lately i'm a desperate believer...

Supernatural, Season 4

Tue, 07 Jul 2009 01:47:58 GMT

Okay, Supernatural fans. I'm back and on Season 4. Krystal is missing the episodes 6-15, so does anyone know where I can get my twitchy little paws on them? I'm too impatient to wait until September when the real DVD comes out. :)

All kitties go to heaven.

Thu, 02 Jul 2009 02:45:15 GMT

My bedroom television was on when I walked in the door at ten to seven tonight, blaring the NBC evening news with Brian Williams. I immediately went to the kitchen and grabbed my largest butcher knife, poising it high and ready to stab at the first sign of an intruder as I shuffled through the hall. I then noticed that the clocks on all my appliances had gone blank, and remembered that my quirky television has an odd habit of coming on after a power outage/restore, even if the thing wasn't on in the first place. Even though it didn't storm here, at some point between 1PM and 6:50PM I lost electricity. I turned off the TV and fixed all the clocks. And then put the knife back in the drawer, silently wondering if I would ever really have the cojones to defend myself in such a manner.

My mom texted me while I was teaching class. Chester, the king kitty of my parents' household, is incurably ill and has to be put to sleep tomorrow. Complete renal failure, the vet said, and there was nothing he could do. I called Mom, who sounded like she was on the verge of tears, and she explained the sudden onset of the illness to me. Two weekends ago when I was at home for Father's Day, he was fine, strolling around and mewing for treats as he always did. He was fine, in fact, until yesterday, when Mom noticed his normally constant presence had gone missing for an entire day.

She found him in the basement, curled up in a corner, weak and limp. She carried him upstairs, but he could do nothing except sleep or stare, and by the time today rolled around, he was unable to even walk. "He's so pitiful," she kept saying, sniffing over the phone. "All he does is sit there and stare. He can't even get up." And all I could think was how torn I was between wanting to go home and say a proper goodbye to being grateful that I'm an hour away and thus won't have to witness his final ride to the vet. And if I saw how pitiful he had become, as she said, I might start bawling.

We adopted Chester when I was sixteen. Mom had handpicked him from the Jessamine County Humane Society, claiming she'd found a big, beautiful long-haired cat that looked like a Maine Coon, a breed she'd always adored. The Humane Society was an hour away, and because I was freshly minted with a Driver's Permit, I drove the two of us in my black Sunfire to pick him up.

He was the most pathetic adoptee I'd ever seen. I'd envisioned a cute, cuddly kitten when she described him; when we arrived, I saw that he was probably six months to a year old. The society folks had shaved off large chunks of his fur, as the long hairs had been clumped and matted when he'd been brought in. His ribs were sunk in; he was pitifully thin. And when we put him in the pet taxi and set him up in the backseat, he screamed the entire drive home.

He didn't stay skinny for long. Chester had an appetite like no other pet, gobbling up kitty kibble until his face smashed into the bottom of the bowl, or -- as happened regularly -- he threw up. We used to joke that he was bulimic, binging and purging, although I always thought that perhaps his rough, starved first six months of life taught him to overeat and stock up whenever he could and he just never broke the habit. Mom weighed him a time or two, and the scale once tipped at 20 pounds.

He had many other quirks: An incredibly fussy, prissy meow that led most guests to believe he was female. An intellect that bordered on Forrest Gump levels of cluelessness. An affinity for eating spiders. He never bothered much with feathered toys or bells, but a red laser pointer him drove him to madness.

He was a perfect lap cat, always plodding over when you called his name and depositing himself next to you with a large thump, nuzzling and purring under your hand. He never attacked people, and only bit me twice -- both times when my sister and I had him pinned in a tub full of water in an attempt to give him a thorough shampooing. Like most cats, he didn't so much dig bathtime.

He never held a grudge. Though he hated being groomed -- the long fur continued to get tangled regularly even after his domestication -- and even though he would hiss and spit and growl during the process, if you let him go and waited thirty seconds, he'd come back to you, rubbing his head under your hand again and wanting attention.

He lived a good, spoiled life, and 12 years is a decent lifetime for a cat, but he deserved more. People who despise cats often cite their snooty behavior, their apathy, their Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde personalities, but Chester had none of those qualities. He was just a big, beautiful, dumb, lovable lug of a cat who kept your feet (and sometimes face) warm at night. And I'm going to miss him. :(

I took this picture of Chester for my black & white photography class back in college, and it turned out so well that I developed a double of it and framed it for my mother. I consider this look his "Blue Steel." :)

end of an era.

Fri, 26 Jun 2009 02:40:38 GMT

When I first heard Michael Jackson had died, I was dressed in old gray cotton shorts and a white tank, covered in sweat, having just taught a class at the gym called Power Plate. The evening had an odd feeling to it even before I heard the news; a storm rolled in around six o'clock and settled in, pouring buckets of rain and tossing twiggy lightning bolts through the sky. The power went out for a brief moment during my class. I stopped, laughed, and said, "Well, that's not a good sign."

The next instructor came in to lead the next class. As I handed her the microphone, she blurted out, "Michael Jackson died!"

I said, "What?" She repeated, and I shook my head. "Are you joking?"

My first thought was Ooooh, Jenny. I normally stay for the next class, but I left after only 25 minutes, because my heart wasn't in it. I checked my phone in the car, I had missed calls, missed text messages, and one very blunt, unsympathetic message from my dad, saying only, "Well, you might want to rearrange your travel plans, 'cause Michael Jackson's dead." But then my mom called, from a hotel room in Elizabethtown where she's conferencing, and we commiserated, shocked and upset about the unfairness of it all. We've both lost a part of our lives, just at different stages.

For Jenny, he was a life-defining person, and I can't imagine how upset she is right now. But while I may not have been his biggest fan, but I had tons of respect for Michael Jackson, and he made some damn good songs that have lived (and will continue to live) a shelf life that artists today can only dream of. I was thrilled -- literally -- that I was going to get the chance to see him perform in Europe. Partly because I thought it would be a great show, and also because I knew it was my chance to see someone that iconic perform in person. I've been to tons of concerts, but never to one with someone that electrifying (or polarizing).

Although it's more than just missing out on a great concert. It's missing out on a life experience, and knowing that you won't be able to get it back. It's losing something you've had since childhood, or losing something you may not have even known was there.

As Krystal said, I think today is one of those days you'll remember to the end. We hear our parents talk about the sad, solemn day they heard that Elvis died, or John Lennon, or Jim Morrison, but I personally have never felt that sort of bizarre, disengaged sense of loss (not even with Kurt Cobain, as I was too young then to comprehend the tragedy). I'll always be able to recall where I was and what I was doing when I heard the news, and those moments don't come along that often.

Wed, 24 Jun 2009 01:17:57 GMT

After months of gentle prodding, Krystal finally got me to start watching Supernatural by bringing me the first season on DVD last weekend when they were visiting. And OH MY GOD. I finished it in five days. This show has filled the big David-Duchovny-obsessed hole in my heart where The X-Files used to be.

Where can I watch the second season, immediately? (preferably for free or cheap, lulz :) )

Edit: Krystal has offered to mail me the next three seasons so I can get caught up before Season 5 starts. woo hoo! :) Thanks for all your suggestions, guys. :)

Tue, 16 Jun 2009 02:01:50 GMT

Somewhere along the long ride of the past ten years, I became a grown-up. A real, honest-to-God adult. I graduated college. I'm on my third job, so chosen because I now judge good employment by things like health insurance benefits and 401(k)s. I have a second job (teaching classes), albeit one I really enjoy. I have a short haircut. I can't wear things like lacy tights with miniskirts anymore. I have a fucking house with a mortgage, for Christ's sake. The only things I haven't done to complete the transition to adulthood is 1) get married and/or 2) procreate. And those are two criteria that I have no desire to check off my list just yet. So maybe there's hope for my inner child still.

