Restless Monday

I hate when you're talking to someone and they make some comment you gloss over and then hours later you're like WAIT A SECOND... was what they said TOTALLY bitchy and passive-aggressive???? 

I am so ready to get out of here. Here meaning this job as well as this place. So. Ready. Hurry up already, I'm done with all of this. I want to move on. 162 days. I'm also currently pissed off it's only 19 degrees here (okay fine, 30, but feels like 19)

The last This American Life I was half listening to (it wasn't that good) was about people's plan B's. The gist of this episode was how life never turns out the way you planned it. At my count, I think I might be on Plan D or E at this point, so I figure I'm getting closer to where I'm supposed to be.  I might not exactly know what I want to do, but I do know what I don't want to do, and I suppose that's better than not knowing anything. Right? RIGHT?!

I'm restless today. More so than usual. One week until Europe... ! Aaaaaaaaaaand I booked a ticket to go back to IL Memorial Day weekend! This is currently the longest I have been away from Illinois. 

Things I have been thinking about a lot: hot summer days on the deck in Schaumburg, sunshine so bright it causes you to lose vision when you go inside, the scent of tomato plants, days when it is warm even when it's windy, sundresses, sandals, oh dear god how isn't it spring yet

Tim, you know "T", my wonderful boyfriend, made some crayon rings that have been generating a lot of "buzz" in the "blogosphere," you know, just making the "blog rounds." But seriously, they are really cute and clever, so you should go look at them here and here and then go buy some here. I would post this picture I have of him working on said crayon rings but unfortunately, he also has my camera. Tim, you better not have deleted that picture. Or else. 

PS: I'm sorry I used the term "blogosphere" 

PPS: I figured I would stop using "T" on this blog since you know, the link I just put up kind of gives away Tim's real life identity. Not that enough people read this to make that important or relevant. Whatevs.

PPPS: Not that Tim or Michelle are particularly uncommon names, but Michelle is also dating a Tim and sometimes that confuses me.

PPPPS: I filed my federal taxes today and I am getting a refund for the first time ever. HIGH FIVE. Making no money by volunteering full time DOES pay after all! 

Today is especially dull

• So I assume you have read somewhere that Kenley from Project Runway was arrested for assaulting her ex-fiance with a cat, a laptop, and three apples, BUT today I found out his name is Zac Penley. Would her name have been Kenley Penley??????? This engagement needs to be back on and this wedding needs to happen.
  
• Today was medical residency match day, which is suspiciously akin to sorority bid day. You rank them... they rank you.. and then you gather and all open your envelopes at the same time. There's crying, there's screaming, there's disappointment, there's matching tshirts and sisterssssssssss (okay, last part only true for one of them)
• Speaking of sisters, I kind of miss mine. Lame, I know.

old pictures

I connected my iphone to my work computer today and it automatically transfered all the pictures. Here are some gems I found:

1. A note from the Best Buy at the corner of Mass Ave and Newbury.. I found this hilarious. Were the employees using the vacuums to vacuum or for more sinister things? I don't know. I don't want to know.


2. Me squishing Joey's face at a Target this past summer because he couldn't make the fishy face himself. Also, he happens to be obsessed with looking at pictures of himself. This kid is going to LOVE facebook.


3. The OG, Kirby. I swear, if I come home one day and it turns out that Kirby is dead and no one bothered to tell me (note: this happened in college), my sister is going to get the beating of a lifetime (note: she would kick my ass).


4. CHRIS MARTIN HIMSELF proposing to S outside of a random Italian Eatery. That's right everyone. It happened, and I have proof. Chris liked it and he was going to put a ring on it but turns out she hates him. A common story.

