The Fur Realz

It Didn't Go Well

2011-06-13T14:34:00.005-04:00

From: Midge
Sent: Thursday, June 09, 2011 9:54 AM
To: TGG
Subject: Scuttlebut

Dear Friend,

You were sorely missed last night at Ducali's. However, a rumor is going around that you might in fact be bad luck to watch the games with. How this started, I do not know. I think it's just vicious scuttlebut though.

Xoxo,
Mrs. Stanley Cup

******

From: TGG
Sent: Thursday, June 09, 2011 10:26 AM
To: Midge
Subject: Re: Scuttlebut

First and foremost, I’d like to congratulate you on your marriage to Mr. Stanley Cup. Though some might find it old fashioned to not only take your husband’s name, but to refer to yourself with his first name, I respect your adherence to tradition.
Secondly, I regret to inform you that there may be some truth to the accusations. That I may be a bad luck charm (also known as a “Gooch”) for the Bruins may be the terrible truth. The evidence is overwhelming.

Game 1: I watch most of the game with my boyfriend. This has more to do with being near said boyfriend to poke at him and bother him while he watches sports. Also it’s a good chance to give myself a long-awaited pedicure without missing precious moments of real entertainment, like a historical documentary. Bruins lose.

Game 2: I watch a good chunk of the game at a bar in Natick named for a fat, stupid baseball player, so revered by the locals even though he makes it clear that he doesn’t give a sh*t what jersey he wears as long as the team pays him enough to have a tacky-colored house in Weston, but with delicious hors d’ouevers (I have no f*ing clue how to spell that) (to be clear, the restaurant has good food, not the baseball player). Bruins lose.

Game 3: I forget the game is happening and sit on my couch watching Lee and Grant, a Civil War documentary on the History Channel that I have already watched twice. I go to bed at 9pm and request that aforementioned boyfriend text me at the end of the game so that when I wake up for work in the morning I can know without going through the 45 seconds of boredom involved in checking the ESPN Scorecenter app on my phone. I am asleep by 9:30, dreaming about Jon Hamm being my sexy landlord. Bruins win!

Game 4: I ignore the requests of my three best friends in Boston to join them at a bar I love because I have so stupidly over scheduled myself this week that Wednesday is the only night I have free to run the idiotic errands necessary for me to not be gross. This includes buying lotion and shampoo so I am not ashy or greasy, getting groceries so I don’t just eat peanut butter cups for dinner all week, and cleaning out the interior of my car which smelled of B.O. so badly I had flashbacks of my late-blooming adolescent years (to be clear, I have since embraced the need for deodorant handily. The smell was from Boyfriend using my car on that swamp-crotch-inducing hot day last week). Also, I have not been paid in 29 days and do not care for that little negative symbol in front of my bank account’s balance. I thought it prudent to avoid situations in which I drink too much and think I’m richer than I am. Those happen all too often and champagne does not mix well with beer. I spend the time of the game switching between Fried Green Tomatoes- which I have seen no less than 30 times and never fails to make me sob- and My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding- recommended by aforementioned best friends and which makes me happy to know that America isn’t the only country with a white trash problem. Bruins win!

So, my dear Mrs. Cup, you can see the reason for my dismay; the Gooch allegations leveled against me have some merit. I sincerely appreciate your defense of me and scuttlebutt replies to the rumors. It is good to know that I have a friend in power still standing beside me. As a woman of great wisdom, particularly in the hockey realm, I beg for your opinion in my current quandary. That is: on Friday I will be joining a group of people for some patio boozing in celebration of a dear friend, Alli. As we are in Boston and law prohibits any bar from having fewer than 8 televisions tuned to some sort of local sport at all times, we are bound to be in the presence of a broadcast of the game. I implore you, Mrs. Cup, how should I conduct myself on this occasion? Shall I simply make an effort to not pay attention to the game? There is a chance I would be able to, perhaps, sit with my back to the TVs, were we to choose an establishment without 360 degrees of television views (if such a place exists). I fear that the Gooch is stronger than that and will permeate even a few moments of game-watching. Do I tempt fate and assume that my goochness has passed or that there are three remaining games and this won’t decide the series? Or do I go all in and remove myself from the situation as soon as the game commences? Should my friend’s-birthday manners take a backseat to my sports manners?

Your judgment on this dire situation will be heartily heeded, as I trust your opinions over all others in the matter. A response is requested post haste. Until then, I remain,

Your humble hockey servant,
The Gentle “Gooch” Giant

******

Epilogue: Mrs. Stanley Cup came back with some outrageous suggestions for de-Goochification involving sleeping masks, headphones (not earbuds), rain dances, and ritual sacrifices. It was rather ludicrous and I ended up just doing my best to avoid any eye contact with a television. Apparently my Goochness extends to even accidentally glimpsing the reflection of the game in a window. Sorry, Bruins. At least I have a super cute new Bruins sweatshirt that fits me so well. I'm sure that more than makes up for the loss.

Better Believe it's That Important

2011-01-10T11:04:00.006-05:00

In light of the hair-freezing weather we've had lately, Midge and I have decided to start planning the annual Erin's Birthday Spectacular. This year will be a bar crawl (just act surprised) through the North End. It's on a Saturday, but feel free to take Friday off work in case your comapany does not recognize the holiday. It's only a bank holiday I think, so I can see why they'd do so. You should take this opportunity to write to your Congressperson though, in anticipation of next year.

Countdown To TGGPalooza 2011

The Wind... Cries... Phyllis

2010-11-11T13:52:00.008-05:00

I took Boyfriend to the Experience Hendrix Tour on Sunday as a birthday present. I can’t say it was really my taste, but considering he sat through My Fair Lady for me and didn’t make fun of me geeking out and singing along like an 8-year-old, I figured I could take one for the team. He’s a big guitar enthusiast, but in the sense of respecting people who are really good guitar players, not in the sense that he would ever use the words “guitar enthusiast” (which makes me a doofus). My familiarity with Hendrix is pretty limited to scenes from Wayne’s World and documentaries about Woodstock. I understand he was quite the virtuoso? That comment would have earned me a stinkeye from those around us, sort of like the stinkeyes and/or eyerolls I got when I asked who every single person on the stage was and what his biggest hit had been. Call me crazy, but I was unaware guitar talent and commercial success were mutually exclusive. Geez. What I do know is that a dude who can play a guitar with his teeth and behind his head while wearing leather pants is pretty bad ass.

We call this shot "The Hendrix Situation".

Things I saw on the stage:

Aforementioned leather pants. Not aforementioned: they were bell bottoms and about 2 inches too short
Liver spots. Copious amounts of liver spots.
A plethora of poor fashion choices (this item would be void had this taken place in 1980).
Greasy man hair
“Dance” “moves” that made me pretty uncomfortable
One dude wearing the classic Hendrix scarf tied around his head, which wasn't as rock and roll when there was no involvement of an afro.
Living Color, the 80s band that sang "Cult of Personality" which got that song stuck in my head for a good 3 hours. But only the part that says, "like Josef Staaaaalin!" which was annoying and a bit worrisome that that was the only lyric I could think of.

Despite the above-mentioned questionable choices, I would call it a good show in general. I reached that conclusion based 10% on the stage happenings and 90% on the people-watching in the crowd. It can only be described as magnificent. Was I the only woman there? No! Was I the only woman there wearing stilettos? Almost! Was I the only woman there with stilettos and a yellow Coach wristlet? Definitely! I like being different.

"What's that on his head? Glen, get me my long-distance glasses!"

Things I saw in the audience:

Wallet chains
Men’s hairstyles including but not limited to: long ponytails with a bald crown, bandanas over the ponytails, bandanas over the bald spots, and braids.
“Dungeons and Dragons” t-shirts
Mom jeans
Beard beads
Fanny packs
Shirts that my mom would refer to as “blouses”
Tie-dyed t-shirts (usually worn over a long-sleeved shirt. Gotta keep those arms warm to ward off the gout!)
Clouds of weed smoke (win!)

The Stinkiest Fight Ever

2010-07-30T11:34:00.011-04:00

My feelings toward hobos having been discussed in a previous post, I now present you with last week's events in the field of TGG-hobo relations. Imagine, if you will...

Tuesday

I was near Government Center, a pretty open area by Boston standards. It's a big group of government buildings that look all prisony. I guess it was the goal of a big rennovation in the 60s that wiped out a nasty red-light district in Boston and replaced it with the fug ass city hall and the fug ass (and strangely vague) JFK center or something.

Better than hookers and drunks running around? Now it's just drunks.

There's also this really bizarre sculpture that looks like something from Star Wars and I defintiely comment on every time I walk past it drunkenly. Whether I'm with people or not.
The concept? I mean... I get it. The walking area is all bricks so it kind of brings in the whole Boston cobblestone street thing, but the thing about cobblestone streets is that when they get peed on, the pee is very obvious. Regular streets it just kind of blends in. With cobblestones, the pee just kind of sits there in the cracks. Throw in that these bricks are bright red and certain areas create weird wind tunnels, and it's not a pretty sight or smell.
Anyway, this sort of atmosphere obviously invites the grandest of the grand: hobos. You usually see them around 5 when all the yuppies are walking to the T from the Financial District and the tourists are leaving Quincy Market. That translates to prime real estate for our dear hobos, to either do a little panhandling, do a little freaking-out-of-children (which I wholeheartedly support), or just to have what they all crave at heart: an audience. It's pretty rare to see one on my way to work since it's around 7:30 in the morning and the hobos are usually just barely opening their eager eyes and stretching to greet the new day's possibilities. They usually put in such a hard night of hobo-ing that they really need their rest.
This particular morning, I stopped by an ATM in Government Center that's just on the outside wall of the bank. As I went through the motions- remembering my PIN because it was the year of a major battle in a historic war (as most of us remember our PINs), wistfully thinking how I REALLY NEED IT TO BE PAYDAY- I spotted out of the corner of my eye a particularly fine hobo specimen. Dude covered all the good hobo points:

scraggly beard
crazy hair
dirty clothes
loud singing/talking/preaching
hammered drunk

He even got extra points for not wearing a shirt! Needless to say, I liked his style. However, liking his style and not being nervous about having my credit card and newly-acquired cash around a shirtless guy stumbling around singing CCR are not mutually exclusive. I pleaded with the ATM to hurry the F up. Then, the aforementioned hobo literally just appeared at my side. No joke- one moment he's a few yards away by the Old State House, the next he's standing right next to me.

