculous amount of presents AND I got my first cabbage patch doll (remember the years where parents were waiting in lines days long to get those and starting full on fist fights over them!?  This was in that time period).  Add onto that cake, ice cream, the fact that we spent my late summer birthday on vacation at the beach, and it’s hard to fulfill that expectation year after year.

So, after a few years of getting really excited for my birthday and having it fall short, I stopped building it up.  Even though a very small part of me when I wake up on my birthday still expects the entire world to stop business as usual, people to sing to me constantly throughout the day, fireworks to follow me, flowers to bloom when I walk by, dancing extras, work to be canceled, the sun to shine, birds chirping, cars full of balloons … you get the idea.

In addition to not letting myself down, I don’t want those around me to feel like they have to do something for me if it’s not just something that happens.  I’ve gotten too many gifts that were “oh shit, I have to get something for her birthday” gifts and I know it’s a pain to go shopping under pressure thinking you have to find something.  And it’s never that exciting to receive something knowing it was bought so a gift would be present (haha, pun intended), not because it was something that struck someone as something you would just love.  Presence is so much better than presents.

I hope I never turn into one of those people who dreads their birthday.  Because if nothing else, I’m all for having a good reason to share a beer with a friend, to get together with friends and family, to wake up with a smile on your face in the morning, or to have cake and ice cream.  And it’s kind of fun to be secretly expecting all the people around you to spontaneously burst into song all day.

As far as where I thought I would be, since Jeremy is clearly tweaking about this a little, no.  No, I am not where my eight year old self thought I would be.  At all.  So far from it.  And in a lot of ways, thank God.  I’m not where my eight year old self thought I would be, or my eighteen year old self, or my twenty eight year old self.  I think at eight I would have expected a Barbie-type existence.  At eighteen, I believe my younger brother and I promised each other we would help each other not make it to the staggeringly old age of forty.  At twenty eight, I was just dreading 30.

I like to think some wisdom has jumped on board over the years.  I have made some friends who make me speechless when trying to express what their love and laughter mean to me – suffice to say that I cannot imagine my life without them.  I have some funny stories.  Some embarrassing ones that aren’t far enough in the past for me to laugh at.  I have some good scars.  I have learned a lot from the many people I have been lucky enough to encounter.  I have enjoyed much and experienced much and when it comes down to it, I wouldn’t change a thing.  And most of it, I wouldn’t have predicted.  Nor was I expecting to have one of my best birthdays at 31.  And I didn’t even get a Cabbage Patch Doll.


SHE SAID: Walk of Shame

August 21, 2009

Always more embarrassing for a women.  I don’t care how dressed up you were the night before, even stumbling home in the morning fog wearing a disheveled tux with stubble is more distinguished than stumbling home in heels with a wrinkled dress and your hair only slightly reminiscent of its previous night’s splendor.  And most times, let’s figure the couple in question was at a bar, the guy is wearing something he could arguably wear in the morning … while the girl is in something that is clearly evening attire.  Eyeliner, mascara … it can get ridiculously messy.  We women give away WAY more when trying to ease our way home the next morning whether or not you snuggled, snogged, or slept with the person you spent the night with, it is assumed you spent the night grappling with the double backed beast when caught slinking home.

walk-of-shameIn college, these walks were more prevalent for most people.  Myself, I was saying my prayers at nine thirty and in bed by ten with all my homework done, but some of those ruffians I hung around with would come home the next morning.

One made it home in a shower curtain liner after leaving his fair lass’s room to use the lavatory and not remembering which room he had left once he exited the bathroom.  This necessitated some quick thinking.

One friend never found her other shoe despite panicked rummaging and her prince never sought her out.

Another was relieving himself of last night’s ingestion in a bush on his way back to his room while a prospective student tour happened upon him.

In hind sight, I wish I had planted myself somewhere on a Sunday morning where I could have taken in some of the walks of shame.  I’m a little bummed when I think of the people watching I missed out on that would have been so easy to witness.  Head down, eyes focused on the sidewalk, pace quickened…heels clicking.

And therein lies the fun.  Not getting caught.  There’s something victorious about making it back to your room without getting seen.  Not that you won’t laugh about the story with friends or brag to your buddies, but there is some key part in getting back to your room before someone sees you.

As an adult, it gets less exciting, a little more pathetic.  Getting spotted driving home early, your car seen in someone’s driveway, your parent’s drinking coffee at the breakfast table while you’re sneaking in the back door.  And no, that never happened to me.

But one time, having thought I snuck in unnoticed at an ungodly hour, I went to join my father for breakfast after grabbing a few hours of sleep.  He put the paper down as I sat to eat and said, “You looked really beautiful last night.”  Thinking this was one of those touching father-daughter moments that Hallmark attempts to construct, I thanked him.  Then he picked the paper back up and as he cracked it to make sure it wasn’t folding over and hampering his reading, he followed with, “Maybe that’s why you didn’t come home last night.”

Busted.