Dear Janie

Today, you turned 19.

On this day, in 1989, Joey and I were dragged upstairs to our parent's bed (most reluctantly, might I add). I remember not wanting to go. I remember wondering what all the commotion was about. I remember that I wanted to stay up and be a part of the fun.


Fun, indeed.


"Wake me up when the baby is born!" I demanded

Does it shock you that I also remember what dress I was wearing that day?
Yeah, I didn't think so either (it was the gray one with the pink sash, in case you were curious)

And then, several hours later, I was dragged back down the stairs, into what is now (or was, really) our bedroom, and rubbing my eyes while the doctor estimated your weight by balancing you on a beach towel. Those crazy homeopaths...
Then he handed you to Mom, and Daddy took me by the hand and lead me over the the side of the bed, pointed to the pink, squishy, screaming lump in her arms and said, "That's your new sister. Her name is Jane."
But I already had an aunt named Jane.
"It's okay. Now we have two Janes."
TWO Janes?
It was going to take some time for me to wrap my head around THAT concept.

But I was still overwhelmed by the magic of it all.
There had only been two of us when I had gone to sleep.
And then I woke up, only to find that there were now three.
There was another girl. Another little person to play with my Barbies and wear my clothes and sing songs with me and dance in the living room. We would be exactly the same.
Because we were sisters.
And that's what sisters do.

Except, it didn't turn out quite like that.

19 years later, you and I are different in almost every way possible.
And yet, I don't feel entirely complete when I'm not with you.
When I'm the only Sullivan girl around, I have to maintain a calm, levelheaded persona. I have to be serious. I have to be responsible. What other choice do I have?
When we're together, you're laid-back attitude allows me to be the exuberant, flighty, fantastical one. You're the one who stays objective, while my head wanders above the clouds. And yet, you always pull me back down to Earth.

That's how we work, you and I.

Does it seem like you're the older sister sometimes?
Because you're so responsible and hardworking and calm? And I'm, well, not?
I hope not.

I wish you knew how proud I am of you.
I wish you knew how proud I have always been, and will always be.
I wish that you could see what the rest of us see when they look at you, and all that you've
accomplished in your short life.

I wish you knew how beautiful you are.
I wish you knew how smart you are.
I wish you knew how funny you are.

When I turned 19, I felt that it was a little anti-climactic.
I mean, 19? What's so special about that.
In fact, it made me feel old (which makes me laugh now, five years later, because if that logic works, than I'm a senior citizen).
But, regardless of whether or not it makes sense now, it sure did make me feel like that was it. That my life had reached a plateau.
Janie, listen to your big sister: do not feel this way.
There is so much beauty in this big old world.
Please, please remember that.
There is so much to experience, so much to see and hear and taste and breathe.

Remember Stockholm and London? Remember riding horses in Indiana? Remember standing on a mountain in Texas, and building a house in Mexico? Remember singing The Dixie Chicks in the middle of a snowstorm? Remember reading Chicken Soup for the Soul in the car on Christmas day aloud, and we all burst into tears?
What about the time that I was pushing you in the shopping cart in the grocery store and I crashed you into a display of hot fudge sauce in glass bottles?
Or the time you fell out of your bed to the ground six feet below, only to land on your dollhouse and I didn't even wake up?*

*That last part is not so much an example of beauty, but more one that makes me giggle.

You add to the brilliance and intellect of this world with each day that you spend in it.
I know that you will continue to do so for the rest of your life.
Because, you don't know how to live any other way.
You don't know how NOT play like you're in the big leagues.
Do you think other people are jealous that I get to have a sister like you?
I bet they are.
Especially since their lives are better for having lived in the same universe as someone so intelligent, so giving, so open-minded, and so loving.
But I get to share a bedroom with you sometimes.
Not to mention DNA.

Even with your sometimes crazy-Medusa hair (relax, I said sometimes), and your swarms of imaginary friends, and your cleanliness O.C.D. (I did mention how different we are, right?) and your snoring...
You're a ray of light.

Being your sister has been, is, and always will be an adventure.
A joy.
A miracle.



Happy Birthday, Janie Marie.
I love you.

XOXO
Your Sissy

4 Turkeys, Awesome Friends, and the Undead

Isn't that what Thanksgiving is all about?

So maybe I haven't posted in a while.
And maybe, because of that, a certain Southern Belle is about ready to kill me.
As such, I'm taking a break from my really super-important Twilight reading schedule to update her about my life.
And I guess the three other people who read this can get an update, too.

The picture above = NOT from Thanksgiving, in case you're an idiot.....

Because I'm an adult now (as evident by the fact that I had to name a beneficiary for my life insurance last week... don't even get me started down that road), I couldn't go home on Thursday. So, we had "fake Thanksgiving" last Saturday with my Mom's family at Tommy and Beth's sprawling Glen Ellyn estate. I ate my weight in pumpkin pie and mashed taters, plus my Gramma made me cookies. Then I played Legos with Ethan while Sophie yelled at the top of her lungs that her American Girl doll needed more Redi-Whip on her ice cream. Then we played Mexican Dominoes and everyone asked me what I was planning to do with my life, other than reprise my role as a blight on my parent's bank account.
But...
Pie and cookies!
It was pretty great.