The Flash has fallen on hard times

Hopefully understandably, I flinched a bit and backed away. I mean, the guy was very impressive hobo-ly speaking, but I was fine admiring him from a distance. He grinned big and greeted me. I smiled politely because I am from Colorado.

Just as nice as Canadians, but easier to talk to!

Then, he spoke the words that would prove to make my entire day.
"Don't be afraid of me!" He exclaimed. "I love you!" Then he giggled, flapped his arms, and ran away.
What do you say to that? I laughed to myself and spent the rest of the day feeling awesome.

Thursday

Coming down from the high one can only experience from genuine hobo affection, I was walking home from work. I spotted a different hobo coming my direction on the sidewalk. This hobo was muttering to himself and just stink-eyeing the hell out of everyone around him. The guy in front of me did the usual eyes-down brush past. As I approached, hobo looked at me and mumbled something incomprehensible. I assumed it was the usual half-assed spare change request, so I was all prepared with my standard, "no, sorry", when... I kid you not... he pushed me! It wasn't hard, I don't think I even lost my balance. He just put his hand on my arm and gently shoved. Not unlike how one would push a door. Really, hobo? I didn't even do anything to offend you! If only you knew the reverence with which I view your kind!

The whole way home, I walked with purpose: a scowl on my face and an image in my mind of Shirtless Hobo defending my honor against Pushy Hobo. I imagine shirtless would win, what with his stealth powers.

I Wonder...

2010-07-21T08:08:00.003-04:00

... if I'm the only 26-year-old who still finds the word "booger" incredibly funny in pretty much any situation. I'm half embarrassed and half proud of that fact.

Most of my friends, like me, will giggle at sexual double entendre and such. FYI- there's no longer any way to use the word "balls" without a titter or two among our group. We take pride in our adolescent sense of humor.

But should I be ashamed of my elementary-level sense of humor? Should I not relish the fact that my nephews' jokes really crack me up? Andy, the first-grader, laughs any time the word "toilet" is used, even in a normal conversation. At least I'm not that bad.

*tee hee*... toilet

Damn.

One is Silver and the Other Gold... and Some Others are Pure Booze

2010-06-24T10:30:00.002-04:00

Do your friends ever say something that makes you think, “how did I ever live my life before knowing these people? How am I lucky enough to have found, out of 6 billion people on earth, people who think exactly the same way I do?” ?

Because that just happened to me with this e-mail from Midge:

From: Jennifer
Sent: Thursday, June 24, 2010 10:24 AM
To: Erin

Word to the wise: If anyone ever offers you a Peruvian pop tart, do not, I repeat, DO NOT try it. Because it is GROSS and tastes like caca. The end.

TGG Insults of the Day

2010-04-20T15:33:00.003-04:00

Nut Wrinkle

[nuht] [ring-kuhl]
–noun
1. A person who serves no perceived purpose in society.
Use: What the hell is this Ke$ha creature? Can't sing, can't dance, songs are snoozers. She seems like a real Nut Wrinkle.

Ass Wrinkle

[as] [ring-kuhl]
–noun
1. A person who serves no perceived purpose in society and can even be seen as a danger to the developed world.
Use: No, I do not watch "The Bachelor" as it is a show devoted purely to perpetuating negative female stereotypes. Ass Wrinkles! All of them! You, too, are an Ass Wrinkle for watching it and questioning my reasons for avoiding it! Get away from me!

So I Says to Him I Says

2010-04-20T15:05:00.006-04:00

Walking to the T from work the other day, I found myself behind a fellow cubicle farmer with the same destination. He was on his phone, and while I don't usually eavesdrop on cell phone conversations (lie), I heard him say to the person on the other end, "That's a great idea... if you're a murderer."
Which leads me to wonder what idea his telephone counterpart could have possibly had. My suggestions:

His mom was toying with the notion of starting a cult.

His best friend's first draft of his MIT Doctorate final project is a pocket-sized chainsaw powered by human emotion. Namely, rage.

His girlfriend was tired of the cold New England winters and heard from her 1920s-flapper-era grandmother that fur coats were the bees knees. *Note: This operates on the assumption that Cell Phone Guy is a fervent member of PETA.

His brother saw an alluring advertisement for a 1985 windowless van for sale with low mileage and surprisingly little wear and tear. Price marked down because interior carpet had been torn out and replaced with plastic sheets.

What a deal!

Fun With Euphemisms

2010-03-26T15:56:00.003-04:00

So last week I slapped my cousin in the face with a pickle. She was so pissed.

That's funny enough as it is, right? I'll leave you with that for March Post #3.

Not invited: Pickled Peppers. They always show up in pecks

Stop It With the Mini-Evergreen Deliveries Too

2010-03-26T15:43:00.005-04:00

We've been over this. It's been four years. I needed some space, but we're still friends. We both know we'll get back together someday soon. I'm not technically "cheating" on you with the new guy, he's just a temporary thing. Something different. He's not as beautiful as you or as friendly or as... big. He's really confusing and old. I'm with him because at this point in my life, he can offer me things that you can't. I know, I've told you before- I understand that I took you for granted. I was a really lucky girl to have you in my life. You always smell good, you take care of yourself, you get along so well with all my friends and family. Yeah... they really hate him too. They act nice to his face but I can tell they're wishing you and I had never split up. But we were together for 22 years. I just needed something different, something substantial. How could I fully appreciate you if I didn't see how terrible it could be? Someday, we'll be together. Once we've both figured things out, realized what it is that we both actually need, hopefully we'll both see that it's each other.
But, God dammit, there's a line. You have to stop calling me at work. People are starting to talk.

What Would Roller Skate Dude Do? (WWRSDD)

2010-03-12T09:26:00.003-05:00

I like to think of myself as a fairly laid-back gal. Yep, gal. I know the stereotype is that all of us from Colorado are like that and/or high- which is a stereotype not at all far from the truth- but there are some high-strung Coloradans out there for sure. Most of the city of Colorado Springs is either military or conservative weirdos, after all. It wasn't until I came to the East Coast that I found it wasn't entirely commonplace to be friendly, smile a lot, and listen to Jack Johnson with your car windows down. Those three things do a Coloradan make!
Since becoming a Bostonian, I worry that I've assimilated a little to make things easier and myself less freaky. I don't just smile while walking down the street anymore. My first reaction to a stranger being happy is no longer how fun! but rather WTF does he want from me?!. In short, I've developed a small chip on my shoulder (That came out a lot grosser than intended. To be clear, there is no skin issue or anything on my shoulder. I actually have really lovely shoulders, or so I've been told). I'm not as outwardly assy as the natives are, but I'm much less patient with the unwashed masses than I used to be.
Today, I've found a solution. I will watch this video whenever I'm feeling negative, and brainstorm ways to be more like this guy. Homey- let's call him Stan- needs nothing more in his life than his skates and his tunes. He's got moves I can't do in shoes.

I would like to note that this takes place in California, a much more happiness-friendly region of the country. As my friend Connie likes to say about Massachusettsians (call them that, they love it), "They're not happy unless they're miserable." Truth.

I Wonder...

2010-02-18T11:02:00.002-05:00

... if anybody else out there has as difficult time as I do with revolving doors. I don't get stuck in them or anything, I just have such a hard time pushing them around in an efficient manner. I get in my little slot and put pretty much all my weight into it like on a cop show when they're busting in a door. Sure I'm not the strongest person around, but as much mass as I have you'd think I could just lean. But no! I'm forever in front of somebody who gets in and sighs and wonders who lets the special and possibly anemic girl do normal people stuff. Then they use their regular revolving door skills and rush me and I worry about my foot getting stuck because they're so big that I don't have much control over them so I do like a jog to get out of there and end up looking even dumber. I think a toddler did that to me once.

They Also Seriously Impair my Tall-Buildings-Single-Bound Leaping Abilities

2010-02-18T10:04:00.005-05:00

There's a big office building across the street from my dinky little building ("Oooo we're on the site of the Boston Tea Party! That makes us awesome!" No it does not, you 14-floor wimp.) with a big area with tables and chairs. It doesn't just belong to one restaurant or anything so I've taken it upon myself to start taking my sad little lunches there to eat and read my book in peace. This is the alternative to sitting in my company's lunch room so that no fewer than six people come up to me to ask what I'm reading. "It's called a book... I know you didn't have much contact with the non-textbook variety of them at MIT, but they do exist and don't scare others like they do you. Kind of like girls."

One day last week, after finishing up a particularly fascinating chapter despite the eight yah-dudes at the table next to me using no fewer than 12 F-words each to describe their mundane, useless lives, I noticed a kind of convenience store in the corner of the lobby. It was on the other side of the entrance I usually use so I'd never noticed it. I glanced in the window and saw- just sitting there like they don't know what they do to me- Pringles.
My long and sordid history with Pringles begins in about the fourth grade. I wasn't much of a chip person early in life, probably due to my mom usually buying those old-school disgusting ass greasy Lay's plain ol' potato chips and my dirty-hand-OCD really flared up with those around. My mom got some Pringles one day at the grocery store and life was never the same.

Pringles are my kryptonite.

Remember that scene in The Sixth Sense when the kid is in the kitchen and his mom turns away for just a second and when she gets back all the cupboard doors are open? It was like that but instead of open cupboard doors it was empty Pringles cans and instead of Bruce Willis, I was having therapy sessions with the Pringles Man.

I see people with high cholesterol...

My mom thought the whole family was chowing down on them and kept buying them, i.e. feeding my habit. How I wasn't an obese child is a miracle of nature. By the time I got to college and had to actually pay for food, I took Pringles out of the picture. Cut them from my life. They were a negative influence on me, and I needed to be free of their stranglehold. Interestingly enough, I found I could survive without them. I made myself get up and live my life without them, and somehow it worked. I wasn't thinking about them all the time, wanting to text them when I was tipsy. Life went back to normal.

Just recently, I got a can just to see if they still had the same stranglehold. Things have gotten really serious with tomatoes lately and we're really happy together. A quick fling with an ex couldn't come between us, I'm sure of it. To nobody's surprise, the old addiction reared its ugly head. Before I knew it, I was reaching into that beautiful red cylinder and grasping for crumbs. We're talking within an hour of opening it. I don't even notice myself eating! I'm not even hungry! Something about Pringle Man's mustache...