Back in college, I had a huge crush on this guy from several of my classes, we'll call him H. We used to hang out regularly, going to dinners and movies and whatnot, and my naive ecstatic brain thought that we were on the fast track to becoming a couple. I considered our outings "dates", especially when he accepted my invitation to come to my parents' house in Salt Lick for dinner with me, my family and friends. And even more so when he invited me to come to his parents' house with the explicit intent that they wanted to meet me.

So, long story short, I had it all wrong. I had dinner with his parents, who made it quite clear that they thought I was fantastic. He and I went to the movies afterward, where I tried to make my moves on him (I'd had some wine at dinner and felt bolder than usual). He brushed me off, and when we were driving home in silence, he asked, "Have I been leading you on?"

So, after suffering a humiliating "I thought we were friends" discussion that lasted until three in the morning, we parted and didn't speak for several weeks. Eventually, we started hanging out again -- as friends. Since we both knew exactly what the status was.

As I said, his parents seemed quite fond of me. I went to their house and had dinner several more times; went out to eat with them once. I met his sisters, both very sweet girls. After graduation, he joined the Peace Corps and went to China. I didn't hear from him for a long time, but I sent my regular holiday Hannukah cards. When he finally came back to the states, he called me up, and we went out for coffee.

At the time, I was at my previous job, and we needed a house in Andover (super-rich neighborhood where H's parents' live) to use for one of our photo shoots. I spoke to H and he gave me his parents' number, and my boss set up the photo shoot with them. I went along, and when H's parents saw me (for the first time since graduation), they were aflutter, asking me what I'd been up to and telling me how great I looked (by this time, I was 60+ pounds lighter than I had been in college).

So. H moves to Washington, DC for school. That was two years ago. Last week, out of the blue, he calls me up, wants to hang out while he's in town for a brief vacation. I go have dinner with H, his sister, and her fiance Saturday night. Wednesday night, he comes here because he wants to see the house I bought. While here, he says, "What are you doing tomorrow night? You should come over for dinner."

He meant with his parents. "I have to teach, so I won't get home until about seven, and then I'll need to shower," I said. "So it'll probably be too late. But thanks."

"No, we can eat later," he said. "My parents want you to come. They told me to invite you."

So I went to dinner. When I walked in, his stepmom peppered me with questions about my jobs and his dad kissed me on the cheek. For dinner, they grilled huge prime cuts of steak, made mashed red potatoes, perfect grilled vegetables, had fresh bakery bread, lots of wine, and had a chocolate cake for dessert. I spent the majority of my three hours there speaking to them, telling them about my house purchase, my upcoming trip to Europe, my jobs that keeps me so busy, my newly adopted kitty.

When I got ready to leave around 11 o'clock, his parents gave me a brand-new bottle of the wine I had liked as a housewarming gift. When I mentioned that I might like to ask his dad (a psychiatrist) a few question for research for my story, he gave me their home number and both their emails. Then, as I was walking out, they said that I should stop by anytime, even if H wasn't there, and they'd make me dinner.

I don't even have a nice conclusion for that story. The whole experience was very strange. Nice, because I love his parents, but strange nonetheless.

Latest stat: 207+ pages and counting. woooo hooo. :)

I got the keys!

Wed, 27 May 2009 03:53:14 GMT

I was so worked up/nervous that I felt nauseous all day, and when I went to the bank to cut a check for $31,000, I pretty much felt like puking right there in the lobby. I had terrible visions of my cashier's check down payment getting caught by the wind on my way out the door and fluttering off into the sky, or flying out of my car window as I was speeding down New Circle Road to get to closing.

We went to the lawyer's office for the meeting, and much to my surprise/confusion/delight, there was a large dog sleeping in the floor of the office. The closing process took about 45 minutes, and I signed roughly that many different pieces of paper, as well. The paperwork is full of fancy-schmancy twenty-dollar words and is constructed in such a repetitive, pretzel-like fashion that I don't know what the hell I signed. At this point it's possible that I have given away my firstborn child, offered my sexual services in exchange for monetary compensation, and donated my left kidney to the lawyer's ailing father-in-law. When he'd taken my check and the last slip was John Hancocked, he made some copies, put them in an envelope for me, and the seller handed over her keys. And that was that.

My parents took me out to celebrate at their second home, the Outback, where I ordered a big slab of red meat covered in lobster & mushroom sauce and peanut butter pie for dessert. Afterwards, my mom took me to pick up a carpet cleaner we're borrowing and to buy fresh supplies for cleaning, because the house is filthy. The seller got her stuff out but didn't clean, so the carpets are dirty, the baseboards are dusty, and there were loose hairs all over the sink and shower. Mom stayed and helped me clean for a few hours, and I brought over my iPod dock so we would have something to listen to. After putting it on shuffle and listening to AC/DC, 311, and a 144-BPM remix of "Another Postcard" by Barenaked Ladies, she turned to me and asked, "Do you have any Neil Diamond?" And the only thing funnier than that question is the fact that I do, in fact, own a Neil Diamond record, although much to her chagrin it's not loaded onto my iPod.

So Mom just left for her hour-long drive home, but said she would come back tomorrow afternoon after her flying lesson and clean while I was at work, and she has already said that she will be coming up Thursday, as well. With some embarrassment, I thanked her and said she didn't have to go to all the trouble, but she just said, "That's what moms are for," and gave me a hug. :)

Mon, 25 May 2009 04:21:43 GMT

I've never been claustrophobic, but I'm starting to understand how it must feel for those who are. I am essentially living in a box fort right now. I have been packing for three days and it seriously doesn't look any different in here, except that now my living room is stacked up with cardboard boxes on all available sides that aren't blocking the TV. It's getting to the point where I don't know where else to PUT the boxes after they're packed. How the hell is it possible for me to have this much stuff? I've even thrown a bunch out during this process. I swear, I think my personal affects have been mating and having offspring when I'm at work. How else can I explain why I have thirty winter coats that have to be stowed away under my bed in the summer?

ha. :)

weekly update

Thu, 21 May 2009 02:17:17 GMT

I close on my house and get they keys in less than a week -- next Tuesday at four o'clock, to be exact. My Memorial Day weekend will be spent hanging out here and packing up all my stuff, which sounds boring but is actually fine by me considering the insanity of this past weekend (maybe more on that later). I still need boxes. In the past I have always worked for catalog retailers; I got plenty of boxes for free, but now I'm not sure what to do. Everyone tells me to go to the Liquor Barn and see if they'll give me their old shipment boxes, but I've been so busy I haven't had time to stop. Any other ideas? It's getting down to the wire and I'm a little nervous.

So I'm getting a Turbo Kick class to teach at Urban Active. I've been teaching it some at UK, but I haven't gone full-throttle with it because the class is small and the acoustics are so bad that I can't cue it as fast as I need to (half the time the members can't understand me because of the echo). One of my favorite aspects of Turbo Kick is the 'costumes'. You're encouraged to 'dress up' in slightly kooky workout attire to add to the excitement of the class. It's like a mini-Halloween every week. Right now I am just taking my friend's Turbo Kick class on Thursday nights for fun and even though I'm not teaching with her, I dress up every week because I'm hoping other members might catch on and start going for it.

