Whoa Dere.

So, Tuscaloosa is being EVACUATED?

Did I mention that my best friend lives there?
Because she does.

Apparently, the windows in her house were BLOWN OUT.
What the heck, Mother Nature?

In case there was any sort of question as to the validity of this, here's a picture of her and a family friend being evacuated from their neighborhood (which was tweeted by The Weather Channel! Celebs!):

Stay strong, Bama.

Update:

We lost.

I'm thinking of a four-letter word.
It starts with F.
And it is not FAIL.
Although that might be appropriate.

Coming to You Live...

..from the seventh game of the Stanley Cup Quarter-Finals.
In my living room, of course.
I choose to post because I am FREAKING out right now.
It is almost midnight, and we are literally screaming at the television.
I need something else to focus on, or I might self-destruct.

Do not ever, EVER question my love for the Blackhawks, or this sport.

PS- Corey Crawford is soooo money.

An Empty Bookcase

A few days ago, my Mom asked me the name of the last book I read.
And you know what?
I couldn't remember.
Translation = THAT SUCKS.

So, I'll make ya'll a deal: you suggest some titles to me, and I shall read them.
Okay?
Okay.
Read: I am soliciting some advice from you, Internets
Particularly if your name is Lizzie or Molly Beth.
Anyone else is welcome to participate, as well.

As of this moment, I have A Wolf At The Table on my nightstand.
Any other brilliant ideas?

I know I can count on you guys...

from here.

Bricks and Ivy

One of my favorite things about spring, aside from the whole sunshine and warmth thing, is the intercession of the seasons of hockey and baseball.
And, if one is a citizen of the great city of Chicago as I am, it is a great time of year to be a sports-fan indeed.

Today was opening day within the friendly confines of Wrigley Field.*

*Please note: I am a Cubs fan. I have been all my life. Yes, I am used to disappointment. No, it does not change my mind, nor do I wish to pledge allegiance to another team. Sorry if that offends you. I am a Cubs fan because I love baseball, I love Chicago, and I love what the legacy of the team and the fans represent-- loyalty. We may not have the best record in the league, but we damn well have the most resilient fans Aaannnd....end rant.

It was freezing.
It was raining.
It was windy.
And we lost.

But that's okay.
Because I still got to eat peanuts and watch batting practice and make fun of all the drunk people around me.
AND.
I got to wear a rain poncho.
When was the last time you wore one of those?!
Am I right?

In honor of the start inauguration of baseball season 2011 and my favorite baseball team and the fact that I'm going to see Eddie Vedder June 28th at the Chicago Theater, I give you this lovely montage.

Responsible.

Wow.

So I haven't blogged in about 50 billion years.
Awesome.
I need to get better at this whole time-management thing.
Ya think?

So, here's what's going on:
-Working my ass off.
-Under mucho stress.
-Not reading any books. Sadface.
-Awesome boyfriend.
-Sister in Australia. Another sadface.
-Lots of new, awesome make-up.
-Growing my hair out.
-Can't wait for summer. Let's do this already.

I think it's about time for some more blogging, don't you?

Yup.
That sounds about right.

A post in which I get a little inappropriate

I'm just going to put this out there:
I hate shaving my legs.

Not because I like being hairy.
Quite the opposite.
That's why I became an esthetician.
Because unnecessary body hair. must. die.

I'm in favor a shave-every-day kind of gal. In fact, I kind of need to be (the Italian/Irish double whammy, as I like to call it).
That is, if my skin could handle it.
You see, dear reader(s), my legs erupt into tiny, angry, red bumps every time I place a razor to them.
The only plausible solutions I've come up with in the past are to A). not shave for a whole week so that the hair is super-long when then allows removal to be less irritating, or B). let it grow out for a month and then wax it.
Neither of those things sound like roads I want to go down.

Apparently, this horribly sensitive skin syndrome is hereditary because my sister is also afflicted with it.
Generally, we commiserate over our misfortune whenever we spend time together. It's one of our favorite topics.
However while visiting the homestead this weekend, she enlightened me with her new leg-shaving-regimen that had yielded great personal success for her and her limbs.
So I tried it.
The verdict?
I'm glad I listened to my sister.
The whole thing is actually quite ingenious and as a professional and licensed skincare provider, I'm a little ashamed that I didn't come up with it.
Oh well.

These are the supplies one needs to create your personal hair-removal Nirvana:

1). A sharp razor. Janie prefers the Gillette Venus Embrace. I'm more of a Mach3 kind of girl. I've just found that it works better for me. Whatever your poison, make sure that you install a new blade every 2 to 3 shaves. It sounds expensive, I know, but all the ice cream you'll be eating after your boyfriend dumps you because your legs look like something scary from outer space? That'll be expensive too.