The moral of the story is that if you ever come to visit me, don't expect there to be Pringles in my apartment. They are banned, along with smoking and identical twins. The other two are because I find them gross, so kind of the opposite of the Pringles...

*INTERESTING FACT: Midge wanted me to mention that where she's from, way up in the Rocky Mountains, the altitude makes the seals of Pringles cans pop out so much that the plastic tops usually come off. They must look so naked on the shelves of the store! Naked Pringles Man... hot...

I Also Rarely Use "Personification"

2010-01-25T08:53:00.004-05:00

Dearest iPhone,

It's quite clear how much I love you. I mean, love you in a borderline weird way. I often look past the horrible functionality of your 'phone' application even though your primary purpose is as a phone because everything else about you is so absurdly amazing.

I have but one current qualm: can we discuss your text suggestions? First off, I often refer to my friend Jen in texts. Seldom will I type 'Jen' but mean 'Leo'. I am not horoscopically- (word, fur realz) inclined, nor do I (despite living in Newton Centre) associate with many old Jewish men. And if I did, I can't imagine a scenario which would require me to text somebody about them. Please do not change 'Jen' to 'Leo' unless it's in this context: "Heading to dinner with Leo and Morty. Canasta later?"

Second, I'm 99 percent sure I use the simple word 'to' a lot more often than I use 'yo'. Yes, I'm aware that I use 'yo' more than any white girl post-1992 should, but I assure you that I usually require 'to'.

Stay cool... and I really mean that because sometimes when I'm on the phone a long time it heats up and kind of hurts my hand,

TGG

Also, Mini Tacos!

2010-01-21T17:27:00.005-05:00

I would have to say the little pepper that Chili's has as their logo right now is the most effective advertising on the market. I have never, I mean never seen that and not thought about chips and salsa. Make fun of Chili's all you want; their chips and salsa is life-changing.

Pepper in some f*ing spicy-salty deliciousness is what I'll pepper in

The Ever-Glamorous Literati

2010-01-03T18:16:00.010-05:00

It all began in 2006 when I got about three chapters into a book and realized I'd already read it. I figured the best way to avoid the situation popping up again would be to keep a book diary. This was not in addition to any other sort of diary, as a regular journal of any sort at the time would consist of, "Dear Diary, I'm hungover and/or studying and/or drinking. The end." I found a cute little notebook at the ever-adorable Tattered Cover with a cover that looked like those old check-out cards you used to use at the library. Remember those? The librarian would take it out of this twee little pocket on the inside front cover, stamp the due date on, and send you on your way with nary a computer or a door alarm thingy in sight. Wait, they might have still had those alarms at the door. I don't remember. Either way, the notebook is adorbiez.
Thus began The Book Book. After finishing a book, I would bust out a brightly-colored pen of my choosing and make an entry like so:

Title

Author

Recommended by

Very brief plot outline

4-5 notes about the book including my opinions, outlines, character lists, parallels to other books, ideas to further explore, emoticons, etc.

The last ten or so pages of the notebook was a list of books to read. Any time a friend, magazine, or even Amazon recommended a book, I would write it down on that list. This list eventually gravitated to an Excel spreadsheet that also included the call number for non-fiction books, but I'm getting ahead of myself on the Nerd Spectrum.
Originally intended as a buffer against my cucumber-level memory, The Book Book has become something I'd think would be a treasured memento for my future children and grandchildren. This is probably slightly wishful thinking as I have a sneaking suspicion that my children will be ungrateful jerks, karma from my recent bout of child-hatred, but a girl can dream.
I would also decide at the end of each veritable review, whether the book was good enough to be classified in the "tops" category, to be compiled at the end of the year in a list of my ten favorites. As 2009 came to a close, I put the finishing touches on 2009's list, I complete my fourth Top Ten since the dawn of The Book Book. Though I never wrote the lists for any eyes but those with my genetic codes (and therefore a subtle shade of baby poop green), I've been asked by the multitudes (aka two friends on Facebook and my aunt) to publish these lists. Things to keep in mind: a) I've been told I have the world's worst taste in television and movies, so expect my literary tastes to be no different. Though don't act like you didn't love a romantic comedy every now and then, Judgey McJerkface; b) I'm the History Geek to End All History Geeks. If you haven't had dirty dreams about Thomas Jefferson in nothing but pantaloons, you will probably disagree with roughly 80% of my choices; c) Because I read something in each particular year has no bearing on when the book actually came out. In fact, chances are good that the book is at least four years older than the year I read it (in more than one case, generations older). I am cheap and therefore get many of these books from the library and have a deep-seeded hatred of waiting lists. Get over it.
And now, in no particular order... actually, it is in chronological order and therefore quite particular order,

TGG's 40 Best Books That She's Read Since 2006
(Better title pending)

2006 (The year of Scarlett O'Hara, Women's Literature class, and the move to Boston)

22 books read

Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
All Souls by Michael Patrick MacDonald*
In the Time of the Butterflies by Julia Alvarez
Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt*
Confederates in the Attic by Tony Horowitz*
Bitter is the New Black by Jen Lancaster*
In Cold Blood by Truman Capote*
Widow of the South by Robert Hicks*
The Red Tent by Anita Diamant
Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi*

2007 (The year of the cult of the author, raiding Jenny's bookshelf, and very little else)

23 books read

Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff by Christopher Moore
Bright Lights, Big Ass by Jen Lancaster*
The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova
The Other Boleyn Girl by Phillipa Gregory
The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini
A Widow for One Year by John Irving
City of Falling Angels by John Berendt*
Naked by David Sedaris*
The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffeneger
I Am Charlotte Simmons by Tom Wolfe

2008 (The year of needing a good laugh, recognizing Boston streets, and homesickness)

22 books read

The Given Day by Dennis Lehane
I Am America: and So Can You! by Stephen Colbert*
Such a Pretty Fat by Jen Lancaster*
Ordinary Heroes by Scott Turow
The Constant Princess by Phillipa Gregory
Unaccustomed Earth by Jhumpa Lahiri
Atonement by Ian McEwan
Can't Wait to Get to Heaven by Fannie Flagg
The Known World by Edward Jones
Under the Banner of Heaven by John Krakauer*

2009 (The year of the 2-hour commute, book club, and lots of time to myself as Boyfriend played video games)

37 books read

Common Ground by Anthony J. Lukas*
The Book of Joe by Jonathan Tropper
A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaleed Hosseini
Fool by Christopher Moore
The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls*
Julie & Julia by Julie Powell*
Jarhead by Anthony Swofford*
The Cider House Rules by John Irving
Shutter Island by Dennis Lehane
Queen of the Road by Doreen Orion*

*Non-fiction

I Wonder...

2009-11-23T14:12:00.003-05:00

... what a separated shoulder feels like. Because I think I have that. If you think it's from playing too much Wii Sports, you would be wrong. It was Wii Carnival.
I won a steamboat and a rooster hat though, so it was totally worth it.

I Wonder...

2009-11-23T14:10:00.004-05:00

... if the word "chum" is too closely related to salmon crap, or if I would be able to successfully re-introduce it into the vernacular without the negative (and stinky) connotations. I'm getting really tired of "friend" and "buddy", while "pal" is taking longer than expected to transition into use.

You're Puttin' Me Through Hell-a!

2009-11-18T15:49:00.006-05:00

Since I'm really cool , I spent last Sunday watching movies. I wasn't hungover, just lazy. Netflix has this 'Instant Queueueue' thing where there are certain movies you can add and then watch from an internet-connected device on your TV right away. Boyfriend's XBox fulfills said requirement, so it's been nice to just watch a random movie, especially since my actual Netflix DVDs have been all Gilmore Girls all the time lately (I can't get enough of that witty banter! And Taylor!). The Instant Queueueueue selection has a pretty wide range of movies: some classics, some newer ones, some documentaries, some indies, etc. I figured I'd knock a good classic off my list and check out the 1951 Elia Kazan joint A Streetcar Named Desire. As a Finance nerd, before I come to a final conclusion concerning my opinion of the movie, I must make a pro/con list.

Pros

Vivien Leigh being about a thousand times prettier than that broad who played Stella. Did they do that on purpose? I mean, of course I noticed the soft lighting and flawless hair and makeup for her, but is Kim Hunter really that much of a Plain Jane? I was under the impression that all movie stars from the beginning of movies until about the 70s had to be biology-defying stunning. You learn something new every day.

So adorably 1951 with its dramatic lighting and dramatic scenery and beyond dramatic acting. I like how back then, when they took a story from stage to screen, it was basically like, "Well we can just bring in a bunch of cameras and film everyone going through the play. Keep the sets and everything. We'll figure out how to do rain later."

Umm... can we discuss young Marlon Brando? His voice may have been strange and he may have been kind of a nut job, but holy S. It's pretty sad that he aged so terribly. Yeah, he was still a good actor in the later years, but the words 'studly' and 'hunky' don't really come to mind.

I believe the correct term is, "ahummunahummunahummuna"

Cons

I am far too familiar with the Simpsons version. Far superior.

14:38 for the awesomeness.

Verdict: Meh.

Lessons for the Corporate World

2009-10-30T14:36:00.002-04:00

1. Make every effort to have interesting coworkers. Lie if you must.

2. Be nice to said coworkers. For instance, pick up their papers from the printer if you're over there anyway.

Follow these rules and you may be greeted with a similar e-mail to what I received today:

"I would have gotten those papers but I'm really into Wilson Phillips' Hold On right now."

Happy Friday!

A Banner Night in the TGG House

2009-10-22T08:55:00.013-04:00

I wish I could say crazy things happen to me a lot. That seems to be the case with a large number of my friends. They try to go bowling and end up with lesbians in their car, fighting and calling the police on each other (Midge and Meg). They mind their own business crossing the street and end up in the back of a soccer mom's SUV, taking her kid to Karate before going to the hospital for a broken ankle (Midge). They get accosted by homeless-looking old women who ask for money and also to look at her leg wound (take a guess). So maybe it's not "a large number of my friends" so much as "Midge", but I digress. Things seem to happen around me a decent amount, but I'm for some reason oblivious to it.

Well, last night was pretty strange. Not Ben-Affleck-sitting-two-tables-away-from-me-at-Ivy-and-I-had-no-effing-clue strange, but odd at least.