A normal day in the gauche life

• 7:30 alarm on iphone goes off. For those curious, it is the "Bell Tower" ring
  
• Without looking or picking up the phone, poke at screen until the snooze button is deployed and those infernal bells stop ringing
• Nine minutes elapse; alarm goes off again
• Repeat previous two steps until satisfied (note: this will range from 45 minutes to an hour)
• Note background headache. Take three ibuprofin.
• Shower in scalding water, stare at the tile, and wonder if I can come up with an excuse to miss work.
• Stand in the kitchen and wonder if I can come up with an excuse for breakfast
• Stand in front of my closet and wonder if I can come up with an excuse for an outfit
• Leave apartment without breakfast, but with outfit.
• Listen to "This American Life" podcast while going to work
• Make sure to stand in sunlight at the T station
• Get to work. Stare dully at the computer.
• Read work email. Mostly comprised of emails from Netflix. 
• Drink a gigantic mug of tea
• Stare dully at the computer
• Stare longingly out the window
• Compulsively go through Google Reader. She is a demanding mistress.
• Also visit Twitter, Tumblr, and facebook. Compulsively recheck several times an hour.
• Email volunteers re: your schedule, teachers re: their needs, and businesses re: volunteering days . Wait several days for their replies.
• Get cornered by my boss, listen to him talk about things we already talked about."I'm just thinking out loud here..."
• Recheck Google Reader/Twitter/Tumblr/FB.
• Look through vague acquaintances' FB pictures. 
• Wonder why girls are obsessed with how thin their arms look and why they feel free to comment on that openly. 
• Wonder if I could be construed as an internet stalker
• Subscribe to more RSS feeds/Twitters/Tumblrs because dear God, I need to be amused
• Eat Robin Eggs/Gummi bears/candy I found in my desk until I feel sick. 
• Tumble at my own discretion. Today: James Franco. 
• Note background headache. Take three ibuprofin.
  
• Force myself to go outside to get food. Continue listening to "This American Life." Alternately think: oh it's so warm, god I hate Chinatown, why won't you walk faster, fuck it's still cold, and why is Ira Glass's voice so irritating / soothing.
• Check Gmail, because I have been waiting for this moment all day!
• Disappointment: out of 25 emails, 17 are from JCrew telling me there is 20% off of Final Sale LAST DAY!! and the rest are trying to trick me into spending money. Delete all of them. How dare you expose my inadequacies, Gmail??!?
• Idly Gchat
• Recheck Google Reader/Twitter/Tumblr/FB.
  
• Drink another gigantic mug of tea
• Think to myself, "Self, you should update your blog"
• Open Blogger dashboard. Think to self, "if this is called blogger, why is the web address on blogspot?"
• Create several new posts, each one with a different rambling topic. Deleted or archive all of them, because they are idiotic.
• Post something meaningful yet meaningless on blog
• Recheck Google Reader/Twit/Tumblr/FB.
  
• Repeat until escape
• Continue listening to "This American Life."
• Get home. Check mail. Change into PJs. Eat bowl of pasta
• Lie down. Take three hour nap
• Note background headache. Take three ibuprofin.
  
• Watch basic cable while wrapped in 4 blankets, even though it is warmish outside
• Give up on basic cable (can't understand Telemundo and hate Everybody Loves Raymond), read in bed for two hours.
• Note background headache. Go to bed at 11.

Smarch lives on

Without fail, Smarch reminds me of McBones, the scrumpiest friend I have. Hi TN, if you read this, I miss you and our bantering. I also miss Haribo Smurfs candy, and drinking on the Seine, but that is a different story for a different blog post. 

There is the Scrumpster himself, pouting in Rome no doubt because his gelato fell off the cone or because we had to go see yet another art museum or because his anti-frizz serum no longer worked. 

Smarch is half over. We did it! Hoorayyyyyyy now let's take a nap.

PS: I happened to post this at 4:20pm. COINCIDENCE? I think not.

question

is it racist when people say, "i'm gettin my hair did"?

extra racism points if the person they are talking to follows up with "mmmmHMMMM"

circle one:

yes / no / michelle, you're an idiot

GIANT CHEETOS

Something wonderful happened to me today while I was in Shaw's...

I happened upon these
Obviously, in the name of curiosity and puffed cheese love, I had to buy them. Also, they were on sale, so win-win-win situation.

I barely contained myself from ripping open the bag in the store, in fact, I made it all the way until 15 seconds after I got in the door to the apartment...

OH MY. These balls are gigantic (please be thinking "thats what she said" in your mind right now). After I ate about 5, I was actually full. I mean, these almost don't fit in your mouth, they're so big (TWSS), and they kind of hurt your jaw to chew (TWSS?), but they are delicious!



Unbelievable. Many thanks to Chester Cheetah for inventing these and helping me achieve my goal of morbid obesity.