2). A pumice stone.

3). Neutrogena Body Clear body scrub. I'm sure an alternative exists somewhere on the planet, but it's probably seven billion dollars and made from imported sea kelp from India, or something. You can buy this stuff at Target.

4). A good shaving cream. Or gel. Whatever. Dr. Bronner's is choice numero uno in my book. It's really the best thing that I've found, and it's organic and vegan. So, how can you lose? That's right. You can't.

What I generally do is bust out my razor in the middle of my shower, after the steam and warm water have softened my skin a little and opened my pores. Using the pumice stone and the body scrub together, I exfoliate my legs (note: this should not feel like little feathers kissing your skin. It will feel scratchy, but not painful. Or, at least, it shouldn't). Rinse, followed by shaving gel application and hair removal.

Aaaaannnnd...voila!
Smooth, shiny, non itchy legs.

I highly recommend using a moisturizer after toweling off. That way your skin doesn't die. My favorite? Kiehl's Creme de Corps. They also have a lightweight version, for those of us who don't have skin that is constantly dehydrated. But that's not me.

So, do you have the same leg-shaving dilemmas?
If your answer is "yes", try my crazy-awesome-no-razor-burn method.
If your answer is "no", well I guess you just read a whole post about leg-shaving for nothing, didn't you?

Regarding my lack of blogging activity

...apologies.

I've felt like total garbage for the past week or so.
Therefore, it's been difficult to find motivation to do anything but sleep and watch Sister Wives on-demand (seriously, why aren't you watching this show? It's a TRAIN WRECK.)

Give me a couple more days.
And send some happy thoughts my way.


see more Lolcats and funny pictures

BULLS#!T

Okay J.Crew.

I get it.
I get that every time you guys have a corporate meeting, priority numero uno is: "how can we make Molly's life suck exponentially more?"

A veritable gaggle of cashmere sweaters in new colors?
Maybe.

Seductive, feather-light silk shells that work under cardigans and blazers?
Slightly painful.

Creating a line of breathtaking wedding apparel when I have no need for such a thing?
Torture.

But this?
This latest stunt of yours?
Hilarious.

And not so much in a funny "ha ha ha" kind of way.
More like a funny "stab stab stab" way.

Seriously, J.Crew.
Making your factory store available ONLINE?
A bounty of beautifully constructed and moderately-priced classic fashion at my fingertips?
That's just low.
Even if it IS only on the weekends.

My bank account and I do not approve.

from here.

And neither does this sea turtle, apparently.

I Can Haz A Happy?

It's kind of been one of *those* days.
By that, I mean that it is 2:45 pm, and I'm already on my third venti black iced tea from Starbucks.

Yesterday, a coworker told me I looked "frumpy."
The conversation went something like this:

Coworker: You look frumpy today.
Me: Excuse me?
Coworker: Frumpy. That's a word, right?
Me: It is. But you clearly don't know what it means.
Coworker: I do, too! It means "casual."
Me: Perhaps you'd better look it up.
Coworker: goes to the computer and uses the magic of Teh Internets to discover the hidden meaning of the word "frumpy"
Me: Well?
Coworker:...yeah. Sorry about that.
Me: I thought so.
Coworker: You usually look really cute. Today is not just one of your best days.
Me: Just stop talking. Please.

Keep digging, buddy. Keep digging.

Primary annoyance in this instance = lack of vocabulary. Or, at the very least, an informed vocabulary.
Secondary annoyance = did I f-ing ask for your opinion? No? Okay then. Move along.
Tertiary annoyance = the fact that I did not, in fact, look frumpy. Casual, maybe. But NOT frumpy.

Moral of the story = don't use words unless you know what they mean. And don't tell girls (or anyone, for that matter) that they look unattractive, whether through the use of that word or any of it's constituents.*

*It should be said that this coworker is, in general, very sweet and complimentary to me. We have a relationship that one might liken to siblings. I think that perhaps it was just a case of not thinking before a mouth was opened. I'm not mad about it currently, but I was quite irked yesterday. It just wasn't one of this particular person's finer moments. Or, rather, one of their "better days."

Also, my boss insists upon using the term "beaver" or "puh-say" when referring to the female genitalia (trust me, in my line of work it's actually something that gets discussed regularly, though not for recreational purposes). I've told her many, MANY times that these words make me uncomfortable in that particular context. I don't understand why she can't simply use the phrase "bikini wax" or "Brazilian." Using those other phrases is a tad unprofessional in my eyes. And, if you KNOW that something makes one of your employees uncomfortable, wouldn't you do your best to make sure that they are comfortable, and therefore happy in their work environment?

Also also, I have a headache.