So that was Thanksgiving (and turkey) numero uno.
Numero dos (however unexpected it was) came in the form of my dear friend Lara's awesome family.
Wait, wasn't I supposed to work on Thanksgiving? Thus creating the need for a completely seperate (yet equally awesome) fake Thanksgiving, as mentioned int he previous paragraph?
Yeah, I thought so too.
You see, at about noon in Thursday, my cell phone rang-- work, calling to say that they were slow and that I didn't need to come in if I didn't want to.
Which made me kinda mad. Because I could have, reasonably, gone home and had *actual* Thanksgiving with my family (except it would have been with my Dad's side of the family, and they're not NEARLY as cool...that's right, Gramma! I said that you're cool!).
Of course, I could've also gone in to work, but I was planning on leaving at 5 anyhow, so that I could go have Thanksgiving with Marie's family in Auburn.
Naturally, I called Lara to yell about my irritation for a minute, and also to make plans for later that evening because Gabe was in town (more on that later), and she suggested that I haul myself over to her aunt's house and let them adopt me for the afternoon.

Call me crazy, but that sounded WAY better than work.

And it most certainly was.

After that, came Thanksgiving III, at Marie's aunt's house (what's with all the aunts in this post?).
I was kind of hoping that someone was going to get arrested.
Or, at the very least, there would be a smack-down of some kind.
No such luck.
I guess I'll have to wait until Christmas for that.

Finally, Thanksgiving round 4 commenced this evening at Blake's Mom's house.
I made a pumpkin cheesecake (vegan!) and Blake walked into the kitchen about halfway through the process and said "How's it going?", at which point I turned around to reveal that not only had I managed to get cornstarch all over the counter and the floor, but also down the front of my black sweater, my face, and in my hair.
I let him do the dishes for me.
He's so sweet sometimes.

Verdict: four Thanksgiving dinners later, I resemble the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man.
But I also have really super-great friends.
With really super-great families!
Thanks for recognizing my orphan status and taking me in on this, the most gluttonous of holidays!

And speaking of super-great friends...

So, Thursday night, it was decided that since Gabe was in town (and that never happens anymore because he apparently now resides in Antarctica), it would be used as an excuse to get the ol' band back together.
Amber had mentioned that Gabe, being the kind and generous boyfriend that he is, promised to take her to see "Twilight".
Of course, Lara and I jumped on this.
"Gabe promised to take Amber!"
"What do you MEAN you don't want to go see a movie about sexy vampires?"
"If Gabe goes will you go?"
And this, my dears, is how the six of us, included Blake, Bryan, and Gabe, ended up at Showplace 12 for the 9:30 pm showing. The boys sat on one side, the girls on the other. Gabe and Amber sat in the middle.
A buffer-zone, if you will.
You might recall that this is the second time I've had the privelage of viewing this cinematic masterpiece, and it was even better this time around.
And not just because they showed a preview for the new "Harry Potter" and I got so excited that I totally punched Lara in the knee cap as soon as I figured out what was going on.
After the movie, I looked down the row of seats, and asked the boys, "On a scale of one to ten, how pissed are you guys that we made you see this?"
They just glared at me.
I'm thinking about a twelve or thirteen.
But I'm also pretty sure that I can live with that.
Because hell-LO?!
TWILIGHT?!!

Also of note, pre-Thanksgiving activities included Rock Band, and a gathering at Bradley and Christopher's house that may or may not have involved the use of a fire extinguisher inside the apartment.
PS- there was no fire. We were just really, really bored.
What?
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
What?!
I didn't have anything to do with it. Swearsies.
I just laughed really, REALLY hard.
And then got Black Lung disease from inhaling all the chemicals.
It was awesome.


OH!
And.
Tomorrow (technically today, but whatever) is my little sister's birthday!
Stay tuned for a thought-provoking, moving, and downright badass birthday tribute post tomorrow night.
Why not tonight?
Because I'm reading Twilight.

Duh.


PPS-
Alabama: I'm sorry I didn't return you text. I was busy making a huge mess in the kitchen. And eating lots of food. Look for a special you-related post in the coming days in response to a really, really long comment thread you left on one of my previous posts. I would do it tonight, but... well, Edward Cullen needs me.

Ruth and Ray have a conversation

Making pancakes...

Dad: How much batter should I make?
Mom: Well, look at the recipe. How many does it yield?
Dad: Yield? What is this yield business?
Mom: It's a cooking term.
Dad: Yeah, but it's the kind of thing that gets written at the end of a recipe. No one actually uses it in real life.


Discussing their new fireplace, a little while later....

Mom: So, have you talked to anyone about how to do the gas fittings?
Dad: Nope. I'm just gonna wing-it.
Mom: What happens if you blow yourself up? More importantly, what if you blow us both up?
Dad:Well, if that happens....then we've yielded three beautiful children. They can collect on the life insurance.
Mom:...
Dad: You don't trust me, do you?
Mom: After 30 years, I've learned to trust you. But when you say things like that, you don't always convince me.


I run to the computer, and furiously start typing their conversation, because I'm convinced that Molly and Marie will think it's hilarious...

Dad: What are you doing?
Me:...definitely not typing a transcript of the conversation you just had...
Dad: Jeez! Is anything in this family private anymore?!