The first week of the class I wore a black cami, black and hot pink skort, knee-high black socks with pink skulls, and a pair of pink and black DC kicks. Some of the members at the gym who I see regularly were like, "What the HELL are you wearing?" but at least one girl told me it was badass. Last week I wore men's Guinness beer boxer shorts and a black wifebeater. This week, I'm wearing this (possibly sans hat, we shall see how my hair looks tomorrow):

Recognize the skirt? It's the same one I used for my She-Ra costume. lulz. And I'm wearing my TOMS wrap boots, purchased this weekend at Ida Red Boutique. I'd seen the boots online and liked them, but didn't think they would look right on me, and I didn't want to bother ordering something that I thought I'd probably return. But at the boutique, they had several pair and I tried them on. Turns out they're brilliant for girls with gigantic muscular calves such as myself, because they wrap up your leg, so you can make them as tight/loose as you need. They were also very comfortable and felt surprisingly supportive, so my immediate first thought was to buy them for TB. I added a soft insert in the bottom for more arch support and they're ready to go. They're normally $98, but I got them for about $83 with my Hanson.net member discount. Best of all, because I'm going to be using them when I teach, I can write them off on my taxes. ha.

In other news, I've been tasked with being in charge of the YouTube group in marketing. Basically, UK HealthCare is joining in on the social media craze, and we now have Facebook, YouTube, and Twitter accounts (I'll save my anti-Twitter rant for another time, but suffice it to say that it makes me want to tear my hair out and vomit with rage). So I'm with the YouTube crew, and I do some of the video posting. And I wish I could take credit for posting this video on UKHC robotics, but someone else put it up. Basically, the hospital uses two robots, Bot 1 and Bot 2, to run samples back and forth between different locations. These little machines are really bizarre, especially when you're down there walking the halls and one of them turns the corner just like a human. At any rate, I don't know who actually created this video for us, but I find it absolutely hilarious. I keep telling everyone that it's going to be our viral sensation because it seems so absurd. haha.

...and Kris Allen just won American Idol, which I was expecting and like Jenny, am kind of relieved to hear. We were both Adam fans, but she pointed out that if he won, AI's contract would probably force him into doing music he didn't like & he would become another stale, manufactured product in the Idol machine. Adam is better off as runner-up, where he can shop around to get a label & contract better suited to him. So long as he keeps wearing guyliner and wailing along with the likes of Kiss, I'm in.

Tulsa-bound.

Thu, 14 May 2009 17:04:23 GMT

We're leaving for Tulsa tonight. Anyone else going? haha.

Monday blahs

Tue, 12 May 2009 02:38:39 GMT

So I knew my Monday was going to be shitty because I had to get up an hour earlier than usual to make it to my physical therapy appointment before work... because work is so hectic I don't even have time to take off. So I force myself up after too little sleep (Sunday nights always kill me for some reason) and I make it down to campus.

So then instead of doing the exercises, my therapist hooks my knee up to a battery and shocks it. Negative electrode on the IT band just outside the knee, positive higher up on the thigh. Supposedly it pushes the medicine further in. All I know is that it stung like hell for twenty minutes.

After this, I get in my car to drive to work and my check engine light comes on. Again. For the third time this year. I take it over to Mazda, express my extreme frustration at this happening again, and go on to work.

Work is busy busy busy and stressful as usual. More projects, more responsibilities, more everything. I honestly don't know how I'm getting anything done, because I'm seriously winging it on half the stuff they ask me to do. I'm in charge of publications that get mailed out to 100,000 people; I have to get the mailing lists, talk to the printer, get quotes, make sure everything gets sent in on time, tell the mail house how to send it out, etc. I've never done this stuff before and I can't believe I haven't fucked up yet.

I call Mazda around 4 o'clock when I hadn't heard anything, and the guy on the phone tells me that I have a failed purge solenoid. That's funny, I said to him, because you guys JUST REPLACED THAT six weeks ago. He stutters a bit and says the techs are still looking at it. Later, he calls back and says that it IS that part they installed and that they need to keep it overnight to troubleshoot. So I have no car and I'm bumming rides all over the city.

Consolations: leftover grilled burgers from Mom and Dad's so I didn't have to cook tonight, Dancing with the Stars cheesiness, and the fact that one of the ladies in my kickboxing class told me she'd lost 33 pounds since starting my class and gave me a hug. And then the day didn't seem quite so bad.

purr my cha-cha

Mon, 04 May 2009 03:34:20 GMT

The Humane Society forced me to lie to them. Seriously.

So, when I knew I was buying a house, I made the mistake of visiting the Humane Society's web site and looking at the available cats before I even had a place to live picked out. And as I said previously, I immediately became obsessed with a kitty named Stanley, and I hoped he was still available later.

So then I found a house, and all my friends (and mother and sister) insisted that if I wanted the cat, I had to get him right away before someone else snatched him up. Here's the problem -- when you adopt, they verify that you either own your house, or if you rent, they will call your landlord to make sure you can have a pet. And my landlord is EXTREMELY anti-pet. Like, in the contract, it says I will literally be kicked out if I am hiding a furry friend in my apartment. And while I only have less than four weeks left here, I didn't want to chance it, especially considering that they will probably be visiting this apartment to assess it for the next renter.

So this past Monday, I called the Humane Society and asked if Stanley was still available. He was. I explained my situation -- I really wanted him, was moving into a house on the 26th, and wondered if they would hold him for me if I went ahead and paid for him. The HS said no. ugh.

Well, I figured, maybe they're just being cautious. So I went back in person, on Friday, visiting the main HS center. I went in the cat room and was horrified to see that my kitty wasn't there. I went to the desk and said, "I suppose if a cat is no longer in that room, he's been adopted, right?"

"Probably," the guy said. "But let me check." I gave him Stanley's info, and he typed on his computer for a minute. Then he said, "Oh, he's still up for adoption. But they just took him over to PetSmart."

I was both elated -- because he was still available -- and horrified -- because he wouldn't be for long if he was taken over to the big pet store out in Hamburg. So I explained the situation to the man once again, showing him my house contract, and then telling him that my family would be able to keep Stanley for the next four weeks until I move in.

The guy said, "No, we can't do that."

Seriously? It's harder to adopt a pet than it is to get a pilot's license or buy an eight-ball of coke. What the hell.

So, the next day, I drove out to PetSmart. I walked directly to the cat adoption center, and sure enough, I found Stanley. He was curled up, napping, so I tapped on the cage to wake him up. He uncurled, looked up at me, and said, "Mrrrrr!" as he rolled over and stretched. Then he stuck his little white paw out of the cage and reached for me, curling it around my fingertip. And then he started purring.

I decided to hell with it, I was getting that cat RIGHT THEN. I grabbed the adoption lady, said I wanted to take him, and we started the paperwork.

I gave my parents' address, pretending I still lived with them. ha. And no joke, one of the workers called someone (not sure who) and read off the address, taking notes. Then she said, "Okay, it checks out." And that was that. My cell phone number is still local to my hometown, so that helped.

I kept expecting the adoption agent to find something suspicious enough to make her stop and tell me I couldn't get the cat, but the process afterwards went smoothly. Once I'd signed the paperwork, I bought a new pet carrier, grabbed Stanley, and got the hell out of dodge as fast as I could.

So, in the interim between now and the house moving, he is living with my parents back home (so I guess my lie wasn't entirely false). Which kind of sucks, because they're an hour away, but I didn't have anyone here who wouldn't be burdened by his presence (and most people I wanted to ask had dogs). But he's living in my room back home, and I left some things I'd worn behind (like bandannas) so he could still keep my scent close by.