On the plus side, tomorrow is Saturday.
Which means that the next day is Sunday.
Which means the start of my three-day weekend AND that my sister is coming home.
I like this.

taken from here.
And I like that this is the little guy so cute.
How can you look at this picture and NOT smile?
That's right.
You can't.

I think my day is looking up.

Dear Friends

I am in a rut.
I'll be the first to admit.
Okay, maybe not the first. But, be that as it may, I am in a rut.

In every sense of the word, and in every sense of my life.

Observe:
Clothing- can a person be arrested or, at the very least, issued a citation for wearing nothing but American Apparel deep v-neck t's, Reef flip-flops, and skinny jeans? If the answer to that question is "yes", consider me screwed. And not in the fun way.

Food- my life is a consistent experiment in diet. Not the kind of diet where you lose weight through extreme measures (though the weight loss thing is certainly part of it). For me, it's more about finding the right combination of magical ingredients that allows my body to operate at it's best capacity. Summertime in Chicago is full of farmer's markets, bursting with beautiful produce that doesn't exist in the frozen tundra of The Midwest Winter. Have I taken advantage of this? Nope. Bananas and peanut butter abound in my culinary repertoire. I've also become quite adept at ordering a brown rice avocado roll with poise and grace.

Health- so, I'm not gonna sugar-coat it here: I've put on a little cushion this summer. Though certain people in my life will vehemently insist otherwise, the truth is that there is a little more than "a little more to love" stationed around my midsection (sidenote: why on earth can't I be one of those people who gains weight in, oh I don't know...MY ASS? Rather than my stomach? Full butt = sexy. Full stomach = not so much). My back hurts. I'm sore. I'm tired. Do we think it's time for an adjustment?

Creativity- As exemplified by the severe lack of posts in the last two months or so. I need more awesome music. I need more awesome books. I need more awesome movies. And maybe, just maybe, a more extensive vocabulary? Meh.

Basically, I need some help.
Suggestions?
I'm looking at you, Molly Elizabeth Page.

Wherein I Lose My Mind

Oh man.

I'm not going to lie: I kind of thought that this whole beauty school would be a little bit less stressful than traditional school. Actually, I thought it might be less stressful than, say... being force-fed snails while listening to a million babies crying.

You know what?

I WAS WRONG.

Soooooo wrong.


I mean, we're about to graduate. In high school, the four weeks before we graduated were awesome. And they were awesome because we didn't do a damn thing.
Because that is what one is supposed to do right before one graduates.

Not when you're me, apparently.

I have a HUGE makeup competition next Wednesday, which is not only a huge part of my grade but also a really important opportunity. And I need a model. And I still don't have one.
Anyone live in Chicago and not work and want to donate their Wednesday morning (and Tuesday night for a dry run-through) to get an awesome free makeup application to help me out?

Also: I'm doing makeup for THREE fashion shows between now and then end of April.

And I have to study for the state boards.

And find a job.

And pass my final.

And actually graduate.

And, at some point, find an opportunity to deal with the rest of my life.

Ay yay yay.
I know. I need to shut the hell up.

Because there are children in Haiti without parents and food and shelter, women dying of AIDS in huts in Africa, and lots of other horrible things happening in the world that trump my whining.
I know that.

But sometimes...

A girl just needs to yell.

You know?

PS: Crystal Bowersox kicks some SERIOUS American Idol @$$.

Once Upon a Time...

..there was a girl named Molly.
She worked two jobs and hated it. She never got enough sleep and felt stressed out constantly.

Then one day, someone told her about their job and he whole world changed; the loved what they did. Loved the people they worked with. Loved their boss. Loved their coworkers.
And best of all, it sounded like a job that Molly would be really, really good at.
Was this company hiring? she asked.
Her friend said that they were, and told Molly to e-mail her a resume.

So Molly did just that and a few days later, she got a call.
Can you come in for and interview? the person on the other end asked.

During her interview, Molly thought about working in this office. She thought about the people who might be her coworkers and what her job would be like and what her days would be filled with.
The number one thing about this job that appealed to Molly: it would be making the world a better place.
She had always wanted to make the world a better place, somehow.
Can you see yourself working here? they asked.
Yes. Yes she could.

Then there was another interview.
And a job-shadow.
And a third interview.
Throughout this experience, Molly learned more about the job- how it would help people and make their lives infinitely better. How there was a high need for communication and interaction with others on this particular occupation.
Molly liked that.
The people in the office were nice, friendly, and had good senses of humor.
Molly liked that, too.

So when they offered her a job, Molly of course said yes.
She was very excited.
She couldn't think of another job she'd rather have.
And it didn't hurt that they were paying her more than both her other jobs combined.

Molly adored her job.
It was the happiest she'd ever been.

Until yesterday.