Apparently not.

Just for Molly Beth

The Pieta
(95 Cranbrook style)

oh wait
I almost forgot about this one.

You're welcome.

I might be a traitor...

But...SERIOUSLY.

I take back all the negative, snarky* things I said.
Should we just put thison the list with Pride and Prejudice?
Someone save me from myself.

*Other Molly word

There's a Light on in Chicago...

I'm going to my parent's house tomorrow night.
I'm staying until Sunday.
As long I don't completely lose my mind before then.
Just kidding. I love my Mom and Dad's house.
Most of the time.

I'm also totally copying the Other Molly's post.
Not creative, you say?
To you, I would say: We share a brain. What do you expect?

Evidence is presented above.

This is all the bidness I have to take care of before I drive to Chambana to pick up Janie and Becca. Did I mention that I'm leaving at 11:45 am?
'Cause I am.

-Get flat tire patched (I know, I know. This should've been done days ago. But you have to understand, when faced with the choice of either getting out of bed into the freezing cold rain and trudging to Wal-Mart...aka my version of HELL...or staying in bed, where it's nice and clean and flourescent lightbuld-free--- I don't think I even need to finish my thought)
-Drop dry cleaning off
-Clean my house (or, shove everything into my closet so that Blake doesn't trip over it when he comes to feed the cat this weekend)
-Pack
-Dishes
-Trash
-Litter box
-Bang my head against wall
-Sleep

Remember high school? Remember how the teachers used to give out progress reports that charted our current class-rankings?
Do you think there is any way I can get my hands on MY progress report regarding adulthood?
Because I think I may have to re-take the class.
Again.


Although, my boss told me today that we can now wear jeans when we come in at 2:30.
Score one for Nada!
Expect me to be wearing nothing but jeans and mocassins to work from now until eternity.
Unless it's raining or snowing.
In which case I will, of course, be wearing my red wellies with white polka dots. (Thanks Mom)


Does someone want to put a but in Santa's ear that one of these little guys would be a really super-great Christmas present for a girl like me? PSSST-- I like the one on the top right the best.

And SPEAKING of Christmas... I've got a few more things for your list, Mommy Salami.
And anyone else who thinks I'm special.

-New silverware, because my collection looks like the cutlery bin at the Goodwill threw up in a kitchen drawer.
-Tea kettle
-Ceramic containers with plastic lids, like the kind you'd take in a lunchbox, but can microwave. You know, so the harmful chemicals from the plastic don't leech into my food when I zap stuff (because I bring my lunch everyday like the good little conservationist that I am) and warp my fragile little mind.
-And, or course, I'm always on the lookout for a pretty hardcover version of the original Wizard of Oz. Not a first edition necessarily (unless Daddy Warbucks wants to buy it for me), but an illustrated one.


And finally, before I get lost in my book again, I found this today and I just HAD to post.
Things:
-There's a book called 'I'm on Facebook--- Now What???'. Um, that's pretty fantastic. I may just get this as a Christmas gift for every adult in my extended family. That way, I won't get calls at 7 am on a Saturday saying "Someone just poked me. What's a POKE? It sounds dirty."
-If you don't want to be someone's friend, then perhaps you should... oh, I don't know... not send them a friend request? Thereby solving the awkwardness of being friends with someone you don't actually know?
-Someone should write an equally (read: only slightly) intelligent piece on what to do when weirdos message you on MySpace because they take one look at your profile picture and decided that they want to give you shoulder rubs. 'Cause a girl could use that kind of advice (true story).

Peace and love!

Toil and Trouble

Wanna know what a really dumb show is?

The Sarah Connor Chronicles

And not just because Brian Austin Green is now a cast member (apparently).
The HELL?
THE. HELL. I SAY.
There. I said it.
Okay, moving on.


Today is a day involving the dreaded double.
Double shift, that is.
I've been here for almost twelve hours now, and my carrot sticks and I are getting a little bored. And, of course, the subsequent heartburn that comes along with the carrots.
I'm an old woman sometimes, what can I say.

And now, a letter to my dear friend Molly Elizabeth (aka The Other Molly, aka VintageMagnolia)

Dear Molly,
I'm reading this book called I Capture the Castle.
Perhaps you've heard of it?
Anyway, it's pretty spectacular.
It reminds me of a Bronte novel. Or of when we were living in the unholiest of unholy places.
I don't know if you've read it, but you probably should. Because, you know. You have so much free time.
Love,
Molly


I'm going to my parent's house for Thanksgiving this weekend. Yes, I'm well-aware that Thanksgiving isn't until next weekend. However, due to the whole "being a grown-up and having a job" thing, I have to work Thanksgiving day. Therefore, my family in all it's loud and vocal glory will be gathering on Saturday to celebrate. Except we'll most likely be having lasagna or mostaccioli or some such nonsense.
Because that's how we roll.

Oh yeah.
I saw a preview for the new JJ Abrams joint.
It's called "Star Trek." Maybe you've heard of it?
I've never been much of a trekkie (and by "much", I of course mean not in any remote sense do I fall into that category). However, the preview looks un poquito badass. So I might have to go see it.
Okay, I'll probably definitely go and see it.
Plus... SYLAR.
I mean, hel-LO!