At any rate, he is adorable! He's very affectionate and even used his litter box properly. :) ha. Here's some pictures:

Inspecting my apartment before I took him to Mom & Dad's.

Thinking about clawing my chair before I scolded him.

Stretching on the ledge in my room back home.

Lounging. He loves that ledge. :)

Chewing on the pull-string for the window blinds.

OH. And another important thing. I didn't like the name "Stanley", because it seemed too folksy for such a sleek cat. But I couldn't think of anything all day yesterday... until John and I saw 'Wolverine' last night and it was totally obvious. So, yeah. My new kitty is now officially named "Gambit." ha. :) Because he's mischievous and debonair. Maybe I'll teach him to play poker. lulz.

Some bricks now, baby, so let's build a home

Thu, 23 Apr 2009 04:00:45 GMT

I've been on a mad whirlwind tour of houses for the past week (I think I've seen 15 so far) and so far I've learned that house hunting is exciting and fun, but also stressful and at times depressing. Here's a quick rundown:

Exciting and fun prospects
-Touring new places
-Sizing up new neighborhoods
-Envisioning how you might decorate
-Plotting where all your furniture will go
-Squealing over the new amenities you haven't had before (e.g., a garage)
-Laughing over how the still-living-there residents have their homes decorated
-Planning to get your first pet (I've already picked him out if he's still available by then, lulz)
-Imagining how much quieter it will be without six neighbors on all sides of your walls
-Stalking the former owners on the Fayette County Property Valuation Administrator to see how much they paid for it so you can argue the price down.

Stressful and/or depressing prospects
-Realizing that the houses you REALLY want are out of your price range
-Visiting a whole slew of homes and not liking a single one
-Hearing about the things you'll have to fix or change once you buy
-Some other motherfucker BUYING YOUR FAVORITE HOUSE before you can put in your offer
-Listening to your parents try and tell you which house to buy
-Committing to an extremely large chunk of your savings being swallowed up by payments, inspections, fees, insurance, etc.
-Actually haggling the price

Tonight we visited several vacant houses that hadn't even been properly cleaned. As my cousin (who is my realtor) said, why would you present it with dirt all over the baseboards and stains on the carpet? Granted, the owner would have to clean it before it's switched over, but it's a major turn-off. It's not like moving out of an apartment, where you do your basic cleaning, hope for all your deposit back, and let the landlords do the real dirty work.

We also visited several homes where the owners were still living there; we'd get out the key and come in the front door to find lights on (and in the case of one home, freshly baked cookies waiting for us with a "HELP YOURSELF! :)" sign on the kitchen counter. People's choice of decor fascinates me. One home had bad paintings of their baby hanging everywhere. Another girl obviously loved candles; it looked like she had been in the midst of performing a seance before evacuating the home for our tour. Another had green, blue, and gray stripes down one wall with shag rugs, a Dali-esque melted clock hanging on the wall, Shakespeare's famous quote "If music be the food of Love, play on" painted on the wall in the kitchen, and approximately 374 pieces of furniture creatively set about (they also had two cats, two dogs, a bird, and a pond in the backyard with about ten fish swimming around inside. In a 1,082-square-foot house. Insane.). It's bizarre. I have a harder time warming up to homes that still have owners living within; it makes it harder to imagine your own stamp on the place.

So Sunday, I found an amazing two-bedroom house with a loft that overlooks the first-floor den with a big kitchen and brand-new carpet and a humongous deck that overlooks the reservoir. I wanted it, bad. Hell, I'd already moved into it in my mind, plotting the best place to install my wireless router so that I could get a strong internet signal all throughout the house. It was $127,500, which is just out of my safe range, but we figured we could talk the owner down. After all, thanks to my diligent stalking, I found out he only paid $100,000 for the place six months ago, anyway.

But literally, on Monday afternoon, my cousin calls to tell me that when she called that realtor for more information, the house had already sold. Seriously. One freaking day, and it was gone. My mom was sympathetic (she loved it, too), but my dad, always the realist, was like, "Eh, get used to it."

However, much like breaking off a relationship, I'm moving on and focusing on other places. I found one tonight that I quite like, along with some runners-up, so I think we're going to do a second round of tours on those Sunday for comparison's sake. In the meantime, I'm keeping my eyes open for anything new, cute, large, and affordable that pops up. But maybe I shouldn't jinx myself again by talking about it. :)

Another new scene.

Wed, 22 Apr 2009 02:52:39 GMT

For those curious. Another new scene, inspired by my wonderful experience with campus police:

I don't understand why a simple act like parking a car has to be such a bitch. The whole point of having a library is for people to use its resources, right? Then why is it so hard just to make it to the front door?

I'd been driving around campus for approximately 30 minutes, weaving in and out of the busy lots that surrounded our library. One would think that a free service such as a library would offer ample free parking in the evening, as well, but of course, that was just too easy of a solution. The lone area for piss-broke college kids to park was Redwood Street, a narrow road littered with potholes deep enough to bury a time capsule. It ran parallel to the back of the library and was almost always packed bumper to bumper. So instead, I was faced with a variety of other options – pay at a ticketed lot, pay at a short-term meter, park at the commuter lot a mile away, or say to hell with it and park in the employee lot and risk getting caught – none of which were very appealing, considering my outstanding traffic record. So instead, I'd become a parking lot vulture, circling the library in a fit of indecisiveness.

“Just park at the meter,” Kelly said, exasperated. I'd gotten him fired up with claims of a viable theory, and he'd insisted on coming along. And he was more than ready to get inside and grab some research material. “It's the cheapest option.”

“It's bullshit. Why should I have to pay to park at my library? I go to school here, for Christ's sake,” I said, yanking the wheel to turn us around the corner. A student carrying a load of books in his arm with a cell phone glued to his ear suddenly walked out from between two cars and I slammed on the breaks, throwing the two of us forward.

“Shit!” I swore, glaring at the wide-eyed kid as he flipped me off and continued his walk down the middle of the road. “I mean, don't I pay enough in tuition to this place to at least grant me easy access to the library?”

“Don't you have a parking pass?”

“It's a commuter pass.” I pulled back onto Redwood Street, turning left to start another circle. “And that lot is a mile away. So, no. Not happening, especially when it's this cold.”

“So, let me get this straight,” he said slowly. “We're not parking where you're allowed to park because it's too far, and we're not parking in the lot or the meter because you have to pay, and we're not parking in the employee lot because you'll get towed.” He crossed his arms. “Looks like we're out of options, Alex. Just go to the damn meter. I'll reimburse you the two dollars for us to park there for a few hours.”

“Like you reimbursed me for your clothes? Are you starting a tab?” I'd meant it as a joke, but judging by the tautness in his mouth and slow grinding of his jaw, he was starting to get pissed. “I'm just joking!” I said. “Chill, man. It's the principle of the matter – this is my school, I already pay for this privilege, and I shouldn't have to pay more. And besides, we're not completely out of options. You can park back here on the street for free.”

He craned his neck, as if leaning out a little would help him see further down Redwood. “So you're banking on one spot to open up so you can take it?”

“That's the plan.”

“Alex, we could be here all night looking for a space. You've probably wasted as much in gas driving around as we would have spent at the meter.” He growled with irritation, a surprisingly manly sound coming from him. “Come on. Save your principles for another time.”