Her boss called Molly into her office.

We have to let someone go.
We're not making enough money to pay the whole staff.
You were the last one hired.
We're sorry.

*Poof*

There went Molly's awesome job.
And her awesome paycheck.
And her awesome ability to help others.

So the question is....
Where do I go from here.
Because I'm not sure.

How does this story end?

Well, this is kind of upsetting.

I think that if I were more inclined to actually do work while at work, this probably wouldn't happen so much. However, my productivity is currently being thwarted by the fact that it's 78 degrees outside today with a nice breeze, and all I can think about is eating a fresh peach, drinking a Long Island iced tea, and then napping on the lawn. Because that's how I roll.

Once again, Facebook has managed to take what started out as a perfectly average day and blast it into a billion shards of depression-coated gloom. And not because someone posted an unflattering picture of me in a bathing suit or something (because we all know that I un-tag those bitches as soon as they go up. No, seriously).

Honestly Facebook, on most days you bring me great joy. Like when Molly and I exchange massive quantities of "Mean Girls" quotations via commenting on Sally's status. Or when Lara and Amber and I find personal satisfaction in stalking the profile of someone we mutually loathe for the sheer sake of giggling at pretentious pictures that are meant to make this person look "sexy" and "cool", but in actuality makes them look like a total dumbass. Good times, Facebook. Good times.

Although I'm sort of ashamed to admit this, I'll be totally honest and say that I've been keeping a very close eye on this whole "Jon and Kate" scandal thing. Possibly to a point that borders on unhealthy. But whatevs. It's a whole lot like a train wreck, except with adultery and not-so-cleverly veiled attempts at insulting each other on national television. What's not to adore? I will also be honest and say, however, that it's a little sad; both because we as an audience (myself definitely included) are so entertained by their heartache, and also because a family is dissolving. And that is always sad, regardless of whether certain people choose to complain about the media firestorm that they invited in to their lives or not.

Sidebar: Yeah, I know Kate comes off as a bitch. But 1). that does not give her husband the right to cheat on her. Even if she beat him with barbed wire every single night, that doesn't mean that Jon's allowed to go out and get some from someone else. It doesn't work that way. You get a divorce, file a restraining order, and then sleep around. And 2). the woman has eight kids, for crying out loud. Do you have eight kids? I don't have eight kids. I don't even know anyone who has eight kids. And even if I did, I am most certain that two of them would be one age, and the rest of them would all be another. Even the other crazy woman on TLC that has 18 kids doesn't have six of them that are THE SAME AGE. Ergo, we as observers cannot say how a mother would or should act in this situation. All the icky tanning and weird haircuts and free shit and diva-like behavior aside, Kate might be allowed to raise her voice once in a while. Mmmkay?

So anyway, due to my present state of overdose on TLC (whom I wholeheartedly thank for running a Jon and Kate plus 8" marathon all. weekend. long), anything realated to the TV show catches my eye. Case and point: I currently have not one but THREE different trashy magazines with the cover story sitting on my counnter at home. No joke. It's becoming a problem.

During my ritualistic perusal of Facebook every ten minutes today, my newsfeed informed me that one of my "friends" (read: person I went to school with and do not necessarily dislike in any way, but never see in person) took one of those stupid quiz deals where it's supposed to tell you what kind of "something" you are. Normally, I just breeze right over in favor of discovering who is "no longer liste and single" and who "ended their relationship." Oh, and also because I don't really give a shit about what kind of Greek God you would supposedly be based on a series of overly-banal questions. But this particular quiz...this particular quiz was entitled "Which Jon and Kate plus 8 character are you?"

I have several issues with this in that these are not characters, THEY ARE ACTUAL PEOPLE...but...you know. It's cool. That and the fact that isn't it a little demeaning to the individuals themselves to reduce them to definitions consisting of options A through D and Yes or No questions? Not to mention pretty pointless.

But alas, Jon, Kate and their 8 beckoned me, so glance at the results I did. This person was supposedly Mady. My first reaction was "oh my god I can't stand Mady," which is true. The show portrays her as needy and selifsh and kind of an attention hog (notice I didn't use the traditional word "whore" here, as I felt that it might be in poor taste when talking about a seven year-old. See? I do have morals). Just annoying and dramatic in general.

And then, in a momentay lapse of sanity, I considered where I would fit into the mix, were I in fact a child and a pre-existing one belonging to Jon and Kate. It was in this brief, fleeting moment I came to this realization: I would totally be Mady.

Which sucks.

It would be at this point in my diatribe that I allow myself to choose whether I want to be the pot, or the kettle.

My sister will be the first to tell you that I was a *tad* bit dramatic as a child. And needy. And selfish. And an attention WHORE (see? Appropriate usage here because I am not seven). Also, annoying.