First, I went to my usual spa for a quick wax touch-up after work and before book club. Things were getting a little Eastern European down there. TMI? Whatever. Anyway, I usually go on Saturdays, so the staff around last night were all new to me. Most jarring, however, was the receptionist. This spa is close to Newbury Street but not on Newbury. As such, it's definitely nice, but not exactly I'm-getting-a-Brazilian-actually-in-Brazil-feeling as the fancy ones a block over. It's very girly with the colors and the curly font for the logos and the perky front desk girl on Saturdays. She's probably about my age, friendly, and roughly 80 pounds soaking wet. I expected a similar model last night, but was rather taken aback when the 7-foot Latino guy checked me in. Most of the skin I could see was covered in tattoos, including his neck (roughly the size of my waist) from his close-cropped black hair down into his Big & Tall Men's t-shirt and presumably all the way to his baggy (yet not sagging) jeans. He wasn't covered in piercings, but had plenty to brag about. The weird ones too, like not the usual ears and nose but that upper lip thing and neck stuff. I'm 99% sure his wrists were pierced. I don't even know how that works. He was incredibly friendly, but I wondered if perhaps he'd eaten the Saturday girl.

Upon my return from the painful time upstairs, I was paying him before leaving. He rain my credit card and was waiting for it to authorize when I noticed a name written on his forearm in cursive. I wouldn't have paid much attention to it since it was one of many and was mirrored on the other arm with a giant cross with a rosary on it. BFD, welcome to all the scary people in the sketchy part of my hometown (the numbered streets: First through Fourth). Yet this fellow's tattoo caught my eye. When I first glanced, I thought it said 'Christian Audigier', as in that guy associated with the Label That Shall Not Be Named. He didn't strike me as the typical Ed Hardy dirtbag (and they are ALL dirtbags), so I turned my head for a closer look. It was very obvious at that point, that the behemoth of a man's forearm was inked with:

I kid you not. He must not have noticed my look of confusion and disbelief, as he sent me on my way with a receipt and about a million questions. Are we talking the Christina Aguilera? Do you wish you were Jordan Bratman? What's your favorite song of hers?

I proceeded on to the Prudential for a little shopping. All stuff I've been needing, of course... wait... you're not Boyfriend. I don't have to lie. Purchases in hand, I sat on a bench outside the entrance for Skywalk and called my mom. As she told me about her escapades for the day ("You wouldn't believe how dirty the top of my fridge was!"), who should emerge from the escalator but... I kid you not... VAL F*ING KILMER.

I really hope you guys find this as cool as I do. WE'RE TALKING ICEMAN HERE PEOPLE. Remember how hot he was back in the day? I shall now commence to remind you:

Holy mother of F.

ICE. F*ING. MAN. Remember The Saint too? Awesome movie. I probably watched that 30 times in a row when I first saw it around age 10. Was it an appropriate movie for a 10-year-old to watch? Probably not, but it's not my problem. He was a decent Batman too, no? Oh and he was that blind guy with Mira Sorvino or something! DAMN! I know what you're saying. "But TGG, those were all at least 15 years ago! Have you seen him lately? A bit of a Large Marge and took a nice dip in a fryalator from the looks of his skin. Homey has not aged well." Well, you're kind of a d*ck. But you are also right. Now he looks a little more like this:

So there's that.

Hey, if I was in a place in my career where shirtless beach volleyball games were no longer required, I might let myself go too. Unfortunately, I'm not. Keep in mind that compared to the average fanny-packed suburbanite tourist walking around the mall that day, he was a stud. Sure, he's chunked up a little, but his IMDB page tells me he's pushing 50. It also tells me he's 6 feet tall which I'm not surprised about- I commented (in my head [hopefully]) about that last night when I saw him that he seemed rather tall.

Again, you may say, "Are you positive it was him? You thought you saw Curtis Stone a few days ago but now you're doubting yourself." Again, kind of rude. But again, true. Perhaps that guy wasn't actually Curtis Stone; just another cute blond guy with an accent. I doubt myself because I can't really imagine why Curtis Stone would be wandering around Boston's Financial District on a Monday, wearing a suit and mailing a letter. But I KNOW this was Val Kilmer. Here's why: when I noticed him, my jaw dropped and my eyes bugged out. I know, so cliche. But it was instinct, people! My subconscious was all, "look, it's a semi-celebrity! Now look like a monkey!" He glanced over, and now ask yourself what a non-famous person would do. Probably look at me strangely ("What's with the monkey-looking girl?") or, since it's Boston, give me the stink-eye. But Val, in his infinite generosity, smiled at me! A "you may look a bit simian-ish, but you're probably a little starstruck and that's cool" smile. Maybe a wink too, I don't remember. I think I might have passed out for a second.

Mommy Issues

2009-10-19T11:08:00.002-04:00

My mom last weekend after I let slip that I wasn't sure how I'd gotten home: "I really worry that maybe you have a drinking problem. We have a history of alcoholism in our family. Maybe you should lay off the booze for a little while and dry out."

My mom yesterday after I told her I stayed home this weekend: "Geez. What a loser."

Public Transportation = Epic Win

2009-10-19T11:00:00.003-04:00

I saw a guy on the Red Line today eating a dollar bill. He was probably about my age, dressed like he was going to the gym, sitting down chewing on the end of some U.S. Legal Tender.

2006 TGG seeing this: stare at him open-mouthed for the two stops I take. Run to work and tell every coworker I encounter. E-mail friends. Call mother.

2009 TGG seeing this: "Hm. I like his shoes."

More Tales from the iPodkeeper

2009-09-23T13:27:00.002-04:00

So I was just reminded today that this happened to the world:

Awesome.

Me and Fitty Down by the Schoolyard

2009-09-22T14:32:00.004-04:00

This morning, post-iTunes/iPhone overhaul, I greatly enjoyed walking from South Station to work while listening to my new music.

Me, basically (just imagine the Zack Morris phone is earbuds):

What I was listening to:

I suppose as far as 'explicit content' rappers go, 50 Cent would be the most logical for a yuppie like me to listen to. There was one part that really tickled me though. The song "Patiently Waiting" (featuring Eminem! Hooray!) contains the lyrics:

You shouldn't throw stones if you live in a glass house
And if you got a glass jaw you should watch yo mouth

Clever, right? It subtly rhymes and it's a relatively subtle threat. You don't often hear classic idioms in rap music.

Then it's followed by:

'Cause I'll break your face

Ah, now I see.

My iTunes, in Graphs

2009-09-22T14:00:00.008-04:00

Since the most exciting thing on tap for Sunday was seeing my Patriots get destroyed by mouth-breathers (except that Sanchez fellow... he's easy on the eyes), I used the time to take all the CDs that were rolling around my old car and throw them first into iTunes and then on to my phone. The new car has one of those newfangled aux adaptor things that I intend to use. Oh Science, you crazy!

The aforementioned CDs were made up of:

Because of this, the music on aforementioned CDs consisted of:

Which, obviously, makes for a pretty hilarious playlist.

My Mom Totally Has a Broncos-induced Heart Murmur

2009-09-15T10:02:00.003-04:00

Dear New England Patriots,

I have a family history of heart problems. Please do not play games like last night's, as it may be detrimental to my health. Also, my neighbors probably think I was brutally murdered. Strike two.

Best,
TGG

Yet Another Rehab I Should Probably Check Into

2009-08-27T10:42:00.004-04:00

I joined Netflix a few months ago - yes, I've already been welcomed to the 21st century on multiple occasions, thank you- and I'm sort of in love. I would like to marry Netflix. I think Netflix and I would be very happy together.

Though I'm not sure if I'm Netflixing (shut up, it's a word) correctly. Every time I think of a movie I haven't seen that virtually the rest of the world has seen, I immediately add it to my queueueueueue (taking advantage of a rare case that prompts me to type u and e together. AWESOME!). Then you know how that little window pops up, suggesting other movies I may like? I usually add some of those too. And by some I mean all. Also, I love the "Movies You'll [heart]" feature that gives you recommendations based on how you rated past movies.

There are 134 movies in my queue.

I have an addiction.

Though maybe addiction is a strong word, because I can definitely still laugh at some of their suggestions. Dan Hopper on the Best Week Ever blog did a post on this a few weeks ago, and I'm definitely in the same boat.
"Movies You'll [heart]" suggested Russell Brand in New York City , his Comedy Central special. Now, I probably would enjoy this. I don't hate on Russell Brand like 99.999999% of the world's population seems to (fact: Liberians think he's so overrated). I think he's quite humorous. Good move, my darling little Netflix love slave! Why, pray tell, would you think I'd like this particular film, Pudding Pop?

Because you enjoyed:

Forgetting Sarah Marshall-- I DID love his movie! Jason Segal was beyond fantastic, Jonah Hill made me almost cry, and Jack McBrayer? Love love love. Even that what's-her-butt Veronica Mars girl was hilarious. Then Russell Brand played this slutty British rock star (aka himself) and just killed me. He single-handedly knocked Knocked Up out of my Top 5 Funniest Movies list. So good call on making that connection, Netflixy!

Run, Fat Boy, Run-- Not a lot of people saw this which is a total shame. It's Simon Pegg, the dude from Shaun of the Dead and this little kid who makes the precious little boy from Love Actually look like Peter O'Toole. Really cute movie. Maybe the apple of my eye thought I was into British humor? Yep, I can see that. I'm no die-hard or anything, sitting around watching really obscure shows so I can sound smart in front of my American friends, but a little AbFab never hurt anyone.

Milk-- Wait, what? Is Russell Brand gay?

Thresher? Thrasher? Thrash Unreal?

2009-08-20T10:47:00.003-04:00

So look at this picture:

This is my friend Brian's... farming... machine...

If I knew the real term, I would be an insult to my yuppiedom. Anyway, he and his wife Nicole (also my friend, actually she was my friend first before any of us even knew Brian and then they met and we all hearted him [can you use heart in the past tense? Hm.]) live down in the San Juan valley of Colorado where he's a farmer and she's a teacher. I know, adorable right? Anyway, he posted this picture on his Facebook (farmers in this generation are ALL on the 'Book) and I just needed to share it with the world.

I freaking love the juxtaposition of the farm itself to the Rocky Mountains. All the a-holes around Boston are just convinced that Colorado is the Wild West and/or one big ski resort. Hence my irritation when they're shocked to hear that we have summers there. And indoor plumbing. And cars. Try leaving your own crappy state for once, ignoramus. The image above totally smashes the stereotypes these d-bags have about Colorado! But wait...

