Danger, Will Robinson

July 7, 2009

***The post that I put up here yesterday, while cathartic, was a little too Britney-breakdown for public consumption. Honestly I’m shocked I still have all my hair. Sorry for the dry spell and what I can imagine to be a rather cryptic addendum to this post. I hope to return to my good-natured blogging persona soon.***

Summer’s Coming Around Again

May 26, 2009

Once you are no longer on a school schedule, it is hard to pinpoint exactly when summer begins, but I definitely feel it coming, and it is glorious. This will be my first California summer, and I am praying that I can make it as memorable as my many, many summers in Wisconsin, which always include the same itinerary: drinks (at the Student Union, at the hipster bar near my parents’ house, at the dive bar where they have fusball and the best effing cheese curds in the world); Saturday farmer’s market, with “magic” iced coffee in hand from Cafe Soleil; pies, brats, ice cream, amazing dinners with my family, brunch at the pancake house; summer concerts and movies; canoeing; breezy late-night walks followed by late-night substance abuse in the park with old friends; weekend trips to Chicago; baseball games; bliss.

That sounds pretty perfect, but I only get a week back home in Wisconsin, so I have to start getting excited about my new summer itinerary, in this new place, which after nine months (has it really been that long?!?) is finally feeling like home. Luckily for me, I have friends here now, many of whom are local, and their summer lists sound pretty perfect too. It seems like San Francisco has a different food festival, block party, or excuse for being drunk and/or naked, every weekend. Camping in the Redwoods is a favorite of one of my co-workers, and I have already signed up for one summer concert (No Doubt, bitches). I am so looking forward to A’s games, more concerts, more exploring, more of all things new. I have a burgeoning container garden, and the list of amazing summer movies is staggering: Harry Potter, Funny People, Up, Inglorious Basterds, Public Enemies, Year One, Transformers 2, Whatever Works, Drag Me to Hell-OMG!

Don’t get me wrong, my week in Wisconsin will be much-needed. While there, I hope to knock off a good portion of the activities on my summer list, plus I have a wedding (squeal!!) in New Jersey that will be oh so much fun, but for the rest of the time, I will be making the most of summer in my new state. After I take the LSAT, of course. I am going to go cry now, and study.

I Still Matter!

May 19, 2009

Remember when I talked about how much I love matchmaking? Well, I’ll link to that gem here, and also here, in case you forgot. Anyways, although it has very little to do with my skills as a matchmaker, two people whom I adore have recently started “dating,” for lack of a better term (they enjoy eating together and kissing), and I find myself becoming more and more interested in their future as a couple. This has made me kind of annoying to be around, as all I ever want to talk about are Person X and Person Y and how cute they are together; I know, I hate me too.

So, in an effort to stop this obnoxious behavior, I decided to figure out why exactly I felt the need to be so involved. Answer: I miss talking about dating, or rather, I miss being able to join in the inevitable dating discussions that occur with all my friends. For example, I know how tonight’s dinner “date” will end: I will fall asleep watching The Daily Show, and He Who Must Not Be Named will work on grad school stuff until 2 in the morning. Nobody wants to hear about that!

When I get together with my co-workers on Monday morning to discuss our weekends, and current romantic prospects, it goes a little something like this:

blonde co-worker: On Friday REDACTED took me to dinner and then we REDACTED and again in the morning, but I finally had to break up with REDACTED, you know that guy I was seeing with the big arms, because I had a better connection with REDACTED. Brunette co-worker?

brunette: Well, REDACTED and I got wasted and then went out with his guy friends, one of whom who was really cute, red-head you would like him, he is totally your type.

red-head: Oh really? Yeah, I’d love to meet him. My second date with REDACTED was not as great as the first so I think it might be time to start looking elsewhere. What about you b, how was your weekend?

me: I’m still married. This weekend we watched Band of Brothers. Gay co-worker?

gay co-worker: Still in a committed loving relationship, but can’t get married. We also watched Band of Brothers…

It looks like I wont have anything interesting to offer until I start procreating. Because people love it when a girl talks about being pregnant and having kids.

Late for Work

May 12, 2009

I was looking at my blog stats, because I am incredibly narcissistic, and my friend, Rachel, was kind enough to promote me on another blog, Berg With Fries (which I read and love, and you should all read because it’s hilarious and wonderful). I wanted to see if I had gotten any recent traffic, i.e. readers who did not go to middle school with me, and I found an even more interesting statistic:

“These are terms people used to find your blog.”
‘Gossip Squirrel’
‘drinking scotch’

I am pretty sure I need to get those phrases tattooed on me or something.

Morning Time

May 10, 2009

Fact: I am incapable of sleeping past 7:30. It doesn’t matter when I went to bed or what I did the night before; once I woke up at 7:30, still drunk having gone to bed at 4am (okay, this probably happened more than once). Obviously this works in my favor during the weekday, my real job being the cause of this Doll-esque internal clock, but on the weekends, it’s not so fun. My husband is incapable of getting up before 11, except on those rare occasions when he has class or a meeting with someone before noon. That leaves me about 4 hours of alone time on Saturday and Sunday mornings. HWMNBN is able to spend days alone, he actually prefers it this way, but I love interacting with people (as I am not half-Vulcan) so this whole “time for myself” thing generally gets old after about two hours.