I would be the second person to tell you all those things.

There might even be a video somewhere that involves me in a tutu, spinning and singing for the camcorder, my brother interrupting me by trying to get my mother (aka the cameraman) to pay attention to him, me shoving him off-screen and yelling "get out of my SPOTLIGHT."

Oh, how I wish I were kidding.

I like to think I've matured a little bit since then, but I still see shades of my former brat self now and again. For example: umm....this blog? But I've also gotten to the point where it doesn't send me into a heinous downward self-esteem spiral when someone focuses on something besides me or what I'm doing. In fact, I kind of like it sometimes. Go figure.

Maybe I thought that I was so far beyond my former self that I had the right to judge others with the same afflictions. Clearly, this is not the case- I am neither totally uninhibited by my center-of-attention-ness, nor do I have the right to judge someone else who exhibits the same habits. Least of all a child who lives her life around television cameras and paparrazi.

I read somewhere once (maybe my AP Psych textbook...hey Ms. Rosenthal! I was paying attention that day instead of flirting with the boy behind me) that the reason we dislike the people we dislike is because they display through mirrored-image the traits that we most despise about ourselves.

I'll try to remember that next time I'm judging someone.

The operative word here being, of course, *try*.

A letter from the edge

You may have been wondering where I am. Probably not, though.
I certainly have.

Let me break it down for you:

-Pink eye (now complete with BOTH eyes!)
-Unpacking
-Work
-Health insurance malfunctions
-Trying not to freak out


I'm coming back.
Just not today.

PS- I also might be wearing yoga pants to work today. Because I'm a professional.
Sorry Lara.

Some people are just stupid

Really.

So, in a previous post I discussed my love for Mommy Blogs.

On the list of ones I love dearly is that belonging to cjane.

You should read her stuff sometime. She's really quite talented.

So talented, in fact, that someone (or several someones?) have been stealing her work.

You can read the details here, here, here and here.

I'm kind of amazed (but not really because of who she is and how many people clearly adore her) that so many of us have rallied to stop this crazy from infecting the blogosphere.

Sidenote: bloggers can be MEAN when one of their own has been wronged. I love it.

The offensive blogs in question have since been removed.

I'm sure I've been inspired in reading Courtney's posts to write some of my own.

I'm sure that others have inspired me to do the same, as well.

But the result has been my own.

Something I created.

My ideas have always been my own, even if someone else helped me get there.

Because isn't that kind of the point of all of this?

Never, never have I stolen a whole entire post.

And never would I be moronic enough to do it from one of the most well-known writers on the internet.

I'm also probably guilty of maybe posting a photo and not giving proper credit to my source.

Lesson learned.

I mean, duh people.

Come one.

How dumb does one (or a couple, for that matter) person get?

Also: not that this would ever happen because I have about 3.68 readers.

But.

If someone ever did that to me?

It would be Hammer Time.

Fo' shiz.

I'm going to drink the rest of my blueberry jasmine green tea now.

Thank you, and good day.

Edit: In second guessing myself, as I am wont to do, I've combed over my previous posts to make sure that I'm not a jerkface like *some* people.

I don't think I am, let me just say right now.

As an English major and seasoned writer myself, I'm pretty good about that sort of thing.

Do unto others, and whatnot.

But just to be safe.

Because no one like a hypocrite.

Least of all, a sarcastic one.

There's something I need to say

"I would be remiss if I didn't mention wanting to punch the universe in the mouth right now.

Really hard."

Thanks, Whoorl.

So, I will preface what I am about to write by saying that I am not a mother. Not unless you count my cat (plural now that I am cohabitating with another person), but I don't get to count him as a tax deduction so for our purposes today he will not be considered my offspring.

No I'm not a mother. But I know mothers. I have a mother. And I love mothers.

Occaisionally, I read Mommy Blogs even though I'm not a Mommy Blogger. I also hate the term "Mommy Blogger" because I think it's slightly derogatory. Like, "Oh, is that all you do? Raise children and write on a blog. Hah." Do not mistake, people: keeping up with a blog is h-a-r-d. I've heard that raising a child can be mildly challenging, as well. So the combination of the two is most likely somewhat of a task.

I guess I read blogs written by mothers because it moves me to see how much one person can be inspired by something that they love so deeply. They paint such a clear picture of the beauty and depth of this world, even though this world seems very ugly and shallow at times.

The best example of this is Nie Nie.

She was my first foray into the world of Mommy Blogs. I found her little piece of the internent though a link on MSN (of all things...this was back in the days when MSN was my end-all, be-all of popular culture...gross) that was part of an article describing her horrific crash and how the world rallied around her after news of it got out; people donated money, food, gifts, time...anything that they could contribute.