I relented. I pulled into the closest meter and hopped out, digging around in my change purse for some quarters. I never kept many coins on hand, and I had only a pocket full of pennies and nickels, not good. Sighing, I managed to pick out six nickels and popped them in the machine. 30 minutes, what a rip-off.

Because of the meter situation, we barely had time to find any books, as the whole deal had to be a quick and dirty operation. Plus, I hadn't had much of a plan when I'd insisted we come down to the library; I knew little about religious philosophy and had no other names to reference. So I looked up everything by St. Augustine and passed their addresses on to Kelly, who sprinted up the stairs two at a time while I took the elevator to join him. The fourth-level sections were empty – at the beginning of the semester, very few kids used the study corrals on the upper levels – so Kelly pulled the books off the shelves as fast as he could find them, piling them up in the floor.

I got a strange look from the desk clerk when I took our findings downstairs, but he didn't argue or question my sudden desire to read the ramblings of a 1700-year-old dead saint. After he scanned my student ID, I grabbed the books, hugging them to my chest, and led Kelly back outside.

“In and out,” Kelly observed, impressed with my newfound focus. “Not bad.”

“Yeah, well, we'll see.”

As we got close to the car, I noticed something peculiar next to the driver's side tire. Frowning, I sped up, struggling to hold on to all our books. Kelly called out, wondering why I'd picked up the pace, but I ignored him.

“A BOOT!” I shouted, dropping the books to the ground. “They put a fucking BOOT on my tire!”

“What?” Kelly jogged up beside me, staring with fascination. “Why? What happened?”

I ran to the meter, swearing again when I saw the negative time blinking erratically. Mocking me. “We're ten minutes late.”

“What? We were fast in there!”

“Yeah. But not fast enough.”

“So they put a boot on your car?” Kelly was bewildered. “What happened to just handing out a ticket?”

I collapsed to my knees, beating the frozen ground with my mittened fists in frustration. “Probably because I'm sitting on three unpaids as it is.”

He threw his hands in the air. “Alex!”

“What? I was going to pay them. I had them all stapled together, ready to go. But then Louise accidentally threw it away with some other junk, and I just kept forgetting to send the check in...”

“Well, you're going to have to pay them now,” he said unnecessarily. “Plus the release fee. They won't free your car until you do.” He bent down, collecting the books I'd dropped and stacking them in a neat pile.

I crawled over to inspect the tire. The campus traffic wardens used much smaller boots than the city cops, and the side of the thing was barely a foot long, if that. I stared at it for a long, hard minute. Bright yellow, of course, what other color could be more obnoxious or mocking? With a loud grunt, I pulled my leg back and kicked the metal clamp, imagining my heel connecting with the blank face of the traffic warden who'd put it there.

And it moved.

I immediately flipped over, grabbing the outside edge. It rattled under my hands.

“Alex?” Kelly said. “What are you doing?”

“It's loose,” I said, incredulous. Firming up my grip, I yanked back, whooping in triumph as the clamp moved further. With a little more creative wiggling, I finally pulled the immobilizer off the tire. “Wow. Our meter maids are not only assholes, but they're idiots, as well. They didn't even clamp this thing down all the way.”

“That's illegal! You can't just take the boot off your car!”

I lifted it up. The boot was heavy, ungainly. I held it for a second, thinking. I knew he was right, and that I should just leave it on and follow the protocol, but it seemed like a shame to let my car sit at the library all night when I could just drive it home. Besides, I hadn't brought my phone with me, so calling Louise or someone else would be a task in and of itself.

“I'm not stealing it,” I said, crawling to my feet. “I'll bring it back when I pay my tickets. Besides, it's campus police. They're not even real cops. They're like the cop school rejects who failed to impress the state or city government, so they ended up here, patrolling the mean streets of Mason State and exerting their petty power.”

“They are real cops, and they're going to be more than pissed if you run off with their property, even if you do bring it back.”

I held up the boot, rattling it. “Do you have a better idea? I don't have my phone, and I'm cold, and we've got more important things to worry about. What am I supposed to do, wait for the warden to come around again?” Kelly stared at me, as if he couldn't comprehend the words spilling from my mouth. Since when had he become the long arm of the law? I would have figured he'd be just as eager to get home as I was.

When no better idea was presented, I picked up the books he'd stacked on the ground and unlocked the car. Opening the back door, I tossed the boot and the books inside. “Get in, blondie, we're going home,” I said. “We've got work to do.”

Quickie.

Tue, 14 Apr 2009 04:08:55 GMT

For the sake of an update, I'm seeing a doctor at UK Sports Medicine this week for my possibly jacked-up knee, I have written about 168 pages of my BEN (Big Epic Novel), and my mom bought me a sewing machine for my birthday, which I am taking back this week so I can use the money to fix my car's bumper instead. Oh, and I might be buying a home soon. Whew.

The big 9 x 3.

Tue, 07 Apr 2009 17:07:17 GMT

I drove home for lunch in the midst of a snow shower, the enormous flakes swirling all over the road and flattening against my windshield. I got home, and in the 60 seconds it took me to get inside and grab my camera, the snow stopped and the sun came out. It was 70+ degrees this weekend and now we're skirting the mid-thirties. I'd originally made plans to go to Harry's patio bar & grille tonight for my birthday, but the indecisive Kentucky weather nixed that idea. So instead, we're going to the Malone's out in Hamburg Place, which is really three different restaurants in one, which means I can order the sushi I want and my non-fish friends can get their burger and fries, or even a filet mignon, if that's their prerogative. So, not a bad Plan B.

In other news, I polished off two pieces of cake from my boss before lunch (best homemade basic chocolate cake I've ever had) and I just received an Edible Bouquet courtesy of my friend John. I have seriously always wanted to get one of these, but I've never told anyone that, so kudos to him (and my friend Michelle, who claims she gave him the idea).

Look how tasty:

Because who can resist biting the ears off of chocolate bunnies? Or chocolate-covered pineapple bunnies, as it were. Mmmmm.

Hope everyone is having as good of a day as I am. :)

!#%@^@!$%!

Wed, 25 Mar 2009 02:53:52 GMT

I went to UK's massive library tonight for the sole purpose of fitting in an hour of solitude so I could write on my book by hand. Parking on campus is a complete bitch anyway, but I found a meter relatively close (it's dangerous at the library at night, women get attacked all the time) and paid for an hour. Keep in mind this is 9 o'clock at night, when campus isn't busy.

Coming back, I was practically running because I knew I was close to my time limit. Sure enough, when I get to the meter, I'm expired by five minutes. With a parking ticket on the window. Son of a bitch.

But here's the best part -- the ticket was written for the meter being expired by one minute. ONE FUCKING MINUTE! Which tells me that the meter maid saw my car was close to expired, so he sat and just WAITED until time was up so he could write the goddamn ticket. I have not been filled with such incomprehensible rage in a long, long time.

So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to pay the ticket online, but then I'm going to take the little envelope they hand out with the ticket -- meant for mailing it in if you're not internet savvy -- and I'm going to write the most heinous letter of rage and send it in unmarked. And while I'm at it, I think I'm actually going to wipe my ass with the letter before I stuff it inside.

It won't get my money back, but at least it'll give me some remorseless satisfaction. And, of course, lulz.