Are you a good witch, or a bad witch?

"The Wizard of Oz" was on TV tonight

Marie: I wish I was Judy Garland.
Me: She died of a drug overdose.
Marie: But she's really pretty!
Me: AND a drug addict.
Marie: Just opiates, I think.
Me: ...which are still drugs.


Later...
Me: So, I made my mom read my blog.
Marie: Because you posted your Christmas list it?
Me: Yeah. She said she "didn't get it." What's not to get? I was all, like, "Mom, it's funny!" Or, at least it's supposed to be.
Marie: You see? I told we're the only ones who think we're funny.

I was just wondering

Dear Mr. Bateman,

Wanna be my baby-daddy?

No, really.
I'm serious.

Love,
Me



It's a very good thing that Arrested Development is quite possibly the most perfect television show ever created, because I doubt very much that there's any way I could choke through three seasons of "Silver Spoons" and have the same response. And, only in part because I'd feel like a pedophile.



Also:

What the HELL

Read the linked article, and be amazed.

I'm maybe more than a little embarrassed for the following people involved in this piece for the following reasons-

-The Wife, because her husband had an affair with a computer-generated hooker in a computer generated world
-The Husband, because his wife hired an internet private detective after she became suspicious that his virtual altar-ego was cheating on her virtual altar-ego
-The Author, because they clearly misunderstood the part of their journalism employment contract that included the part about reporting "pertinent and compelling news." I mean, it's not like we're in the middle of a war or a severe oil conflict, or the nation just elected it's first African-American president....

I think my most favoritest part (what? I'm an English major. I can do whatever I want), though, would have to be the blurb at the very end about World of Warcraft.

Le sigh...

P to the S- I'm not posting three times in one day. For some reason, Blogger isn't recognizing my laptops time stamp. It's actually 4:35 am on Sunday, November 16.
Please.
I'm not THAT much of a loser.

Oh...

And one more thing.

I think I may have mentioned Heather Armstrong and her website/blog Dooce on Thursday.
If you want a good laugh, or you're looking for an amusing way to kill time at work and your tech support has blocked all malicious websites (i.e. sucked all the fun out of life), I suggest you bask in her glory.

In fact, I'm going to add it to my favorites riiight...now.

Okay, back.


Anywho.

There's this post that she wrote at the beginning of October that posed a hypothetical question to her readers: if you had the opportunity to donate money to a starving family so that they could buy food, would you do it on the condition that you had to donate an equal amount of money to a family whom you knew was going to use it to buy crack?

The question was/is simple.
The response it evoked was not.
The original post with the question generated 1197 responses.
1197.
That blows my mind.

But her follow-up is what gets me.

Read it. *

*(Mom and Gramma and Molly and Marie...since you're clearly the only people cool enough to be my friends and read my revolutionary thoughts)

I think I might write more on it later. You know, when it's not 4 am.
Not that I need any help in the department.
Because my life is hella-interesting.
Obviously.

The Verdict

Re: Quantum of Solace

Ummm...I was bored.
Like, for real.
I think we all expected better, especially from "the best Bond movie ever."
No seriously.

One of the more redeeming elements?

Please observe the display at the right -------->
Yeah.
And he wore some really awesome Valentino suits.
And a tux.
A TUX.
I think we all know how I feel about men in tuxes.

Yes.


On a more productive note... the tire is fixed! Freaking finally.
Three cheers for AAA, who arrived in under ten minutes, not to mention the fact that they got down on the dirty, nasty, wet ground. While I watched.
I salute you, AAA!


We watched this movie tonight before I had to go to work about vampires in Sweden and bullies and bad haircuts (I only included that because there are a LOT of bad haircuts in this movie-- more on that later). It was, to say the least, enjoyable. Scratch that. Very enjoyable. It was poignant and profound and not at all scary like other Vampire-oriented flicks. I'm not even kidding. It in no way made me think that I would wake up in the middle of the night and look out the window and endure a paralyzing wave of terror coupled with visions of vampires leaping across the roofs of snow-covered buildings in the moonlight.
Not that such a thing has ever happened.
Especially not after watching 40 Days of Night.

Anyway, the best part of the movie was not, as you might imagine, the artistic styling or progressive character development. I think the award for most entertaining movie element goes to the colorful commentary that comes along with watching ANY movie with me.
Not because I'm witty.
Mostly because I don't always think before I say things.

For example, I decided to let everyone know that I had been to Sweden (where the movie was set, in case you missed that part). I happen to do that every time I'm watching a TV show of movie that involves someplace I've been.
Why do I do such a thing?
Because I am awesome.

So I announced that I was familiar with the Swedes. Like the bad-ass that I am.
And, as a result, I endured some following questions all throughout our movie-going experience:
"Hey Molly, are all haircuts in Sweden that crappy?"
"Do all Swedes walk around in their underwear constantly?"
"Apparently, Swedish forensic science is not as advanced as their furniture-making abilities."

Okay, so maybe that last one was me.

Either way, I should probably stop painting myself as some kind of expert on foreign culture. Particularly since I'm not.

Oh, and a quick note to my Mom:
I hereby solemnly swear to never EVER put you in a nursing home.
Explanation to follow sometime in the near future.

I'm going to go eat some more jalapeno pretzels now.