I am, despite my sarcastic and sometimes cynical hard-candy coating, a gooey-centered individual with a penchant for human-interest stories. This little blurb drew me to Stephanie Nielson's blog, and into her beautiful life.

From there, I found her sister Courtney's blog that narrated her own life as a mother of one small child, and then as mother to her sister's four children while their parents were recovering from their injuries sustained in the plane crash.

After that, there was Dooce and Anything Said, and Gorillabuns.

All of these women have children, yes. But make no mistake: they are not defined by being mothers.
They are defined by the person motherhood has made them become.
Each and every one of them discusses often and at length the changes having children in their lives has brought upon them. It's difficult, yes. There aren't any lies about how seamless and easy motherhood is (I know this because I babysat every kid on my parents block...maybe it's not quite the same but it's my only point of reference here). But being around young, inexperienced minds seems to add a different sort of clarity to life.

Maybe I'm just a big dork because of all this.
Whatever.
There's a point to what I'm saying.

A few days ago, Melinda from Anything Said wrote a brief post about how Shana from Gorillabuns had tragically lost her infant son, Thalon.
As I read the original post, the comments, and all the subsequent posts linked to the first, I started to cry (yes, at work again. Lara is going to fire me).
Like I said, I realize I'm not a mother.
But when I think about how I would lay down in oncoming traffic for Sophie and Ethan, who are my cousins and NOT my children, it proves to me that the power of being a parent is real and not just something people make up to project an image of domestic bliss.

And it is with this thought in my head that I cannot even imagine what it is like to be Shana right now.
I don't know her.
And she sure as hell doesn't know me.
I've never commented on her blog or linked it or officially followed it or anything like that.
It was just a peek into a life that didn't belong to me, narrated through a funny and intelligent voice.
And that's the other thing: I think everyone expects mothers, particularly ones with small children to be all about Gymboree and diapers and graham crackers. But read these blogs and you will be amazed, as I was.

The problem I've always had with organized religions is that many of them put their faith in one entity. Which I'm sure gives people comfort, but is also really scary if you think about. One being. One being for all these people.
I know that God or whatever you choose to call it is supposed to be omnipotent and doesn't make mistakes. That there's a big plan and everything happens for a reason or whatever.
But a plan that involves taking someone's child away from them?
A plan that causes someone so much emotional pain they can't breathe?
A plan that allows someone to create a life through love and happiness, bring it into this world, only to have it taken away from them before they really had a chance to show it the full measure of everything this world has to offer, thereby leaving this person to feel like they've done something wrong?

That is a plan I cannot support.

Because the point is that bad shit happens.
And sometimes there's nothing we can do about it.
More often than not, the awful things that happen to us make us stronger and more determined people.
But sometimes...sometimes the things that happen to us are so painful that they don't make us stronger. They tear us apart and we're never completely whole again.
When we did nothing to deserve them.
And there are those who would try to tell me that something planned for all of this? That there's a bigger scheme out there that involves to total and utter destruction of a person's character?

How is that fair?

Oh wait. It's not.
Not to Shana, not to Thalon, not to anyone who has ever had to deal with the kind of pain that only that kind of loss can bring.

I know that this is usually a venue for me to sit and talk about how I ate too many cookies or my car blew up or something like that.
But occasionally, it becomes necessary for me to say these kinds of things. Because they're important to me, and they should be important to you too.
I'm not trying to offend anyone (all four of you who are reading this).
Sometimes, certain things just need to be said. And quite often, I'm the one saying them even though I probably shouldn't.

I'm going to step off my soapbox now.

Dear Spring

I really love your warm weather.
Really.
Days like today put me in good moods and make me hopeful that the months in which you will take up permanent residence here in the Midwest are just around the corner.
However.
This whole allergy thing?
Killing me.
Dry eyes, runny nose, sneezing, coughing...do I sound like a NyQuil commercial yet?
What are you trying to do to me, Spring.
Do you not want me to enjoy your sunny, mild days with the wind in my hair and flip-flops on my feet?
Seriously.
This totally sucks.
As such, I'm submitting an official request:
The cessation of any and all assassination attempts henceforth would be greatly appreciated.
Have a wonderful evening and a pleasant tomorrow.

Love-
Me

C'mon baby, light my fire.

Didn't I just post about how much I despise The Doors?
Oops.


I guess it's time to talk about last Friday.
I feel like I've told the story a billion different times (which is not exactly untrue, if we're being honest).
But, I think it's important to record the play-by-play so that next time my car decides that it wants to burst into flames, I have evidential proof that lightening does in fact strike twice.