Thu, 19 Mar 2009 03:27:22 GMT

Holy shit, Natasha Richardson died. Wow. :(

Turbo Kick

Tue, 17 Mar 2009 01:22:40 GMT

Yesterday, I spent eight hours getting certified to teach Turbo Kick, which is this insane stepchild of hip-hop dance and kickboxing. That shit is nuts. All of us in training thought we were in good shape, but we were all seriously winded after the warm-up. TK instructors basically have to put on a show and make it feel like a "party" (that's actually stated in the training). Here's an example, taken from a Turbo Kick camp last year. The woman in the front is Chalene Johnson, the creator of the whole program.

When I got home, all I could do was sit on my couch for the rest of the evening and eat bananas with pudding. I was so sore today that I called the massage center and booked a hot stone massage this evening to work out the kinks. Wow. Has anyone ever taken this class? I'd never heard of it until we got the invite to come get certified for it, but apparently it's all the rage right now.

Johnny Depp (the video)

Mon, 09 Mar 2009 04:21:55 GMT

Jenny's boyfriend, the always-creative Matt Hosley, has written/directed/produced a YouTube music video called "Johnny Depp", a pet project that has taken him about a year to finish. Seriously, I've been hearing about this grand video idea since last spring. And now that he's finally completed it, I have to pimp it for him because 1) he put a lot of time into it, 2) he actually finished it, which is more than I can say about a lot of my projects, and 3) I'm in it. Briefly. haha.

Look for my four-second cameo as an Oompa Loompa. lulz.

Things that made me smile this weekend

Mon, 09 Mar 2009 03:49:12 GMT

+So the weather jumped into the 70s this weekend, and it's so warm that I turned off my heat and I've had my windows open for about three days. Which not only keeps the inside cool, but helps because I'm finally getting some fresh air circulating in and out of this place. As much as I enjoy being warm and cozy in the winter, I find being locked inside (with the blinds and curtains shut, to keep heat in) is oppressive. Having everything open makes me feel a little more connected to the world.

+I subbed my friend's aqua class yesterday morning, so that's some extra cash in hand, and I did my TRX strength training demonstration for the director, so now I'm cleared to teach that, as well. My Thursday night aqua class might have to be cancelled due to budget cuts, which is not as sad as it sounds -- that class was held at the same time as my favorite fitness class of all time, Jump & Jab, which meant I had to miss out on all the jump rope action in order to teach. And that was a major bummer.

So, if Thursday aqua gets cut, I'll get to go back to J&J and I'll just be placed in the Saturday aqua teaching rotation instead, which is fine by me. Plus, I'm a sub for J&J and since the instructor just injured her wrist (she's in a cast), I may end up teaching that one, anyway. Which would be even more awesome. I'm very good at jumping rope (quick random demonstration from The Rock Boat), and I've had countless people at the gym ask me if I'm going to teach that class at some point, anyway. So, who knows, could be soon. :)

+I got this dump partially cleaned up this weekend in preparation for my company on Friday night. I always need that motivation to clean, and it couldn't come too soon. The place was getting disgusting. I still have some tasks left to do, but I'm splitting them up over the next four nights and everything should be good to go for Lacy & Co on Friday the Lulzteenth. I even rotated my bed, which you're suppposed to do regularly to keep divots from forming. And I moved this queen-sized mattress by myself without breaking anything, a feat of which I was pretty proud. ha.

+Saw The Watchmen today. It was pretty good, both entertaining and thought-provoking. I hadn't read the graphic novel, so I didn't know the full story, and I have to say it's a pretty complex plot and heavy material. But hey, any movie that features a ripped, naked blue man with a very obvious schlong in about 50% of the shots is worth the price of your ticket. Plus, they showed the new full-size Wolverine: Origins trailer with it (you got shafted, Zeeba!). GAMBIT. Gambit and all his purple-kinetic-energy glory and red eyes and renegade playing cards. Oh, Taylor Kitsch. You certainly look the part, I just hope they give you more screen time than they gave Angel in The Last Stand. Which is to say, I hope you are in the movie for more than two minutes.

+And I saw The Watchmen with a new guy who I am kind of dating now (I guess this would technically be our third). He's very smart (getting his doctorate), athletic (plays soccer and works out), pretty cute, and a little awkward (much like me). My friend Ashley set us up, because he's friends with her boyfriend.

I've been taking this whole process very slow, which I've decided is either a sign of my maturity or my selfishness. Previously when I've started dating someone, I tend to get a little obsessive and attempt to spend all my spare time with that person (hypocritical, by the way). And usually that method ended up with me getting dumped, for good reason.

Now, I just feel like I should make sure I'm getting in enough time for everything else I want to do. The younger me was afraid that if I wasn't constantly on the guy's mind, he would lose interest. The older me has realized that if the guy's really interested, he's not going to mind if I want to stay in and write or go to a movie with my friends on a Friday night.

So at any rate, yeah. It's going well so far. And I officially got the first 'real' kiss today, which is also nice. My guy friends say I'm too much of a prude, but I think I'm a little old-fashioned when it comes to that sort of thing. Three dates to get a good first kiss is about right for me.

+I was watching The Science of Sex on Discovery Channel yesterday, and they were discussing the little features and idiosyncrasies of human bodies that are attractive to our mates, from an evolutionary standpoint. Example: when women are ovulating, our faces actually change. We naturally look fresher, more youthful, healthier, all because of a fluctuation in hormones two weeks before our menstrual cycle reboots. This sends a subconscious message to men alerting them that we are fertile and primed for reproducing.

One of the other conclusions they discovered dealt with waist-to-hip ratios. They talked about how men found smaller WTH ratios sexier, because it's again a sign of the woman being able to bear children. And their conclusion was that based on current and historical evidence (using surveys of men and famous paintings/photos of women considered beautiful as a guide), a WTH ratio of 0.7 was considered the achievable beauty standard. And while I have spent an ungodly amount of my time complaining about my giant, disproportional hips, I mentally calculated my measurements -- a 28" waist, 40" hips -- and realized that my ratio is exactly 0.7.

So maybe I don't have that much to complain about. Evolutionarily speaking, I've got a figure that eager-to-reproduce cavemen would go wild for, eh?

+My birthday is in less than a month. The big 27, holy shit!

musings on jobs 1 and 2.

Fri, 06 Mar 2009 04:09:42 GMT

Weeks are flying by. I finally understand what my parents and elders always meant when they said time starts moving faster as you get older. Which, when you're fifteen and every hour of biology is an eternity, is a hard concept to grasp. But my days at work are filled with meetings and projects and writing and editing and random assignments like uploading videos to YouTube or monitoring blogs, and before I know it, it's five o'clock, and I have to leave to run and lead others in a workout.

It's not a bad thing to be so busy -- it's better than the day dragging on -- but for the first time I really wonder if I'm capable of keeping up with this pace. It's the meetings, really. I don't see how anyone gets anything done considering how many meetings we all have to attend. And I don't like to fail or be behind, but I'm sensing this job will feature quite a bit of both. At least today I only had one 10AM meeting, so I managed to knock out some major projects that had been breathing down my neck all week.

In related news, I started the twice-weekly kickboxing classes for UK, and it's going surprisingly well. I had a nightmare Saturday night in which I arrived at the dance studio and not only did the music not work, but someone else claimed they had booked the room and refused to leave. I attempted to hold class outside, but my CD kept skipping in the stereo (that magically materialized out of nowhere, of course) and for some reason, I couldn't move my left leg.

But luckily, none of that happened on Monday. I managed to correctly open all the locks, turn on all the equipment, and get the music and mic up and running. The studio has high ceilings, so it echoes a little (plus the mic bounces some when I talk, so my voice cuts in and out a bit), but everything worked.