Sometimes I meet friends for brunch, or go to the farmers’ market. I often make delicious, time-consuming breakfast treats for the husband (cinnamon rolls, cheese danish, buttermilk waffles-no link, family recipe, ask and you shall receive!) which I never want to eat because by then time they are done, it’s lunch time.

So far this morning I have planned all the dinners for this week, made a grocery list, called my mothers (real and step, not a lesbian thing) watched Fringe, enjoyed coffee on my balcony while talking to my plants, and read some blogs. I’ve got another hour to kill, and I have already blogged about absolutely nothing (I am seriously considering deleting this post because it is so ungodly boring) maybe I’ll go for a run? God, I couldn’t even type that with a straight face. This is why I need a dog.

Studying Law

May 10, 2009

Making the responsible choice for my f├╝tchah.

Tonight’s event reminded me of why I don’t have a twitter account. It is Saturday night, and since there are only five of you readers out there, I can easily account for your whereabouts this evening, and know that you are definitely not sitting at home reading this blog entry. No, you are on dates, or getting drunk with your friends who, like you, are graduating in two weeks. One of you is even at a bachelorette party, and what am I doing? Studying for the lsat and making chili.

That is exactly what my twitter would say, so you can understand why it is probably a good thing I don’t have one. I had a life, once. I went to concerts and bars, drank beer in the afternoon and straight scotch past 2am (okay, I guess that did happen just last weekend), I even went to Vegas! Sadly, my life of partying will have to be put on hold until the arrival and passing of this godforsaken test. It’s not like I was a Lohan or anything, but Saturday nights use to be so full of possibility and youthful endeavors. They gave me a reason to shower- apparently I can’t pull off the greasy hair and sweat stain look as well as Mischa Barton-GOT ‘EM!

Another possible “tweet”: I don’t know where my husband is.

This actually happens quite a bit because HWMNBN either leaves his cell phone at home, or forgets to charge it. He went golfing like 8 hours ago; maybe I should shower more often…

Warning: Severe Oversharing Ahead

May 7, 2009

A couple weeks ago my first boyfriend sent me a charming Rob Gordon-esque email that pretty much fucked up my day, entire weekend, and half of the following week. What started as an innocent facebook message, “Hey, saw you got married, congrats!” slowly morphed into a “I fucked up [seven years ago!] and am currently using our past relationship as a mechanism through which I can grapple with my current insecurities and unhappiness.” Brackets mine.

He clearly wanted some sort of apology and resolution, but hey quid pro quo: if I am going to absolve you of your guilt (he broke up with me when I was 16, constantly fighting with my alcoholic mother who I subsequently had to care for, and had just gotten back from a bible camp, which I was tricked into attending, two days after I had taken Plan B because the condom broke while we were having sex. Yeah.)- you are going to tell me why you broke up with me.

I am a much happier person now, and actually thankful he broke up with me because at that time I was so desperate for attention and affection, I clung to any obliging source, even if they were completely wrong for me, and not that nice. Anyways, I eventually moved on, I mean it was highschool for chrissakes. I am now married (um, to another guy I met in highschool…) and super duper happy, yet 16-year-old me really wanted answers.

I sent him a very long, very sweet reply email, telling him how I wish we had remained friends and hoped he was doing well. I ended it with my big question, expecting to get a reply within a few hours. It took him a week to send me the world’s shortest reply: “I probably wont see you when you are back in Madison because that is the week I am proposing to my girlfriend. Also, in response to your question, I broke up with you because of the pregnancy scare, we were just too serious. Gotta go eat dinner, talk to you soon! Always, [DOUCHE BAG].” Brackets mine.

I hate that he made me devote time and energy to acknowledging, and validating, his existence. I hate that for a whole week, I felt like that 16 year old girl again, the helpless, insecure, miserable girl who didn’t think she deserved any better. If I wasn’t such a mature individual this is how I would have responded:

“Hey thanks for writing me back. I don’t really know what your problem is, but man did I dodge a bullet. I could have married you instead of REDACTED, who graduated from MIT in three years, is now attending graduate school at Stanford, and makes me laugh every day. I saved Latin, what the hell did you ever do? SUCK ON THAT.”

Instead, I choose not to respond at all. Mature, right?

Forgot to Post this Yesterday…

May 6, 2009

*I drafted this yesterday, but forgot to post it. I was in a hurry to get ready for my BIRTHDAY party and thoroughly distracted by the new Kelly Clarkson album. Anyways, here it is:

Today is my Michael Jordan Birthday! The big 2-3! I am no longer “barely legal” but well into my twenties, and becoming more (and somehow, less) like an adult everyday. Although I want to talk about how old I feel, almost all of my friends out here in the non-dairy state are older than me, and hate when I mention how close I am to turning thirty. I know they’re right, but Heidi Montag is officially younger than me! She is 22! Isn’t that shocking? Who gets married at 22?! Oh wait…

Anyways, I certainly don’t feel like I am older than Heidi, but I do feel like I am better. So, rather than give you the top five reasons I feel old, I am going to give you the top five reasons I am awesome. And you can’t call me self-centered, because it’s my birthday.