This crop is barley (I checked with Brian) which is being sold to Coors for beer. Dammit. Awesome, but dammit. There goes my point.

Still, I neither rode a horse nor skied to school EVER.

Don't Tell My Mom, She'll Cut Me Off

2009-08-18T10:34:00.005-04:00

I'm not particularly religious. I'm the only person in my family to never have attended Parochial School... I feel like by the time it got to me going to Kindergarten, my parents were old and tired and figured their money could be spent on better things like a 1989 Chevy Blazer which I LOVED. So you go! Regardless, I was still dragged to church every weekend and did religion class (which some people call CCD- what's up with that?) from age 5 to age 15. We were totally that family that sought out the Catholic churches in whatever town we were vacationing. Sometimes that was pretty cool (big cathedrals in California), sometimes kind of creepy (all-Spanish masses in huts in New Mexico).
When I moved out for college though, I kind of let it go by the wayside. Sunday was no day to be getting my hungover butt out of bed to sit for an hour and pretend I'd been nothing but virtuous the night before (premarital shmemarital I say!) Plus the campus church in Boulder drove me up a wall with their guitars and tambourines and crap-- when I am overcome by the need to go to mass, I don't want to listen to a hippie sing about Jesus while weaving a dream catcher. I want a bell that gives you the creeps you from blocks away; I want an ancient German or Irish priest hurrying through the motions so he can take a smoke break/swig from his flask; I want murals on the walls of sinners burning in Hell. My parents' church in their hometown fulfilled all these requirements, my hometown parish was lacking in the graphic scenes of the underworld, but featured the Stations of the Cross carved out of stone in such detail that it was just as terrifying to a four-year-old. Now that's a church.
You'd think I'd find this kind of gloom and doom in old-ass Boston churches (is it legal to use 'ass' and 'church' in the same sentence?), and you bet I did when I lived in Southie. If there's one thing the Irish can beat anybody at, it's being sad and pissed off. But the closest one when I lived in Beacon Hill was a bit small and a bit next-to-an-old-folk's-home for my tastes, and the one in Newton just seems so sad and desperate among the three thousand synagogues. So there ya go, mi manifesto to religion vs. laziness.

Alas, there's this...

Why I think God still loves me and wants me to be happy:

Whole-Grain Eggo Waffles

Sunset Grill & Tap

Hipsters falling down

Boyfriend's buns

Ryan Reynolds' abs

Roof decks

Conan O'Brien, Kathy Griffin, Zach Galifianakis, and other comedians that make me consider adult diapers (on account of the pants-wetting).

What's made you guys feel like God definitely exists and is definitely a cool dude?

You can see the Virgin Mary in the six-pack

Awky!

2009-08-18T10:32:00.003-04:00

Dear Miley Cyrus,

Today at Dunkin' Donuts, I heard your song "The Climb" playing on the radio. This particular Dunkin' Donuts, I know for a fact, plays Magic 106.7 all day; the "soft-rock" or "adult contemporary" station. That sucks for you.

Best,
TGG

The Whole 'Can't Vote Cuz I'm a Chick' Thing Doesn't Sound So Great Though...

2009-08-05T14:01:00.002-04:00

In the book I’m reading that was written in 1900 and takes place in 1889:

“And say,” he whispered, jovially, pulling Hurstwood over by the shoulder so that he might whisper in his ear, “if this isn’t a good show, I’ll punch your head.”

I was obviously meant to live in the 19th century.

Car 2 is Obviously a Dodge Caravan

2009-08-04T13:36:00.003-04:00

After days of deliberation, I've finally decided to depart with my beloved Ford Explorer, Bruce. I thought it was a good time to take advantage of this Cash for Clunkers thing before they run out of money (again). I started considering it as soon as I heard about the program, but my sentimentality got the best of me and I hesitated.

Sentimental side: Good ol' Bruce! Remember how much you wanted an SUV after driving that POS 13-year-old Accord all through high school? He was so shiny and blue and big... then you took him to college and he never protested when you crammed 10 people in to head to the bars, when you drove across the country and subjected him to 90mph stretches (Iowa) and .000005 mph stretches (Chicago), and when you became the aggressive Massachusetts driver that you are today! Ah, memories...

Practical side: Yes, memories. Like two weeks after buying it and getting stranded in Morrison, Colorado because there was a HOLE IN THE TRANSMISSION? Or the fact that the driver's side door latch doesn't work which causes the dome light to flash, the 'Door Ajar' beep and light to flip out, and the other doors to lock-- all while you're driving and usually at night? Or the hundreds of bucks you spent for teeny tiny parts like the seat reclining lever or the hood latch? Or when you've had to find some shifty mechanic to fix the dozens of recalls in the last six years for little, insignificant threats like the danger of YOUR DRIVER'S SEAT COMING DETACHED FOR NO REASON or YOUR SEATBELT BURSTING INTO FLAMES? Okay, I made the latter one up but just because I didn't understand what the other recalls were. Something with flames.

So for once in my life, Practical Me won out. I told her not to get comfortable because the CU football season is coming up and bringing with it memories of college which always make me cry and binge drink. Though she will need to help me out with the choice of the new car where she'll be battling the ruthless Materialistic Me.

Practical side: Car 1 is safer, more reliable, cheaper, has better customer and expert reviews, and the dealership's service department is not only smack in between your home and work, it's right on the subway.

Materialistic side: But Car 2 is significantly badassier.

Dammit.

2009-07-20T10:09:00.002-04:00

Today is the 26th anniversary of my best friend Ash squirting outta her mom's yatch. Since it's 2009, I've decided to Happy Birthday her (that's a verb, in case you were wondering) through every form of communication available to me. I've so far e-mailed and IMed her and plan to call and text her throughout the day. I'm concerned that the smoke signals won't be terribly visible to her in Denver, but I'm Googling homing pigeons to see what my options are. I'm going to send this note:

"Happy Birthday, Ash! Hope this f*cker doesn't poop on your floor and also that he doesn't have rabies."

The Story of my Day in Pictures

2009-07-13T14:37:00.005-04:00

Came into work, remembering that my harpy of a boss (whom we call Kimmy Gibbler) was coming back today from a week-long vacation (which I called Heaven):

Did my morning work which was finished about 10 A.M. Browsed my favorite sites, checked my Gmail 30 times, then did nothing for two hours.

Sat on a bench outside with my book to get some sun and get away from this dump. Watched roughly 4,549 taxi drivers honk for no reason in a span of 30 minutes.

Went to the gym for the first time in over two weeks. Struggled. Enjoyed Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations as he was in New Zealand and that's pretty cool.

Got back to my desk to find out Kimmy had already left for the day.

Will probably go home and get intimate with the rest of my wine.

TGG's note: I got all of these pictures from Google images and am in no way claiming they're mine. I can barely get a good picture of my pretty friends, much less golfers and crocodiles and babies and cats and fat people and Lindsay Lohan.

Heard Any Good Jokes Lately?

2009-07-13T11:01:00.001-04:00

I've decided to bring back "I know you are, but what am I?"

That s* is hilarious.

If You're Thinking of Having a Kid and You Already Have an Adult Sibling...

2009-07-09T14:36:00.004-04:00

Don't do it! Trust me, aunting/uncling is way better than parenting. Not that I have much experience in the latter, but I'm a 9-year veteran of the former and let me tell you: you'd be crazy to get knocked up.

Things you do not have to worry about with nieces/nephews:

College tuition

Cleaning up their messes

Diapers

Making sure they eat vegetables

Things you do have to worry about with nieces/nephews:

Dance party lasting long enough

Staying up far past their bedtimes

How much Spongebob is too much Spongebob (for you, an adult)

Sufficient shrines to them in your house

Pumping them full of sugar (Do you want something to wash down those 14 powdered donuts you just ate? Yoo-hoo? Sure!)

Just practice this phrase while your sister/sister-in-law is expecting so that you're a pro by the time you have to babysit:

"Um yeah your kid's been _____ for about three hours. You should probably take care of that. Kbye."

2009-07-09T09:29:00.003-04:00

Dear Nintendo,

It's come to my attention that the funds I work on for my job own Nintendo stock. I've noticed that you, like many Japanese stocks, pay out dividends like cuh-razy. Granted, it's in Yen so it's only like $100 or something, but hear me out. Maybe you could save some money by just sending stockholders some of your fine products? Since the owner of these particular shares is a soulless hedge fund company and you wouldn't want to reward that (because Nintendo is nothing if not philanthropic), perhaps in the contract you draw up you could say that if a company owns the stock, the dividends (aka video games) go to the lowest people on the totem pole of said company.
I'll take the Hannah Montana game for Wii please.
Must go, gotta write to Apple.

Thanks,
TGG

The Best Ones are at Disneyland

2009-07-02T11:46:00.003-04:00

For some reason, I have a lot of people fooled into thinking I'm smart. This is totally untrue, but I can see why they'd think that. I get a pretty intense look on my face when I'm thinking really hard. When I'm trying to answer a question, working on a project at the office, or trying to initiate small talk, one would assume I was searching the depths of my brain for a solution to the issue at hand. No no friends. I'm actually just talking to myself.
I try not to do it out loud as that leads to funny looks and trips to the loony bin, but I spend quite a bit of time in deep conversations with myself. It probably stems from growing up with one sibling who was already a teenager when I came along (I prefer the term 'blessing' to 'accident') and not a lot of children in the neighborhood. Therefore a need arose for just a little entertainment during the times I was pretty much left to my own devices, to either play like a normal child or join the family for reruns of WKRP in Cincinnati (even though that's a good show). Since I held such a high opinion of myself even as a child, I figured who better to play with than me? I'm funny, pretty, and have an awesome Cabbage Patch Kids Big Wheel. Who needs imaginary friends when this broad in the mirror is such a badass?
That's where the inner dialogues began, and they haven't stopped. The weird thing about Myself is that sometimes she'll develop an accent. It's usually British because British accents are cool. If one were to listen intently in my cubicle, there would be under-my-breath exclamations of "by jove!" and "bloody hell!" almost hourly as I reconciled cash. Lately, though, Myself has developed into a Miami Chola. Don't ask why... couldn't tell you. I call her Rosa. This morning in the car, I asked a fellow driver, "Why ju go so slow, homey?" Again, don't ask.
As female conversations tend to do, the topic will often wander. I'll be working hard and all of a sudden come to and wonder why a thought about a new security my fund bought led to wondering what kind of underpants Spiderman wears. Here's what happened just minutes ago (keeping in mind, this is Rosa thinking, not TGG):

Hooookai, da Canadians is good, da Swiss is good... uh oh... problem with the Cheuros (how Rosa says Euros)... Mmmmm churros... dios tha sounz so good ry now...