Street Cred

Tire Update:

Still flat. Which sucks.

I even went to Wal-Mart (yes, I went home and washed my hands with bleach and holy water afterwards) to check out prices of potential replacements if this poor little fella is beyond resurrection. And do you know that they wanted ninety-five FREAKING dollars for the thing? That's a 9 AND a 5. What the crap. I was so shocked that I exclaimed "ninety-five DOLLARS?!" (as if I was expecting it to be in rupees, or something) with my trademark loudness and Blake (bless his heart) went "Shhhh...."
I think he might have been embarassed.
Poor thing. He hasn't even met my Mom or Grandma. If that ever happens, it'll be a treat.

We (and by we, I of course mean Blake) had the intention of changing it ourselves, but apparently the good people at Ford chose to put my spare tire beneath the car, as opposed to in the trunk like most normal people. So obviously, it was all rusty and nasty and impossible to remove. Thankfully, I have in my posession a AAA card that would remedy the situation. My dearest mother does nothing but rave about their service, which is good because she pays them $100 a year to be that awesome. So I called, and the really nice lady on the other end took my information and said that the estimated time of the dude's arrival would be about an hour, but most likely less. Excellent. The last time the bailed my mother out due to a dead battery or something, they came in less that twenty minutes, so I was using that as a reference for a realistic time-frame. Great. Then, another really nice lady called me back, and kindly informed me that the guy wouldn't be there until 1:30. Which was a good hour and a half after they'd originally said they'd be there.

Did I mention I had to leave for work at 2?

So I just cancelled and told them I'd call back tomorrow.
Which means I stole Blakey's car again.
Somebody get this man some peanut butter M&M's for his trouble.



And speaking of peanut butter M&M's...and Swedish Fish...

We're going to see this fine-looking gentleman tonight:

That's right.
On a school night
Except for not really.

There's a midnight showing so naturally, I'm there.
Here's the funny thing about midnight premiers: I don't necessarily go to them because I'm excited about the movie.
I go because it makes me cool.
Well, cooler.
Because you can only improve upon perfection so much.

Case and point: Star Wars, Episode 3 (which doesn't exactly make sense because wasn't it the 6th movie? Whatever...)
I went to the midnight premier NOT because I really needed to see why Darth Vadar's voice does that weird, creepy vibrato-thingy, but because I wanted to say that I was there.
Apparently, Star Wars is really popular or something. I can't remember where I read that.
Also someone had an extra ticket and invited me.
Whatever...

There are, however, a few exceptions.
Case and point: Batman, Lord of the Rings, and Harry Potter.
And here's why:
-Comic books of my childhood (and Christian Bale)
-Books of my adolescence (and Orlando Bloom)
-Books of my adulthood (and Daniel Radcliffe)
In other words: flagships of my development as a human being.

The 22nd James Bond flick falls somewhere in between the two paradigms. I respect and acknowledge their supreme and holy place in the world of action films, but I'm not obsessive like I am about some things (cough...Middle Earth...cough...).
Also, I saw the mansion where the Bond novels were written while I was in Scotland. So, there's that.
In an event, I will be there in a couple of hours.

Maybe Daniel Craig will come fix my tire for me.


I'm just saying...
I don't think the other Bonds wore a suit this well.

Yup.

Sandy Claws

Today was slightly better than yesterday.

I fell asleep at 4 a.m. instead of 5.
But that's mostly because Blake and I decided that we needed to watch the new episode of "Heroes"
At 3:15.
But we didn't eat pizza this time. Just some ice cream.

And when I finally opened my eyes this morning, I was greeted with yummy treats from the grocery store that were vegan AND surprisingly low in fat, courtesy of the awesomeness that is 3kalb (Gramma, that's what Blake calls himself in the blogging/video game/MySpace world. Because he's just that cool.) I think we were both a little impressed with his achievement of this new awesomeness standard. Next time, I expect water in to wine. Work on it.

In other news, my tire is still flat and my (Janie's) car is still sitting in the parking lot. BUT I am calling AAA tomorrow morning so they can remedy the situation. Or at least change the spare. That way we (and by we, I of course mean Blake) don't have to.
I am currently accepting donations for a new car.
Or life.


I solved a huge mystery tonight.
As long as I've had finger nails, I've been chewing them off for reasons only Satan can tell you. Don't get me wrong; I chew on other things, too. Gum, pens, my lower lip, the ears of my enemies... I believe our good friend Mr. Freud would refer to this as an "oral fixation" (I think I'm just really hungry). I've since made an attempt to move on to other objects of mastication, such as Tootsie Rolls.
So anyway, I bite my nails.
Gross and revolting, I know.
But as of late I've been pretty good about letting them grow, partially due to the fact that I don't really have anything better to do than paint them.
I love being an adult.
And tonight, I broke one of those nails. So naturally, I had to file it down. But then I noticed that it was a drastically different length than the other ones, so I had to even the rest of them out. For the sake of aesthetics, of course. Boredom had no part in this.
And I was clipping these nails that I had refused to bite for so long, when it occurred to me:
Cutting your fingernails is uncomfortable.
Filing them? Even more so.
Which is probably why I chose to bite them all those years rather than actually manicure them as non-cannibals do.
Substance over style, people. Substance over style.