Leggings ≠ Pants

I would like to take this opportunity to apologize for anyone that I ever made fun of because they were wearing leggings. I now understand that wearing leggings is a fat mess tactic, and is a way to remain decently clothed in stretch fabric while avoiding the donning of actual pants that would hamper your fat mess quotient. That being said, I would also like to take this opportunity to declare three things: 

1. If you are wearing leggings as actual pants (eg: your crotch is not covered), you are wrong and I can no longer respect you. Listen. There have to be boundaries. Leggings are not pants. 
2. Opaque tights are NOT leggings. Seriously. You can still see through opaque tights. That is why they are tights, and not leggings. Tights are not leggings. And once again, leggings are not pants. If you think this should lead you to the conclusion that tights ARE pants, I regretfully inform you that you are stupid.
   
3. In especially bad form is: white leggings as pants, and panty lines of any sort while donning leggings as pants (if you're going to do it, can you at least put some effort into it?)

Now that I have let you know these things, college students of Boston, please stop making me want to claw out my own eyes, I don't even care about the uggs anymore, just "check" yourself before you "wreck" yourself. Thaaaaaaaaaanks. 

(PS: I was going to include pictures in this post, but after browsing google images, I am too angry to post them)

My dad asked for my mailing address a while ago, and I was kind of confused. 

A few weeks later, some flowers appeared.

Today, I picked up a package at the post office. Inside were these: 

They are a series of keychains you could buy from Mister Donut (in Taiwan) after buying whatever dozen of donuts. I have two Pon de Lions, an Erimaki Fashioned (with an old-fashioned donut around his head?), a French Wooler (which is such a great name / pun), a Churrolina-Tonakaina (a deer with churro antlers), and a Chocoringuma (a monkey with chocolate donut ears?). Actually, on closer look, they might be cell phone charms.

The ones pictured are two Butter Lion pencils (also an excellent name), the Angel da Zou (elephant), and the Honey Shippo (the squirrel)

My dad is hilarious. And kind of awesome. 

This is how I feel today. Well, everyday. 

youth ruined

So one of my favorite songs in high school was The Boy With the Arab Strap by Belle and Sebastian. Favorite favorite favorite.

Tonight, I was watching the trailer for this movie with Joseph Gordon Levitt and Zooey Deschanel called 500 Days of Summer (which looks kind of cute in that indie love story way), and I ended up reading an interview with the director about the music in the movie, which lead me to finding out what an arab strap really was.

Glad 16 year old me did not pick up on that.

over caffeinated.

Spelling the word caffeine gives me a lot of trouble. Isn't it supposed to be "i before e except after c"? uhmmm when did i become a simpleton? Wait, is that question mark supposed to be in the quotations or out of the quotations? I feel like it should be out of the quotations, because... the quote isn't the question? I need to go back to school, my brain is rotting. 

Now that I have told you about my lack of grammar knowledge, here is a story I copyread  for our newspaper last Thursday :

So I should feel better than I am not as inept as this writer, who consistently enrages me, as apparently, he has never heard of this concept called "proofreading your article after you are done writing the worst piece of shit ever. "

So a nice thing about working in chinatown is that you dont have to be nice to ANYONE. Seriously. Don't do it. If you are nice to anyone, they will take advantage of you by cutting in front of you in line, spitting in your vicinity, and blowing their cigarette smoke in your face. Asians do not tolerate such weakness. 

I am in the process of moving my part from the left side to the right side. It makes me feel kinda funny, like when we used to climb the rope in gym class. Just kidding, I could never climb the rope in gym class. Seriously. By the way, if you haven't seen me recently, my hair is terrifyingly long. T told me I'm just making bald people feel bad. 

I have done an amazing amount of no work today, even more so than usual. Highlights of the work day so far include: a coffee at Au Bon Pain, writing in my journal, realizing that everyone just got twitter (made possible through my white twin's facebook), immediately following everyone on twitter, and just now, eating a banana. I am amazing. 

Apt 401 residents

The City of Boston just sent out its annual resident listing.

Addressed to the "K---- Family," the notice inside lists two residents of apartment 401:

1. Me, a female, DOB: 12/29
2. S, a male, DOB: 01/01/1960
   

So congrats to S, who is now a sketchy 49 year old man living with a 24 year old female. The male version of S is so obviously a player.

Would you believe I fell in love over episodes of How It's Made and Sunday evening naps on the couch?

Well, I did.