Just Saw a Commercial...

2009-06-23T20:43:00.003-04:00

... and Strawberry Peanut Butter M&Ms? What dummy thought of that? Who am I kidding, I'll probably eat them. On the drive home from Vermont this weekend, Sam and I killed almost an entire can of Pringles. I left them in the car since I was carrying so much stuff when I got out. This morning when I got back in the car, this happened:

Devil on my shoulder: EAT THOSE THEY WILL BE DELICIOUS
Angel on my shoulder: No. You have a nutritious breakfast in your hand as we speak. Don't be silly.
Devil on my shoulder: BUT PRINGLES ARE, IN A WORD, DELICIOUS.
Angel on my shoulder: ... valid point. Eat them.

And thus, I had Pringles for breakfast. Being a grownup is awesome. And salty.

Seriously, Mumbles Menino

2009-06-23T15:36:00.004-04:00

Dear Boston,

I am still awaiting action from you regarding my earlier letter, so perhaps it was lost in the imaginary mail. I will give you the benefit of the doubt on this one.

It is now the end of June. Check out a wall calendar- most of them showcase scenes of sunshine and flowers and bright colors for the month of June. Perhaps you have a Twilight calendar. I assume the picture for that isn't terribly cheerful along with the rest of the months. Once again, benefit of the doubt.

The reason such a cheerful mood is associated with June is because the weather is supposed to be nice. By "nice" I mean frequent showings of the sun. I mean temperatures conducive to shorts, skirts, T-shirts, sandals-- you know, pretty clothes. I mean the option to leave the indoors for something fun and healthy. I do not mean three solid weeks of nothing but the color gray. I'm beginning to think I live in an old-time TV show which is troubling because my hair doesn't curl very well and I can't bake for sh*t. Old-time TV would not take kindly to me.

How about we let up on the rain a little? I very much appreciate the sentiment of keeping the lightning and thunder to a minimum during these storms. That's really decent of you considering my paralyzing fear of them. Colorado totally did not give an S about my phobia, so that's one point to you. I think that brings the total to Colorado: 978,170,374 and Massachusetts: 1. Your score would be higher on account of the badass history you've got going on, but I can't really go experience it on account of the disgusting weather . See? You're only hurting yourself.

Best,
TGG

PS- seriously, gotta do something about the fish stank. I didn't get a Finance degree to come home smelling like a line cook at the Barking Crab.

Hookers and Blow: You Know, the Usual

2009-06-23T12:01:00.004-04:00

When Boyfriend and I moved into our apartment in May of '08, neither of us had lived in such close proximity to non-related grownups before. He'd lived at home and in a house with friends, I'd lived in apartments with fellow college kids/fresh-out-of-college kids/yuppies like myself. This new place is in the 'burbs and came with it a slew of neighbors either with kids or liver spots. Our downstairs neighbor, one of the latter category, came up while we were moving in to introduce herself. Picture the littlest oldest lady you have ever seen. Now make her littler and older and Eastern-Europeanier and that's Ida. This transpired:

Me: "Yep, we're just moving everything in today. We're renting it from his brother's girlfriend who used to live here."
Ida: "Ah yes, zey vere doctors."
Me: "Um... no I think Jen is a teacher. And she lived by herself..."
Ida: "Oh! You ah waitress?"
Me: {WTF?!} "Oh no I'm an accountant. My boyfriend is a firefighter."
Ida: "Ah I see! Vere ah you waitress?"
Me: "I'm an accountant in Boston at a hedge fund company."
Ida: "Okay buh bye!"

Yes... when we mentioned it to our landlord, she just shook her head. Not surprised at all. This wasn't even the strangest interaction I've had with her. She saw me coming in from the rain one day and cornered me to tell me tales of how she and her sister would run around in the rain when they were little because they thought it would make their hair grow longer. Lenin probably told them that personally. Then a few months ago, there was water leaking from our bathroom into her bathroom downstairs. When our landlord went to her place with the plumbers to check it out, Ida opens the door wearing her bathing suit. Inside. I kid you not.

Now comes Ida's newest antic. I am speechless. Boyfriend just sent me this picture:

That, in case you can't see it, is a card with $20 in it with the note "Best wishes to new nighbor [sic]! Ida" Never mind the spelling-- English is clearly her second language, and I would never fault a foreigner for not knowing the weird eccentricities of it. Native speakers clearly have enough trouble with it, so who am I to judge when you're trying to use it while thinking in another language? The interesting part is the gesture itself.... we've definitely lived there 13 months and definitely spoken to Ida on numerous occasions... but I guess it's sweet...? I'm thinking of using the cash to buy her some flowers or something-- she has a serious balcony garden that serves to make our balcony and its two chairs, two coolers and Boyfriend's bug guard for his car look like Emmett and Crystal's Home Sweet Home.

Here's the kicker-- she slipped the note and the cash under the door (BF was in his underwears and therefore in no position to answer her knock) and around the doorknob hung a baggy full of white powder. This is one of three things:

Some special type of sugar she wants to share with us- perhaps mined from her home country by a hairy dude and his yak.
A rare cleaning agent, one teaspoon of which will make our counters magically turn to granite from the current laminate from the "Faded Bodily Excretions" color collection.
Coke.

I'm hoping it's one of the first two, as perhaps the third one and its strategic position on the doorknob was a sign to the mafia drug lords that these two Amazon people in apartment 38 like to party. I don't have time to deal with them and their sales calls.

Why I'm NOT an A-hole

2009-06-23T11:55:00.003-04:00

Yeah I haven't posted in like 100 years or whatever. Imagine your own reasons. Here's a suggestion: Ryan Reynolds came by my house one day and proposed marriage so I got so wrapped up in wedding plans that TFR fell by the wayside. As you can imagine, the entanglements with his Canadian citizenship (and other marriage) were the downfall of our whirlwind engagement. It's cool; Boyfriend may not have quite as many abs but he's significantly funnier. So I'll try to post a bunch today and tomorrow. I leave for Mexico on Thursday because I'm a spoiled brat and it's my birthday, so no postings for awhile after that. Get over it, I'm not that funny.

In Defense of Poudre School District

2009-06-11T09:29:00.003-04:00

My mom is an admitted Grammar Nazi. This isn't terribly PC since we're like 98% German, but I digress. Many a childhood memory of mine is the labored feat of simply telling my mom a story without being interrupted with "Gina and I went to go to the park, not me." "There were two ducks there, not was." "Gina's psychopath Golden Retriever was going to jump in and try to eat them, not gonna." (good story, PS). Perhaps she was rebelling against the language black hole that is small-town Nebraska (where she grew up), or perhaps she just wanted something seemingly insignificant with which to torture her children.
Either way, few things from childhood were so ingrained into my psyche like speaking correctly, a fact that was to my great advantage in English classes throughout my school years. By the time those came along, it was a breeze for me to understand the writing rules as well. Yes, homonyms are a pain in the nards, but all it takes is a split second of thought to remember which is the correct word. To this day, it blows my mind when otherwise intelligent people can't grasp the correct usage of your/you're and there/their/they're. It's seriously... not that hard. I try to correct people in conversations over e-mail or Facebook. "Really? My so funny? My what is so funny?! I don't understand..." and most of them will either laugh it off and hopefully understand their mistake or punch me in the face. The latter hasn't happened yet, but I feel it coming.
Which brings me to this: how do you respond when a superior at work decimates the English language? The majority of people at this company are highly educated, and it's safe to assume this guy got here with more than a sixth-grade education. That, however, is completely unclear in this email I got from him today:

"recon failed, not sure what is wrong please look at."

{GG bangs head against desk, screaming "WHY IS THIS SO HARD?!"}

What With Their Toddling

2009-06-08T13:56:00.002-04:00

Sorry I didn't post much last week, kids. There is no excuse. I didn't even have a new 'Bams Ensemb for you on Friday! I'm a d*ck. But you know who's a bigger d*ck? Toddlers. That's right, I said it. Think about it.

You Know What's Awesome? Hormones!

2009-06-04T13:51:00.003-04:00

As evidenced by the well-documented Great BBQ Incident of '08, like many women I get a little, shall we say... emotional about once a month. And by "emotional" I mean "crazy as $#@!". Please understand that I have absolutely NO CONTROL over these emotions. The aforementioned meltdown is an example of a month which featured 'Angry' in large supply. Usually I find myself without control of the 'Horribly Sad' side of the emotion spectrum.

Things I have cried about exactly one week before the crimson wave (keep in mind that I cry in all caps):

The 1980s movie classic 'Annie'. These precocious little girls are ORPHANS. THEIR PARENTS ARE DEAD. Not to mention they're horribly mistreated by that Ms. Hannigan hag.

In church, thinking about how LONELY Jesus must have been. "What do you guys want to do today? Want to go walk on water or raise the dead or something? Oh you can't?... well I guess I'll just go by myself then."

Riding back on the T and hearing No Es Amor on my own iPod and remembering listening to it a lot in college and how much I miss college and HHHHHHATE THE REAL WORLD.

Thinking back to last night's dinner at Fire & Ice, when Boyfriend asked me for help making his bowl and I snapped at him because I was hungry. He fears the unfamiliar and I was very short with him. WHY AM I SUCH AN ASSHOLE?!

Now, when I say I 'cried' about these things, we're not talking a little tearing up like at the end of a chick flick. We're talking weeping. I had to excuse myself from the room for the last two until the sobs stopped. The second one was on the T and I was a bit drunkiez so it was extra embarrassing.

Being a girl is awesome.

'Bams Ensemb #4: May 29, 2009

2009-05-29T15:46:00.002-04:00

YEAH #8! 'Bams

A little-known fact about Hawaii, is that if you take into account its exact location in proximity to the continental US, it's technically a southern state. Check it out! It's like down by Mexico! I know, I didn't know either. And a helpful hint- don't google 'globe'. Just go to google maps and scroll to the left. Anyway, the latitude of Pres's home state is an important thing to keep in mind when you stumble across his predilection for going all redneck on us. He feels an inherent kinship with the Alabamans and the Georgians. Not Texas though. Those people are N.U.T.S. We Yankees may look down on somebody kicking back with a brew in his wife beater and 2-gallon, but that's what works. Just wait until the biggest NASCAR races come up this year: we're talking duct-taped RVs all over the West Lawn and every person in America named Jim Bob, Crystal, or Turkey camped out with plenty of Spam for the weekend.