Also, Christmas is right up the road.
I'm so freaking excited.
I actually get to go home for Christmas day and open presents with my gorgeous sister and my renegade brother. Plus, I really like presents.

Like I've done every year since I've been biting my nails (which, as we just learned, is a long-ass time) or perhaps even longer, I've made a Christmas list. Mostly for my Mom, since Gramma kind of has her own gift-giving style (read: cards with other grandchildren's names on them, flair pens, and appliances from the Huntley Goodwill) and also because I'm pretty convinced that no one else really cares.

So, Mom, if you could find a way to let Mr. Santa Claus know that it would be just fine if I received the following items under our tree Christmas morning. Especially so I can rub them in Joey's face when he gets coal and athletic socks.

-This necklace (it's at the bottom).
-This ring. Since I left the one I had in England. Really, anything from this store. It's all pretty super. ..Pssst...my ring size is a 7 1/2 or and 8, due to the fact the I inherited your mother's fingers.
-An easel. For which to paint upon. (Daddy can build it, just ask him)
-Some new kick-ass knives for my kitchen because my current would barely be able to take on a stick of butter. No joke. I'm a pretty big fan of these right here. But, you know...whatever.
-NETFLIX. Please oh please...
-A subscription to Newsweek or Time or maybe Glamour (there, I said it).
-A new laptop. Like that'll happen.
-I could also really get down on some new dishes. No joke. I'm kind of in love with the "plum" color from Fiestaware.
-For some reason, I've always wanted a kimono. The teal one would be SUPER.
-Boots like these, except for not these because they're a little expensive. And by little, I mean very.
-Books are always good.
-A really nice copy of The Wizard of Oz. The original children's version.
-Your usual fare.
-World Peace, amen.


As for the rest of yous (Molly and Marie), your loving kindness is all I want for this festive holiday season.

And shoes.
Lots and lots of shoes.

Terrible, Awful, No Good, and Very bad

My car has a flat tire.

I might be a little peeved.

Just a tad.

I had to take Blake's car to work. Which worked out well because I spent the night there last night. What did not work out well, however, was the fact that I could not, for all the ice cream in all the grocer's freezer sections in all the land, fall asleep.

Nope.
Not at all.
I stared at the ceiling until 5 am.

I need to stop working these overnights.
It's totally screwing with my circadian* rhythm

*or, as my 7 year-old cousin, Sophie, might say "cicada-ian."


And then every single person on the face of the planet felt the need to get up in my business today. Buddha wouldn't even cut me a break and give me an ill-tempered neanderthal every other time someone tried to communicate with me. Oh no. It had to be every single freaking call.
Is this punishment for the fact that I ate pizza at midnight last night?
Well played, sir. Well played.

But I swear, if one more person treats me like a moron because I ask them to repeat themselves due to the fact that they either have peanut butter stuck to the roof of their mouth, missed that day in kindergarten when the topic of "annunciation" was covered, or are just plain lazy...
Well I might just lose it.


Also I haven't quite figured out what to do with my tire. I can call AAA, and they'll probably tow it to some place that will charge me a million dollars (which I do not have) to fix it, or we (and by we, I of course mean Blake) can take it off ourselves and go to Wal-Mart and get it patched for what I can only assume will be a smaller deduction from my bank account.

But then I'd have to go to Wal-Mart.
With the unwashed masses.
And the evil.

Also, I just got the hiccups. Which, if you're me, can last forever.


So maybe I'm kind of having one of those days.

But I was sitting here at work a little bit ago, attempting to convince myself that shoving a baby carrot into my ocular cavity just so I could go home for the night was really not worth the potential long-term damage it might cause, when....

I got a text message on my phone.
And this is what was inside.

KISSES!!!!!

That was totally the actual caption, too.

I showed it to Heather and Monica.

We laughed so hard we cried.

Eric felt left out

So I had to include him.

In his own seperate post.

Because he's just that awesome.*

*and by him, I totally mean me.

We're watching "Jon and Kate plus 8" (we're on a TLC kick tonight...I think Ree might be PMS-ing, or something)

Marie: Did you know the girl's middle names are Faith, Hope, and Love?

Me: Really? That's cute. In a lame sort of way.

Marie: You were the one that told me that.

Me: No I didn't.

Marie: You did too!

Eric: ... it ws actually me.

Marie: Oh.

Me: That's creepy.

Eric loves when I come over.

Especially when the future mother of his children confuses me for him.

I can't wait to explain to their spawn why Daddy hates Aunt Molly.

I love you, dude!

Sometimes I wish that we could record our conversations and share them with the world

A typical evening if you're me and Marie



Me: I have a secret.
Marie: Oh yeah?
Me: I hate it when other people are named Molly. It really bothers me.
Marie: Isn't one of your best friends named Molly, too?
Me: True.
Marie: That doesn't make any sense.
Me: I never do, Ree. I never do.



Marie: You need to tell my boyfriend to propose to me.
Me: I know.
Marie: So we can start planning our wedding.
Me: I know.
Marie: And by "we", I of course mean you and me.
Me: I know.