Note: although the car in question technically refers to one that was actually my sister's at on point in time, it was my car first, and in my possession at the time of it's demise. Therefore, the usage of "my car" shall henceforth apply to the automobile as it is mentioned in to proceedings below.

Okay.
Here goes.

Friday December 5, 2008

9 pm
Molly and Lara depart from Springfield, thus beginning their trek across the vast expanse of interstate 55 in order to make their way to Chicago and, ultimately, Molly's parent's home.

10 pm
Molly and Lara stop to use the restroom in a gas station near Pontiac, IL.
Discover toilets look as thought they may be carrying a new strain of the Ebola virus.
Are forced to review the fine art of "hovering."

10:45 pm
Molly and Lara pass the Exxon/Mobile power plant just outside of Braidwood.
Notice a burning rubber/sulfur smell.
Turn off heat, thereby making the smell disappear.

10:57 pm
Molly and Lara decide they are cold.
Turn heat back on.
Nasty smell returns, however now the car is surrounded by semi-trucks.
Molly observes the temperature gauge on the dashboard to ensure that the smell is not one that indicates that something is wrong with her vehicle (i.e. overheating).
The gauge remains stable, if a little on the "cold" side.
Decide the smell must be the result of exhaust from other cars.
Turn the heat back off.
Smell disappears, once again.

11:04 pm
Although the heat is still off, the smell returns.
With gusto.
Molly and Lara being choking on the fumes and decide that this is what the showers at Auschwitz must feel like.
Molly decides that they will take the upcoming exit (approximately 1/2 mile) , pull into a gas station, and call AAA to investigate the problem.

The temperature gauge remains the same.

11:05 pm
Molly picks up her cell phone to call her mother in order to inform her that she and Lara will be later than expected, as they are experiencing some minor technical difficulties.

11:06 pm
Black smoke begins to pour from the ventilation system.
Lara: Molly, maybe we should pull over now.

11:07 pm
Molly pulls over on to the shoulder, still in the process of calling her mother.
Three things now happen simultaneously: 1). As Molly shifts the car into "park" 2). her mom answers the phone call which Molly has now totally forgotten about because 3). she looks down and notices that the radio, clock, and entire center console are orange and producing smoke.

11:07:36 pm
Um, Mom? My car's on fire. I have to call you back.
Click.

11:08 pm
Molly: Lara, we need to get out of the car.
For some reason, Molly has the state-of-mind to remove her keys from the ignition and hang on to her phone as they are evacuating.
She also glances down at the temperature gauge one last time.
It is the same.

11:08:16 pm
Our heroines realize that it is December, and therefore 19 degrees outside, and return to the car for their coats. Subsequently, they are able to reach the rest of their belongings including a purse, duffel bag, and miscellaneous bag each.
The continue to evacuate south of the vehicle, and turn around just in time to see flames shooting out of the front end, including underneath the hood.

11:09 pm
Molly places a call to 911.
911 operator: 911, what's your emergency?
Molly: Yeah. So, I'm on I-55, just south of exit 253 and my car's on fire.
911 operator: Oh my god. Are you serious?
Molly: Um, yes? My car. It just burst into flames.
911 operator: Is anyone hurt?
Molly: Nope.
911 operator: Are you a safe distance from the car?
Molly: You betcha. But, you might wanna send some firemen or something. It's pretty out of control.
911 operator: Right. They're on their way.
Molly: Super. Thanks a bunch!

11:10 pm
Molly's phone rings.
Ruth: Didn't anyone ever tell you that you can't call someone, tell them you're car is on fire, and then hang up on them?! Are you okay? Stay where you are. We're coming to get you. Hold on, your father wants to talk to you.
Ray: muffled sounds as the phone quickly exchanges hands Molly, do not panic. Do you hear me? DO. NOT. PANIC.
Molly: Really Dad, we're fine.
Ray: Just CALM DOWN.
Molly: Dad, I'm totally calm. Honestly. Cool as a cucumber.
Ray: Stop freaking out!
Molly: Not freaking out. But I should probably go. 911 is calling me back.

11:12 pm
The car is totally engulfed in flames.
Molly and Lara watch from a safe distance.
They then look at each other, and start to laugh hysterically.
Molly wonders secretly if the temperature gauge has moved at all, and contemplates going to check it despite the towering inferno in front of her.

11:13 pm
Something pops, sparks fly.
She reconsiders.

11:27 pm
Firefighters, ambulances, and the Illinois State Police arrive on the scene.

11:29 pm
A friendly state trooper lets Molly and Lara sit in the back of his warm squad car as he takes their statements.
Molly remarks that this is the only time she's ever been in the back of a police car.
She and Lara cannot stop giggling.
Are sure that the trooper thinks they're on drugs.