Not to Get all Jerry Seinfeld on you...

2009-05-29T14:56:00.003-04:00

... but what's the deal with corn? Is it healthy? I feel like it isn't unhealthy, but nobody really seems to tout the benefits of corn. Maybe that's because people are wont to put arresting amounts of butter and salt on it. I don't do that, but I remember when I was little and we had corn on the cob (because we're from Nebraska. Deal with it), my parents would freaking slather on the butter. My friend Connie even has a special contraption that you put a stick of butter in and then it's like a push pop and you swipe it over the corn. I'm not explaining that well, but just pretend I am. There's also those special little picks you can get for corn on the cob. Is there another food that has so many twee accessories? My Nebraska relations told tales of summer jobs "de-tassling" corn fields. WTF?
In conclusion, corn is yummiez. Have you ever tried it with Frank's Red Hot sauce on it? I'm telling you right now; It will change your life.

I'm Back, Mothereffers

2009-05-27T13:39:00.005-04:00

If I Twittered (which I don't because I think it would be too much pressure), my current tweet would be:

Tony Bennett left his heart in San Francisco. I left my liver in Omaha.

I know you're thinking, "Omaha? As in Nebraska? How could somebody possibly have fun in the Midwest?" Well, you're an elitist a-hole. Also, you're wrong. Try having an entire side of your alcoholic family within a few square miles, then putting them all in a happy hour/bridal shower/bachelorette party/pool party blender. It makes for some interesting times.

Here's a list of my favorite parts:

$3 drinks... E.V.E.R.Y.W.H.E.R.E.

Wrestling with my 32-year-old cousin for the front seat of the minivan

A giant, novelty sombrero

My godmother simulating fellatio on a dude in the middle of a bar to win the scavenger hunt

Every family member drunk dialing my mom at least 30 times

A plethora of drag queens

Peeing my pantses. Twice

An overly-flirty married Asian guy we called 'Jon & Kate Plus 8'

Driving around the boonies of Council Bluffs, Iowa

My cousin's and my efforts to get our godmother to disown our god brother (including but not limited to: mocking his Oedipus Complex, performing a synchronized dive, and tap dancing)

Six words: Easy Street Wheat at Old Chicago

Here's a list of my least favorite parts:

Leaving my phone in my car... at the New Hampshire airport

Leaving my headlights on for four days, requiring a 11:30pm phone call to AAA from the airport parking lot

Peeing my pantses. Twice

These mysterious bruises on my knee--

WTF?!

'Bams Ensemb #3: May 21st, 2009

2009-05-21T13:50:00.004-04:00

I'm headed out to The Motherland tomorrow for my cousin's bridal shower, so when I called and let 'Bams know we'd have to post the Ensemb early, he just sent me a pic from the archives. Don't be mad at him. The guy has a full plate right now. There's something going on with him and Cheney and Guantanamo... not really sure what... I read the headline on msnbc.com and then forgot about it when something shiny came up. So, without further adieu (PLAY ON WORDS PEOPLE):

April Fool's Day 'Bams

Oh 'Bams! You so crazy! Look at your adorableness right here. You probably sat behind your desk during your meetings, waiting on somebody to comment on your wig. I bet everyone came in, looked at you funny, but didn't say anything because they thought it impolite. Then Rahm came in and was all, "WHAT THE WHAT?!" and hilarity ensued. Then you stood up to reveal your lack of britches and said, "You know what kind of change I believe in? A change of PANTS!" Everybody laughed so hard that some of them even puked. Not at your muscular calf muscles mind you, at the downright kookiness of it all!

Bottom line, this is combining two of my favorite things: a) 'Bams, b) FOUNDING FATHER HAIR.

Also, I'm so sorry to get all caps-y on you in this post. There were just a lot of instances that needed certain inflections, ju know? If I was telling you this in person, I would get crazy eyes and yell-y.

Also Annoying? Cold Days in May

2009-05-19T11:18:00.003-04:00

You know what sucks? When you are told by three different sources in the morning that it's going to be cold and rainy all day so you wear capri pants and galoshes so as not to get your pants or your shoes wet, yet when you have to walk to your book club in the trendiest part of town, it's 70 degrees with not a cloud in the sky. And you look like a FREAKING DOOFUS in your capri pants and galoshes. So then at book club you take off the galoshes, hoping it will rectify the situation even a little, only to remember you're wearing black ankle socks. Luckily, your book club friends are very nice and don't say anything about you looking slightly to moderately challenged, but you judge yourself so much, you simply have to assume they're silently judging as well.
Awesome.
Awesome.

In Which The GG Offends an Entire Country

2009-05-18T14:46:00.003-04:00

Midge and I went to the Museum of Fine Arts yesterday to check out some decorative arts exhibit my yuppie self convinced me I needed to see. It was a pretty not bad trip for three reasons. Reason the first: there were some sweet vases and garbage in the exhibit from the freaking 1600s. Wrap your head around how old that is. I know it's more of a novelty to me being from a state where anything pre-twentieth century is Spanish or Indian crap, but still. That's pimp. Reason the second: we both got in free because I remembered that the old ~~dump~~ company I used to work for (let's call them Commonwealth Road) just donated roughly a bubillion dollars (USD) to the museum for a new wing, so the employees get in for friz-ee. I knew I kept that old ID for a reason- the ID on which I look like my dad if he had hair and if he were even grumpier. Reason the third: In the European Art section, I rounded a corner after gazing at an 18th-century bed (on which I would have had to sleep diagonally) to see a glistening white bust of my beloved Thomas Jefferson! Who knew that all this time that I've been living here, a little sculpture of his perfect, hunky face was mere miles away! I've been to the MFA before... how did I miss this? It was like a beam of light from heaven shone upon this masterpiece as the angels sang. Time stopped and we were alone in the high-ceilinged room, free to gaze into each others' eyes and dream of the possibilities... if only two centuries weren't such a long time!
Well, friends, my beloved TJ would have been sorely disappointed in me when I almost caused an international incident in the Impressionists room. This room I remember. There are some seriously cool artists represented: Monet, Degas, Cassat. If you read about them in your boring ass high school History class, they're there. My favorite is this sculpture by Degas of a little ballerina. She has the sickest green bow in her hair. Midge and I were admiring the below Renoir:

I commented that I really like that chick's dress (I'm a big fan of red and white together). Midge commented on all the cups hanging in the background and that perhaps these people were drunk. I replied, "They're French. They're always drunk." I meant it in a fun way, in that French people sure know how to have a good time, what with their wine and dancing and general laid-back outlook on life. They may not show it to Americans, but we can tell. You may appear to have a permanent sneer on your face, Jacque, but I bet you can party.
I could feel a stink eye coming from the woman standing next to me. I didn't look at her because a) she was about nipple-level to me and it would have come across as looking down my nose at her and b) you NEVER look directly at a stink eye lest you be turned into stone (stinky stone). I didn't think much of it, assuming she was some hyper-PC Boston liberal who couldn't take a joke. I noticed her step back a couple feet to stand next to the man she was with. She started saying something to him quite loud and in a rather irritated manner...

... in French.

Yep. I essentially called out the alcoholism of an entire nation, right in front of one of their own. We hightailed it out of there, Midge gasping for air between crackups. I nearly left her for dead on the rotunda as the tears of hilarity streamed down her face. What a d!ck.

'Bams Ensemb #2: May 15th, 2009

2009-05-15T14:49:00.003-04:00

Just Kicking It 'Bams

Just Kicking It 'Bams is in touch with his Hawaiian roots. One change 'Bams has made since taking over is the institution of Casual Friday. Forgo the stuffy dress pants today, he's feeling some Tommy Bahama. Never mind with the massive amounts of pomade he usually uses to keep that 'fro in check, it's an all-natural kind of day. Usually just a plain old good time, Casual Fridays really get crazy when they fall on a meeting with a foreign head of state. You should see how wild Angela Merkel goes around a shirtless 'Bams. Ach, so heisse! He's not sure he's got his pecs in summer shape just yet, so he'll use the lei to detract attention from the area to his abs. Speaking of 6-packs, who doesn't enjoy a little brewski while kicking back in your beach gear? Don't lie, Gordon Brown, you know you want some. We'll keep the flag close to remind us all of the important issues at hand (in the case of global warming- literally), but don't get too stressed. Just free your mind (as evidenced by the empty thought bubble*) and let it hang out. Just don't let Joe Biden pee in the pool. He thinks that's so freaking funny.

*Also because I didn't have a marker with which to write anything.

I Totally Wore a Ruffled Dress Yesterday Too

2009-05-13T14:28:00.004-04:00

Having grown up with no sisters and a rather tomboyish mother, one would probably never have called me a "girlie girl". Sure I had my share of Barbies and My Little Ponies, but I treasured them mainly as drivers for my Tonkas. I would jump rope and dance around with the best of them, but so help me God (Mother), if you put me in a dress today and it flies in my face when I'm trying to beat Bryson on the monkey bars... heads will roll. High school and college brought out my love of shopping and also a new found interest in professional football devoid of ogling (. So while not necessarily a princess (by trade), I wouldn't get out the menswear and mullets yet. I'm right smack in between Mariah Carey and k.d. lang (being a 10 and a 1 on the girlieness scale, respectively).

That being said, I saw this picture today and had to legitimately cover my mouth from screaming "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!" in the middle of the office.

That door slam you just heard? That was my ovaries quitting this bitch.

Love you, Buzzfeed .

Menino Better Read This

2009-05-12T16:30:00.004-04:00

Dear Boston,

In case you haven't heard, it's currently May. As in the month of Memorial Day, aka The Holiday Tailor-Made for Me. It's supposed to be warm out. Please get your ish together.

"But it's warmer than it was a month ago!" you may say. Indeed it is. However a month ago, all of my hair fell out and they had to amputate four of my toes because of the cold. That may be an exaggeration, but it was still outrageously cold. April is indicative of showers, not freezing rain that acts as an adhesive between my contacts and my eyeballs. And let's not discuss the 5 months prior to April, during which I may have googled "Arab prince, single".