Marie: I think I want to get married in October or November.
Me: You can't get married in October. I'm getting married in October.
Marie: Oh yeah? Who are you marrying?
Me: It doesn't matter. I want to get married in October. We can't get married in the same month.
Marie: Tell you what. If we get married in the same year, I'll get married in November. Deal?
Me: You know, at this rate that might actually happen.



Me: So, I was thinking about becoming a pre-school teacher.
Marie: You hate kids.
Me: I do not.
Marie: You do, too. You get all annoyed and stressed and red. I've seen it happen.
Me: But I like little kids. As long at they're someone else's I can give them back at the end of the day. Do you think you have to go to school for that?
Marie: Since when do you want to be a pre-school teacher?
Me: Since right now.
Marie: What?
And then proceeds to look at the television which is displaying an episode of "Little People Big World", and they're showing a part where Amy is teaching a bunch of REALLY SUPER CUTE little kids.
Marie: You only want to be a pre-school teacher because you're watching it on TV. Oh, look! They're building a deck! I think I want to be a carpenter!
Me: That's so not the same thing.
Marie: Except that it kind of is.

A LITTLE WHILE LATER

Marie: (to Eric) So, Molly is transcribing some of our conversations.
Me: (also to Eric) Not only am I transcribing, but I am also posting them on my BLOG.
Marie: I told her no one else will think they're funny. She said she wanted to be a pre-school teacher. Do you think other people will think we're funny?
Eric: ... I definitely don't think that Molly should teach pre-school.

A LITTLE WHILE LATER....AGAIN

Marie: We definitely need to buy a tape recorder. We're hilarious.

Except for too bad no one reads this blog.

this is what I'm watching

this is what I'm eating.

this is what I'm reading.

Question: Do I like multi-tasking?
Answer: Yes. Yes I do.

That's all I've got time for right now.
As you can see, I'm really busy.

What?!

Two posts in one day?

I know, right?
Madness.
Especially since there was, like, a month between my second and third posts.

Really, though, I can justify it. Because technically right now is a different day than my previous post. Why? Because I've slept for eight hours in between the two. I'm telling you, that's just how my brain works. Weird, I know.

Also, I really need to think of new ways to occupy my time here at work since everything fun gets taken away from me. I guess it's probably only a matter of time until Blogger gets blacklisted. But you can bet all the tea in China that the websites for ESPN and Sports Illustrated are still up and running. Interesting.

Remember how I said that I was probably going to pick up an extra shift tomorrow morning because someone wasn't feeling well and my plans for a spur-of-the-moment super fab Saturday evening were botched? Well I lied.

I guess I didn't lie so much as I decided that I have way too much to accomplish on my one real day off. My list is as follows:

1. Compile items to send to my gorgeous sister in a care-packaged
2. Mail the aforementioned package
3. Buy stamps
4. Mail rent check AND electric bills with the aforementioned stamps
5. Buy gas before it goes up to $5 a gallon. Because I have a feeling it might.
6. Put air in my driver's side rear tire. It needs it, believe me.
7. Grocery shopping
8. Target for essentials, such as cat litter, toilet paper, laundry detergent and large Zip-Loc baggies.
9. Drive to my most favorite apple orchard in the area to find some really delicious apples before the season is over.
10. Home to cook veggie chili, vegetable soup, barbecued tofu, hummus, and maybe if I'm feeling ambitious, some bread (I'm trying this new thing where I cook a whole bunch of food for the week in an effort to see if it makes me eat out less. Also, I figure that it's gotta be healthier than Noodles and Company every single stinkin' day)
11. Some laundry
12. Clean CLEAN CLEAN my little apartment
13. And maybe MAYBE if he's really nice to me, stop over and see the sick boy at some point.

So, as it stands, I've got some things to get done tomorrow. I know that overtime is nice, and that if I wanted to I could probably do some of these things on Sunday. But not all of them. That's kind of the point, I think.

One of my biggest problems has always been that when I have things to get done, I have in the past had tendencies to kind of push them under the rug, and they'd just keep piling up until the rug literally didn't touch the floor anymore. Not healthy, let me tell you. All of the things on my list might be kind of trivial, but I figure start small and work up to the bigger things. Like:

1. Get a new Social Security card
2. Keep my checkbook balanced
3. Pay off my credit card
4. Make my own car payments
5. Make/shop for/find everyone's Christmas gifts
6. Find myself a new job within company
7. Register for classes for next semester
8. GRADUATE

Whew. I'm getting kind of stressed just thinking about all that stuff.
Which is why I need to not work that extra shift tomorrow.
And get all my stuff from the first list done.
Because I know I can.
And I know it will make me feel better about myself.
Even though the prospect of extra money is really appealing.
And I'm still kind of torn.
But I don't think I'll regret my choice.
There are some things in life that are more important than money.
Sometimes, at least.

Peace and Love.

San Dimas High School Football RULES

Also, I'm a little pissed off.

Why? You ask.

Well, let me tell you.

1. The Powers that Be have blocked ALL my streaming media sites from the network. Every last stinking one of them. I would understand if I sat around and watched them when I was supposed to be doing work. But I don't. I watch them at 4 a.m. and I'm in grave danger of smashing my head on the keyboard as I slip into a boredom-induced coma. Fascism, I tell you.