I had seven people come for the first night (including Jenny, lulz), which was already more than the previous class in that time slot had been bringing in (Cardio Core never had more than three, and you have to average five per class to stay on the schedule). None of them had ever taken a kickboxing class before, so I started with the basics and stuck to short, simple patterns. I was worried people wouldn't get into it, because it's a lot to learn for newbies (especially when EVERYONE is new), but at the end, all the women surrounded me and peppered me with questions and excited comments. On Wednesday, I had 10 people come -- those first seven all came back, plus some new recruits (including a guy, which is a good sign).

So far, so good. I'm hoping the class will continue to grow with word of mouth. Though I think the fitness director may want a video to promote on the web site, ha. At any rate, it's been fun and low-pressure so far (unlike Urban Active, which can be nerve-wracking because of the expectations the more experienced members have). I think everyone in this class is having fun, and that's really the most important thing.

On an unrelated note, one of my coworkers got stuck in the elevator this morning, and the fire department had to come rescue him. And this is just one of the reasons why I always choose to walk the four flights of stairs every morning (and afternoon).

It was nine degrees on Monday and it's going to be 70+ tomorrow. WHEN WILL THIS MADNESS END?

Quick bits

Fri, 27 Feb 2009 03:35:45 GMT

+So in addition to my new super-busy job at UK and my part-time work at Urban Active, I've taken on another gig as a kickboxing instructor for UK's Employee Wellness Program. Ha. I know. Granted, I only teach at UA once a week (unless I get a call to sub, which isn't often). The UK deal is twice a week, and it will basically replace the workouts I'd been doing on those days anyway. Except now I'm getting paid for it. And if it becomes too much or doesn't work out, then the class schedule switches every eight weeks, so I can always opt out after that time.

On a related note, there's a 15-minute core class that I do at UA every Thursday night before I teach Aqua, and the director teaches it. Tonight, she had an issue and was going to be late, so one minute before the class started I got a phone call asking me to sub it for her. And since I've never taught it in my life and have never even practiced for such a situation, it went about as well as you can expect. haha. Oh, well.

+The weather here is fluctuating between such extremes that if I was a religious person, I'd be fearing the apocalypse. Temperature is in the single digits one day, then in the 50s in only 48 hours. We went from a substantial snowfall to days of thunderstorms. The wind gusts have been so bad that anything that's not tethered down outside is likely to end up in a neighbor's yard. We've been through an ice storm. We had tornado warnings two weeks ago. Up next, I predict locusts, earthquakes, and the moon turning to blood.

+So, because I'm a bandwagon person, I feel the need to offer my own commentary on Tinted Windows, particularly since I just went to the Yahoo home page and saw our own Taylor Hanson's long-haired baby-faced mug front and center with the headline "Teen Heartthrob's New Gig". It links to the Yahoo! Music Blog, and luckily, although the author isn't too keen on this TW 'supergroup' (I'm sorry, it gives me lulz), he does say nice things about Hanson and Taylor.

But he also posts that now-infamous video, which is seriously one of the most hilarious things I've seen in awhile. When Jenny sent me the link the other night, I literally laughed out loud. Wow. First off, the interviewer looks like Jon Lovitz in corpse form and if he had any less enthusiasm he'd be Ben Stein in Ferris Bueller's Day Off. And his introduction? Calling TW a "group of terrific guys"? Not even "terrific musicians"? haha. And then, of course, there's Taylor channeling Joe Jonas in his tight white pants and quivering Elvis legs, his mouth bizarrely tight against his teeth as he's singing, looking exactly like what he is: a guy who doesn't know what the hell to do with his body when it's not playing an instrument. I half-expected him to start crawling on his knees like he did during "In the City" on TRB. The whole thing is as cheestastic as au gratin potatoes and I am still laughing about it as I type this.

That being said, I can't lie. I dig the song "Kind of a Girl" in a major way. It's not breaking any new ground, but damn, it's catchy. And why wouldn't it be? It was created by four masterminds of pop music, four guys who belong to bands that I really love in their own right. And I feel like I can really pick out who brought what to the table. Susan had it right about James Iha's signature buzzy guitar. The dancy, head-bopping melody sounds like it could belong on Fountains of Wayne's eponymous album. The lyrics are totally Cheap Trick, kind of simple at first glance but hinting at a darker subtext: a girl who seems great and fun at first, but will ultimately drain you dry -- a succubus, if you will. And then you have Taylor's nasally, feminine voice cooing on top of the whole thing. And despite my appreciation for Isaac's whiskey-rough voice sometimes, I will always be a Taylor girl.

I'm really curious to hear the rest of their album. According to that blog, they're appearing on Letterman's show the day it comes out, so I'll of course be watching at home. And you have to admit, this band is already getting more widespread national press than the past several years of Hanson combined.

25 Random Things About Me (taken from Facebook)

Thu, 05 Feb 2009 03:38:27 GMT

Since I finally gave in and filled this thing out after being tagged about 10 times, I decided to bring it over here. As the title says, here are 25 random things about me.

1. I started taking piano lessons at age eight against my will. And I once told my mother, during a crying fit, that I wished I was dead so I wouldn't have to go to lessons anymore (I really hated Hanon exercises, apparently).

2. I really, really want to meet Stephen King. I think we'd get along well.

3. I'm the only person I know who was thoroughly disturbed by the movie War of the Worlds. Not because it was scary (it wasn't), but because of the perceived political and sociological undertones I took from it. I really hate the idea of having nowhere to hide from someone -- or something -- so relentless.

4. At our school pep rallies, the cheerleaders were always announced one by one, and as your name was called, you usually performed some sort of trick (back tuck, toe-touch, etc). So in 7th grade, when my name was called at a basketball rally, I ran onto the floor with a round-off, back handspring, back tuck tumbling pass. After the rally, a kid named J___ came up to me and said, in all seriousness, "Wow, Allison. We all thought you was [sic] too big to do those back flips." Later, he and his cousin would also take to calling me "pork chop" because I was chubby. The experience has scarred me for life, despite the fact that I'm pretty sure he's probably in jail or on welfare by now.

5. One of my all-time favorite books is Harriet the Spy, because not only does it revolve around an unconventional antiheroine, but the moral of the story is that sometimes it's okay, and even necessary, to lie.

6. I'm working on a novel, and I want you all to buy it when it comes out. Not because I want the money, but because if you can read those damn Twilight books, then you can read mine.

7. I have broken five digital Canon Elph cameras in three years, the most recent casualty occurring in Nassau during the Rock Boat cruise. So when I got back, I ordered a Nikon.

8. I used to show horses, like my sister, and I somehow won a lot of awards without even putting in a lot of effort. They would essentially dress me, throw me on the horse, and push me into the ring. I was so clueless that I once even rode the wrong way during the victory lap, and the photographer had to scramble across to the other side of the track in order to take my picture before I rode out.

9. I would love to have long hair, but when it grows any further than past my shoulders, I start looking like a greasy bag lady. People who have nice thick hair, like my sister, don't seem to understand this.

10. Poor grammar really bugs me (I actually own a shirt that says "Bad grammar makes me [sic]." It's brilliant). I don't mind the general conversational quirks and colloquialisms of a spoken dialect (i.e., using "ain't", or double-negatives, or improper subject-verb agreement), but in writing, it bugs the absolute shit out of me. I don't expect everyone to be a perfect grammarian (even though I'm a writer, I know I am certainly not), but I do expect people to be able to construct a coherent sentence.