1. He Who Must Not Be Named gave me “Mean Girls” and an incredible bottle of scotch for my birthday. I think that combination helps to illustrate my awesomeness, or at least my constant struggle between being a 16 year-old-girl and a sixty-year-old man.

2. Although I am battling a flu (and not, it is not of the porcine variety) I still plan on attending trivia night at my favorite pub, which serves the most amazing chocolate stout. My team, the Mobius Strippers, has been on a role lately, and I think this may just be our night. (It wasn’t, we didn’t even place. I think heavy drinking affects recall, someone should do a study.)

3. At a party I attended Saturday, my drinking scotch neat, and my fellow Wisconsin ex-pat friend’s champion beer drinking, was so lauded, one guy went home and exclaimed to his wife: “I LOVE WISCONSIN GIRLS!” Damn straight.

4. Every year on my birthday, my mom tells the same story, describing both my brother’s birth and mine, and how she could tell right away that our lives were going to be very different. I’ll paraphrase it here: “When your brother was born, and I held him for the first time, he had the happiest look on his face, a look of wonderment, as if to say: Wow! I am really going to like it here! You, however, looked at me through narrow eyes, skeptical and wary. If you could speak then, I imagine you would have said: Who the fuck are you.

5. I have amazing friends; they are not just people I go to movies with, and talk to on the phone once a month: my friends are follow you across Middle Earth, straight into Mordor kind of friends. They are leave Hogwarts school and travel in hiding to help you destroy Horcruxes, kind of friends. Brilliant, hilarious, genuine people who make me more awesome just by being around their unending awesomeness. I love you guys.

It’s A Dangerous Business, Stepping Out Your Front Door

April 29, 2009

It occurs to me that I haven’t blogged in two weeks, alright a week in and a half, but that’s like a year in blogtime! I expect my friends (and complete strangers whose blogs I read) to update daily, so why don’t I hold myself to a higher standard? Because, my life is boring.

Having a blog means you assume your life is interesting enough to share with friends, and yes, complete strangers, or that your insights and opinions are so unique/accurate/hilarious that they MUST be shared with the world. Lately, that has not been the case in my life.

At least when I started this blog I had the ol’ Midwestern girl adapts to California dreamin’ angle. I had just gotten married, and moved thousands of miles away from my hometown; I was starting a new job and buying furniture at Ikea: god, who wouldn’t want to hear about my life?! But now I have acclimated, and the novelty is fading. But that is probably a good thing.

This time last year, graduation was only a few weeks away. My wedding was only a few months away, and I was teeming with nervous excitement all linked to my not knowing just what I would be doing in a year. I wish I could have told that girl “effing chill!” because this time next year you will be the perfect combination of bored out of your mind and perfectly happy. I don’t think my life will be lacking in more grand adventures, but sometimes it’s nice to be bored. Even Bilbo Baggins needed a break from chasing dragons.

17 Again

April 16, 2009

So on Tuesday night I saw N.E.R.D. perform in San Francisco. They were amazing, but I have never felt so old in my life. In just a few short weeks I turn 23 and although I understand that is by no means old for da earth, it is most definitely old for the club, and this concert in particular.

Everyone there was either in high school or there first year of college. I was one of four people drinking in the entire place because no one else was 21! I decided I would watch from the pit as I did in my youth when a furious mosh pit began. I held my own, but I may have shouted the word “hooligan” at some point.

The next day I was sore and exhausted from being out past 1am and decided to stay home from work, which was glorious. It felt exactly like high school when I would take “mental health” days, stay home and do nothing, except without the guilt-trip. Yesterday, I played MarioKart, read for fun, ate Oreos for lunch and had a Fringe binge (that show is AWESOME!-definitely the new X-Files). Were I in high school, my mom would have said something snarky (and dead on) like “well if you are staying home you can catch up on all the schoolwork you are always complaining about” or “I didn’t know sick people could eat so many Oreos” or “Oh I didn’t mean to turn the tv off, I thought you were sleeping, do you want to continue watching “E True Hollywood Story: Pamela Anderson?” Yesterday was wonderful, but also kind of necessary. I needed to rest my old bones and come to terms with the fact that I am not in high school, or even college anymore.

So in honor of How I Met Your Mother, and another rockin’ season, I decided to make my own Murtaugh List but in reverse. Top Five things that should have made me realize “I’m too old for this shit.”

1. I own, and regularly use, a French Press, and not as a bong.
2. I recently started gardening and now read Martha Stewart for tips.
3. Oatmeal is my breakfast of choice.
4. I still don’t Twitter (sorry Rachel).
5. I am married.

p.s. I kind of really want to see the movie referenced in my post title. Am I too old for that shit? I just really enjoy movies that allow an old person to revert back to their teenage selves, such as 13 Going on 30, or Freaky Friday, and if you wonder why, please re-read paragraphs 1-3 of this post.