2. I got to see my gorgeous sister last night for the Girl Talk concert. Why is this a bad thing? It wasn't. 'Cept for the fact that I got a little weepy on the way home because I had to leave her. Good thing my loyal compatriot was passed out in his passenger seat.

3. I have a million things to do today and won't be able to because I have to sleep all day because I'm at work right now and because I have to come back here tonight. New job: STAT.

4. The reason my loyal compatriot was passed out in his passenger seat on the way home from Chambana Wednesday night (I almost wrote last night, but then I realized that it's officially been Friday for about four hours now, and not everyone views time in the same fashion that I do...but that's another tale for another campfire, dudes) is due to the fact that he's been laid-up, or "down with the sickness" as he would say, with some sort of weird allergy/cold/reaction to our moldy Halloween pumpkins for the last several days. It was exacerbated by the festivities on Halloween at Bradley and Christopher's, as well as the concert. So yeah, that sucks. But, more importantly, I have the weekend off. Had, rather. Because I volunteered to work tonight, and probably will again Saturday morning because my plans for a grand autumnal weekend have been thwarted by someone's crappy immune system. Which REALLY irks me because I wanted to very badly to go here. It's magical.

5. My hair currently looks alarmingly similar to the crazy bag-lady that lives out of a shopping cart near 6th and Capital. Remind me never, EVER to fall asleep with wet hair again.

6. Did I mention they blocked my streaming media sites?! Because they did.

Which brings me to my next point and, as my high school English teacher Mr. Ruter would say, the very "kernel" of my post:

In an effort to prevent the ineveitable and impending death-by-boredom situation that would indeed ensue due to lack of "Scrubs" re-runs, I got re-aquianted with the blogs of some truly awesome peeps, including one that belongs to my friend Libby, an old old friend from my summer camp counseling days (another tale for another campfire...) that I still speak to on occaision. It's less plausible to speak regularly now, what with me trying to change the world without actually knowing what I'm doing, and with her having graduated from culinary school and being married and living in Utah and stuff. But really, she's super-cool--- she's incredibly passionate about everything in her life, really creative, beautiful, and just generally great to be around. She radiates happiness and positive energy. She also happens to be LDS (Latter-Day Saint, or Mormon for all yous who are not as wordly as I...did I tell you that I was Mormon once? Another campfire.) Which I think is super. It really has nothing to do with anything, except for the fact that Mormons have something of an "old-fashioned" way of doing things, which Libby will openly admit. Not as in an Amish old-fashioned way, no funny hats or refusal to own mirrors or live without electricity here. Just, different. Namely, in the way they view women.
In my liberal-raised agnostic mind, I'd always found this to be a little sexist: why should women be treated any differently than men? We're the same! We can do the same things! Well, the truth is: we can't. And I've never understood it better than after reading and old post from Libby's old blog (she's had, like, three...what can I say the girl is a machine) that started about how much she adored her family and turned into something quite different.

You see, Libs is one of 11 children. E-L-E-V-E-N. Those Mormons, I tell you what... She's got something, like, six brothers? Maybe? And they're all freakin' fabulous, according to her. Basically, they raised her standards for potential boyfriends/husbands/lovers/male-whatevers in her life that she feared as though she'd never find someone that was a good as her brothers of her father. At least, in her eyes. She highlighted this is by illustrating an experience in which she'd been lifting something heavy at work and the guy she was working with saw her struggling but didn't offer to help her, due to some sort of morality/fear of women being offended by being seen as "the weaker sex." Basically, he didn't want to insult her. Well, Earth to guy! That wouldn't have been an insult! DUH. Libby's point was that her brother's would've offered to help her. Her father would've offered to help her. All the LDS guys she knows would've offered to help her. Why? Because part of their belief system holds women as sacred. Not weak, people. Not less-significant. Sacred. Precious. Important.

*And try as I might, I simply cannot find the original post, or I'd link it back. That, and I'm pretty sure Libby's blog might be set on private. I'll ask.

A while ago, I wrote a MySpace blog about how John Cusak has totally messed up my love-life by giving me unrealistic examples of romance (think: "Say Anything"). I think Libby's family has done the same for her. Or maybe it's her faith. I'm not sure. Either way, the girl is damn lucky because she's married to a man who fufills all her expectations. That's pretty cool.

I guess I'm not saying that I want to be a holy idol, because I don't. But to fell important to someone once in a while? Cherished, even? That would be pretty cool. Who doesn't want that? It's not just a woman thing, please don't misunderstand. It's a person thing. I think we all need to take a little more time and realize that we don't show the people in our lives who matter the most just how much they mean to us. We live in a world where people, where life is taken for granted . I'm going to try not to do that anymore and see just how much happiness and positive energy it brings me. I'm banking on bunches of it.

Funnily enough, though, I'm reminded of the following Oscar Wilde quote I came across while I was living here. Those Brits, I tell you what...

Men always want to be a Woman's first love.
Women have a more subtle instinct:
To be a man's last romance.

Which is totally ironic because Oscar Wilde was...well, gay?

And now I have to finish making my shopping list before Denise gets here.
So I can go home as pass out with my big gray cat.
Just so I can wake up and come right back here.
And not run any of my errands.
Joy.

Peace and Love.

PS- Was I in love with parentheticals this morning or what? Yeessh. Those English majors, I tell you what...