11:45 pm
Molly's Uncle Dave, who is a policeman 10 minutes south of the...scene...arrives.
He takes one look at the car and explodes into fits of laughter.
Says he will sit with the girls until Ray and Ruth arrive to pick them up.

12:01 am
Fire is extinguished.
Official statement is complete, including a copy for Molly's own personal memorabilia.
The girls exit the squad car in favor of Uncle Dave's car.
They drive to exit 253 and pull into a parking lot to wait for Molly's parents.

1:15 am
Ray and Ruth arrive.
They begin the drive to Chicago with Molly and Lara as passengers.
Remark that their passengers smell like burning car.

2:30 am
The four weary travelers arrive at Molly's childhood home.
Ray and Ruth depart for bed.
Molly and Lara shower in an attempt to remove the burning car smell from their hair.

3:05 am
Sleep


Special thanks to:
My parents, for not having massive coronaries and driving and hour and 15 minutes in the freezing cold to rescue us.
My Uncle David, for being on the ball, driving really fast, knowing "cop-speak", and sitting with us so we didn't have to go to the police station.
Lara, for still being my friend even though my car tried to kill us.
The good people at Ford, for making such a fine automobile.
Fabreeze, for doing it's job and getting *the smell* out of our coats.

RIP:
Our gloves
My dress pants
the Taylor Swift CD
Assorted pieces of paper and Tupperware.

Other highlights include:
My brother calling to ask if my near-death experienced had given me a "new perspective on life", my sister crying when I told her about the incident NOT because her sister could have been seriously injured and/or killed but because the car was now a steaming pile of metal, realizing that we don't have that kind of insurance coverage on the car, and my mother trying to explain the situation to my grandparents the next morning (really amusing, let me tell you).

In retrospect, if my car had to blow up this was the best possible scenario for it.
Did I really just type that?
We weren't in a residential area. We were able to get all of our important belongings out in time. Neither of us were injured.
If we had pulled over any sooner, it most certainly would have to a gas station because those are really the only well-lit areas off of the interstate, especially at 11 pm. And, according to the fire department, there was no way to prevent the fire. It was going to happen no matter what we'd done.
I don't even want to think about the possibility of being at a gas station when it happened. That's just scary.
If we had pulled over at a later time than we actually did... let's not even talk about it.
Normally I bring laundry home. Not to mention the fact that we were supposed to drive to Champaign to pick up Janie's bicycle. There would've been no way for us to get either of those things out in time, which means that we would've either injured ourselves trying to do so, or lost them. I mean, material possessions...but still. Minimum loss.
I also considered bringing the cat home with me because he gets antsy and lonely when I leave him for long periods of time. If he had been in the car, well...
I don't even want to think about that, either.

Not to mention, if my sister had been driving I can tell you right now that she definitely would not have been as cautious as we were.
She never freaks out about anything. Ever.
Always very level-headed, that one.
She's almost totally calm all the time, until you place her in an extremely high-stress situation (par exemple: when one's car catches on fire while one is driving it). Then she melts down and doesn't know what to do.
Or, she would've ignored the warning signs and continued driving because I am far more paranoid than she is.
For once it paid off, I guess.

You might call this the best worst situation possible.


Also, my mother told me the next day that when I initially called her and said "my car is on fire", she assumed I was exaggerating (as I am wont to do on certain occaisions). It was only when sahe spoke with my uncle, who coroberated my story, that she realized the magnitude of the situation.
But, let's be serious people. Yes, I exaggerate sometimes. It's a theatre thing.
However, when I exaggerate, it's about my need for new shoes, my weight, or my current GPA.
Never have I once produced an exaggeration that involved fire. Let alone a fire that necessitates my parents leaving the warmth of their bed and driving and hour and 15 minutes in the middle of the night. In December, no less.

So, let this be a lesson to all.
If I call you and tell you that something is on fire?
Well, you'd freaking better believe that it's acutually, you know...
on fire.

As if things weren't bad enough...

Remember how my laptop was assassinated?
Remember how after my laptop was assassinated, I got a speeding ticket?

Well tonight on the way from Springfield to my parent's house my car caught on fire.

And, all of this within the last five days.

Worst.
Week.
EVER.

No, you didn't read that last sentence incorrectly.
It caught on fire.

And not a tiny little insignificant someone-didn't-put-their-cigarette-properly-kind-of-fire.

The whole entire car spontaneously combusted.

It's actually a pretty amusing story.
That I will tell at a date in the very near future.
But not right now.
Because Lara and I are currently trying to get over our smoke and burning gasoline/plastic inhalation-related injuries.

But other than that, we're fine.
We managed to get all of our bags, coats, and our purses out of the backseat.
My Express Editor black dress pants, on the other hand?

Let's just say that I may need to do some shopping tomorrow.