11. Silverchair is still my favorite band; I don't care if that's not cool. I love them because every album sounds completely different and they're not afraid to experiment, even when it's at risk of alienating their old fans. I finally got to see these guys perform live in 2007 (twice!) and it was a religious experience.

12. The word "squirrel" makes me laugh, I don't know why. Which reminds me, I was once chased by a squirrel with bared teeth on campus. I ran from it because I had this terrible vision of it leaping up and biting my face with its rabid little jaws.

13. I love to travel and take road trips, but I've not yet been to New York City, and this bothers me.

14. I love peanut butter to an unhealthy degree. I usually slather so much on bread that it chokes me when I try to swallow, but I can never control myself because it's so tasty. My coworkers at Buggies used to tease me about it. After work one day, I made myself a peanut butter & jelly sandwich on the way out to the car, and I had just started taking the first bites when my friend Jacob walked out. I was embarrassed that he might catch me chowing down on yet another PB&J, so I hid behind the door and crammed the entire sandwich in my mouth before he could see.

15. Because my parents weren't the type to drive me long distances for concerts or any other similar type of fun, I rarely went to them in high school. But since I became independent in college, I've been to at least 42 shows and seen more than a hundred different bands play live. I have three more coming up in the next month alone.

16. Much like Jenny feels she's the only person in America who doesn't like The Office, I feel I'm the only person in America who didn't like Friends. I dunno, I just found it predictable and it rarely made me even crack a smile.

17. I cheered for our football team for eight years and I still don't understand what's going on during a game.

18. I love the X-Men. I've never been much of a comic reader or collector, but I watched the animated show when I was younger and loved the first two movies (Brett Ratner, on the other hand, should be shot for what he did to the series in the third). I'm ridiculously excited to see Gambit in the upcoming Wolverine movie.

19. I love to cook, but I can never devote enough time to trying out new recipes. Some weekends I'll actually reserve one evening to stay in and cook myself something new from scratch.

20. I once tripped a child on purpose and didn't even feel bad about it. In my defense, he was a whole new level of obnoxious -- a complete nightmare of a boy.

21. Going back to bed after the alarm goes off is one of the best feelings in the world -- like in school, when you'd wake up to find snow on the ground and classes would be cancelled. Nowadays, I keep my alarm set even on weekends, just because I love to turn it off at 7AM and fall back asleep.

22. I saw Fellowship of the Ring in the theater four times, The Two Towers five times, and Return of the King seven times. And if the trilogy was ever re-released in the theater, I'd go see them all again.

23. I hate manipulative stories -- the tearjerker types by authors who think they're really touching someone if they make that person cry with their writing. Tears come cheaply and easily. Well-written humor is much more difficult and much more satisfying. I'll take David Sedaris over Nicholas Sparks, thanks. The same goes for movies. Give me Office Space over The Notebook any day.

24. When people tell me they don't like any episodes of The Simpsons (even the shows from its late-'90s heyday), I really think there's something wrong with them. I can't fathom someone watching the "Tomacco" or "Pinchy the Lobster" episodes and not laughing.

25. I believe in the power of lulz.

ice, ice baby

Fri, 30 Jan 2009 03:26:44 GMT

So I get back from a vacation in the Bahamas, and Kentucky gets raped by a giant ice storm. We left work Monday night laughing at the eager enthusiasm of our local meteorologists, who promised (like always) that we were about to get "the big one". Since they make this promise about once a month, and we hadn't seen nary a snowflake by five o'clock, we all figured they were simply getting prematurely aroused over the possibility of snow, yet again.

But then I woke up Tuesday morning, and looked outside to see a perfect, glistening world, where every visible surface sharply reflected the yellowy hue of the street lamps. Rain pattered against my bedroom window, louder than usual -- it was freezing on impact.

There was no delay listed on the television for for my new workplace, so I rolled out of bed and got ready. But when I got outside to get in my car, I realized the magnitude of the problem -- not only was the world covered in ice, but it was covered in at least an inch of it. I threw down my purse, and grabbed my mega-sized scraper. Two neighbors joined me, each of us chiseling away at our respective cars. Forty-five minutes later, after kicking and chopping and beating my car baseball-bat style, it was (mostly) free.

I got to work thirty minutes late, at 8:30, only to discover that we did have a delay, so I instantly became thirty minutes early. Apparently our program director decides on delays/cancellations and calls managers by phones, but since I'm new, no one had my number yet. Oh, well.

By lunchtime, the rain had stopped, but the crunchiness of the ice on the ground had given away to solid, smooth surfaces. We were dismissed early at work, and my direct boss told me to take work home for the next day, "just in case". I skipped going to the gym -- a rare occurence -- and went straight home, doing a full kickboxing workout in my living room instead (my downstairs neighbors love me).

The rain returned sometime during the evening, and all night it pattered against the window, instantly freezing in the just-right 32-degree temperature. When I awoke the next morning and saw the panicked expressions of the early-bird news team, I called my boss. "Don't even try to go in," she said. "They're going to re-evaluate around 10:30 to see if we need to come in. Otherwise, just stay at home and work on some stuff." I didn't argue.

Fifteen minutes later, I heard a loud crack. Outside, two of the larger trees had started to split, looming far over the parking lot and dangerously close to several cars, including mine. I ran out in the freezing rain and moved my car to the side, slipping and stumbling all the way. One large branch had already fallen, and my tiny Mazda3 barely eked past it on the road. I ran back inside and threw my frozen coat on the couch, so glad to be homebound for the day.

After awhile, I noticed that I didn't hear the rain anymore. I opened my blinds to see snow flying wildly outside, inch after inch piling up on top of the ice. My neighborhood looked like Silent Hill. It was beautiful and frightening.

I noticed the split trees hanging lower, towering over cars that hadn't been moved. I didn't know which car belonged to whom, so I went to every apartment in the building, knocking on the door to tell people they might want to move their cars. Only four people answered, including one man in a wheelchair. "There's no way I can get to my car," he said. So I offered to move it for him. Because he hadn't been out the previous day, he had about two inches of ice build-up, and I had to chisel it off the door and windshield before I could drive it out of the way. He watched me from underneath the first floor stairwell, shoulders covered in a blanket.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Allison," I said.

"Allison, you are a Good Samaritan."

"Well," I said, "I just figured that if it were my car under a falling tree, I'd want someone to come let me know."

I spent the day reading our company's 200-page Marketing Plan, making pancakes for lunch, and listening to news updates on Channel 18. All in all, not bad. In the afternoon, I spoke to my sister -- her power had gone out. I sucked it up and invited her to stay, once again knowing that if I were in that position, I'd want her to extend the same courtesy. She made it over in the early evening. We worked out together and then decided to eat at Ruby Tuesday, since I had a coupon and we were too tired (and lazy) to cook. The restaurant was strangely empty, with only a smattering of people seated in the bar area. On the way home, we took Man O'War boulevard, one of the main veins of the city, and marveled at all the decimated trees, some broken and split, some hunchbacked and drooping with the impossible weight of the ice. Along the drive, huge chunks of neighborhoods were darkened and powerless, and broken traffic lights punctuated the road.

And that's where we stand. I still have power (though it's flickered three separate times), my sister is living on my couch, and I completely bit the ice in front of four cute guys at Urban Active today when I was trying to get into the gym to teach class. The main roads are okay now, but the side roads (including the four separate ones I take to get to a main road) are pretty bad. I'll be glad when work is over tomorrow, so I can retreat back here and be a hermit for the rest of the weekend.

back on shore.

Fri, 23 Jan 2009 03:06:05 GMT

Jesus Christ, I'm tired.