"But there isn't a cloud in the sky! And it's actually enjoyable if you're in the sunshine!" you may say. Sentence fragments aside, you are correct. Though imagine for a second that your office is smack in the middle of two different districts which contain the bulk of the restaurants, bars, and other businesses you frequent before, after, and during work. District #1 or the "Financial District" (or as I call it, the "Yuppie D-Bag District"), is filled with skyscrapers. While aesthetically pleasing and practical from a city-planning standpoint, said skyscrapers act as barriers between the sun and your poor, be-goosebumped skin. Shade is not your friend. District #2 or the "Waterfront District" is void of these skyscrapers, even arguably sparsely populated. However, the "waterfront" part of the Waterfront District implies proximity to water; in this case, the Fort Point Channel. Again, the view is beautiful and actually a nice, up-and-coming place to be with gourmet deli/bakeries (which I clearly love) and lots more yuppies. But here's some science trivia for you: apparently, when a slight breeze comes into contact with the surface of water, it becomes a gale-force wind and also drops roughly 30 degrees. I didn't know this, being from a landlocked and right-angle-heavy state. Things that do not mix with high-speed, freezing winds: dresses, skirts, long hair, layers, and six-foot-tall girls who literally become sails when turned the correct way. So you see my predicament.

I assume this is merely a misunderstanding on your part. Perhaps you thought that me saying, "I F*ING HATE THIS MOTHERF*ING PLACE" actually meant "I F*ING HATE HAVING SUN ON MY FACE"? Well, it didn't. Let's clear that up right now.

This is where I would put the consequences you would face if you don't shape up and warm the crap up. I really have nothing with which to threaten you. Just do it for me please. And do it for the poor, pale children who have been cooped up inside all winter and want nothing more than to come to the Children's Museum and scream and annoy me. Do it for them.

Best,
TGG

PS- the channel also smells like rotten fish caca. You should probably fix that too.

I Wonder...

2009-05-12T16:25:00.002-04:00

... if there have been any statistics compiled on the place with the highest concentration of skinny bald dudes. Because I'm pretty sure my office would be #1. The majority of them have glasses too.

Lead Singer of R.E.M, possible Portfolio Manager

Dummies

2009-05-08T14:47:00.002-04:00

There are only about half of the regular crew in the office today. The rest are at some secret location in Waltham... checking the disaster plan or sumfin'? I think it has to do with the surprise party that's clearly in the works for me. Man, that's a lot of work. I really appreciate it, you guys. Either way, it's super quiet around here and also sunny outside for the first time in a week full of crappy weather. When I say crappy, I mean sideways rain, gale-force wind kind of weather. Apparently nobody gave Boston the memo that it's May. Or they did and Boston just forgot because it's too busy filing its nails and gossiping with the receptionist to notice. What a whore. What better reasons for a fun lunch with the few of us that are around on the brand-new beautiful patio down the street at the Atlantic Beer Garden? And we all know how I feel about Patio Boozing.
But no. Keep in mind my coworkers are native New Englanders. Their day is not complete until they check off the following:

Go out of way to make self and everyone around miserable
Avoid the letter R
Discuss Red Sox for at least 45 minutes

So apparently to fulfill requirement #1, they would rather stay inside and eat lunch at their desks like every other day. Makes total sense. Though they did go a little crazy and order pizza! WHOA SLOW DOWN! Yeah. And they got it from Upper Crust, the most overrated pizza on the Eastern Seaboard. I could make better pizza with a piece of cardboard and whatever the current Green Line Hobo is licking. Blech.

In conclusion: people are dummies.

'Bams Ensemb #1: May 8th, 2009

2009-05-08T14:35:00.006-04:00

(That title totally rhymes, PS)

Midge got me a magnetic Obama paper doll and it may be my favorite toy (apart from Boyfriend). So get excited for every Friday when I reveal that week's "'Bams Ensemb". Sorry the pictures are blurry. They're taken with my iPhone which shouldn't be an excuse.

'Bams Ensemb #1... Bling 'Bams.

Bling 'Bams likes to unwind after a long day of foreign policy and dealing with dummies by kicking back sans shirt (Ed note: meow!) with his favorite chains. They were a 5th wedding anniversary present from Michelle (5th is the bling anniversary). He keeps the phone close just in case Joe Biden does says/does something dumb/hilarious. His favorite Oakleys are always at hand in case he passes a mirror and his eyes can't take the reflection of awesomeness. And the hat? Well that's between 'Bams and the Secret Service. My best guess is that he's trying to grow a flat top ala Kid 'n Play.

Update

2009-05-07T12:07:00.003-04:00

Remember a couple of weeks ago when I wrote mi manifesto about BBQ? I mentioned a particularly hormone-crazed incident in which I went ape S on Boyfriend for being so brash as to get barbecued chicken pizza for dinner. Remember? Do you? You should.
Well photographic evidence has surfaced of that day. I guess there was a hidden camera or something and shows what happened. I should note that we live in the Serengeti. The Serengeti of Newton.

"I HATE BARBECUE!!!"

*Love you, Buzzfeed

The Scientific Method: My 4th Grade Science Teacher is So Proud Right Now

2009-05-04T14:20:00.006-04:00

Observation: Boys are balls-ass crazy, particularly around other boys.

Hypothesis: Girls are better than boys.

Proof: Two of Boyfriend's nephews' birthdays were this week sometime, so his parents had a party for both of them. I fully applaud their birthday combo strategy. It was a backyard barbecue and there was just a small smattering of children. I also applaud their maximum-number-of-children-so-as-not-to-make-the-twentysomethings-go-get-hammered strategy. These are my kind of parents. Anyway, the two nephews, an older kid, Boyfriend and his brother spent most of the shindig throwing various balls at various other boys, kicking and hitting each other, and generally being rambunctious. Meanwhile, the two little girls there sat on the garden swing singing songs in their pink sparkly shoes and ruffled socks. I wanted to spread them on a cracker and eat them they were so frickin' cute. Boyfriend's 18-month-old niece just sort of wandered around hugging people. She resisted my attempts to put her in my purse.
By the end of the day, the girls had some food stains on their shirts but were otherwise sparkling clean. The youngest of the boys had frosting, ice cream, and cake from his hair to his neck, ketchup up to his elbows, all sorts of grass stains, scrapes and bruises on his legs, and chocolate covering his pants. At least we assumed it was chocolate.

Conclusion: Little girls (especially the almost-edible ones) are way better and less tiring. At least until the age of 13, when girls should all be shipped off somewhere to hate their mothers together.

I Wonder...

2009-05-04T14:13:00.006-04:00

...what kind of disease makes everything smell like maple syrup? Because I have that. At first it was a delicious disease, but now I'm sick and GD tired of maple syrup. I wish my friends were doctors. Or astronauts (unrelated, but cool). Mrs. Butterworth and I are fighting fo sho.

What my gym clothes smelled like today

I'm So Trendy it Hurts

2009-05-04T11:32:00.002-04:00

Law & Order should do a show about a guy who finds hookers on Craigslist and then meets up with them and gives them Swine Flu. Talk about ripped from the headlines! Then, when he's on the witness stand, he could blame it on the economy. OH man.

Enough With the Hallucinogens Before Bed

2009-04-30T14:49:00.002-04:00

As many of you know, I am significantly less coherent and conscious when I'm even slightly tired than when I'm up to about 15 beers deep. I can at least act like a normal, balancing human when I'm all lit up, but that ability is gone baby gone when I'm sleep-deprived. Combine the two and that's when I start in with the sleep-talking about people I don't know (the mother of one of Boyfriend's friends a couple weeks ago), doing spot-on impressions of celebrities that I didn't know I could do (Cher, senior year of college), and singing along to songs I don't know (the entire Paul McCartney halftime show at Super Bowl XXXIX).
Last night I had no drinks except for a beer with dinner (no, Dad, that doesn't make me an alcoholic). I got up from bed after about an hour of sweet, fleeting REM (the sleep type, not the overrated band) for my nightly trip to the bathroom [see: My Teeny Bladder, 2009]. Upon my return, I noticed a bill sitting atop Boyfriend's dresser. Boyfriend keeps all sorts of things up there, including but not limited to: gum, maps, flashlights, pictures, and a Leatherman knife. It's part MacGuyver and part annoying. Why I felt the need to peruse the contents at this time is anybody's guess. I saw this bill sitting up there and could have sworn I saw it addressed to 'Michael Phelps'. This, my friends, amused the crap out of me. I tumbled into bed and laughed my metaphorical balls off. I was convinced that somebody had confused my boyfriend with The Merman.
It didn't seem to occur to me that a) we probably wouldn't be getting a millionaire Olympian's AT&T bill here in Newton when he lives in Baltimore or, more likely, b) I misinterpreted the words on the address in my exhaustion-induced haze, seeing as though Boyfriend's first name is Michael and middle initial is P. God forbid my good-for-nothing brain would finish reading. Way to jump to conclusions and make me look like a fool, brain. As punishment, I'm going to watch TMZ tonight. I just know you hate that.

Science, You Crazy

2009-04-30T14:28:00.003-04:00

Of all the mind-boggling technological advances of the twentieth century, I'd have to say the best is whatever scientists did to get the ice cream to stay in the cone when they dip it in chocolate at Dairy Queen. What sort of genius/angel came up with this? Boyfriend used to work at Dairy Queen (as a teenager, not as an older dude who's kind of sad and a little creepy), and he said it was pretty simple. He explained something about a vacuum seal or something, but as per usual I wasn't paying attention and went back to thinking about the Jonas Brothers. Not in a dirty way, Chris Hansen. What was going through some chemist/physicist/philanthropist's mind for this invention? "Egads, I love this ice cream cone so very much... but could use some chocolate. Not chocolate-flavored ice cream, just a wee hint of it. Perhaps covering it in a slightly hard shell. Oh bully, I've got it!" (Side note: All scientists talk like they're in olden times. Your mind: now blown). However it came about, I'm sure glad it did. And I sincerely hope a Nobel Prize was involved.

My iPhone is pretty cool too, but not as delicious

Another Thing to Not Get Twisted

2009-04-29T14:06:00.003-04:00

I just became a fan of 'BBQs' on The Book (Facebook for you oldies, El Libre for you Latino/as). This apparently threw Boyfriend into such a rage that he set fire to his fire station. That's a lie, but he was rather mind-boggled, and here's why: throughout our relationship, I've made it very clear that I hate barbecue sauce in pretty much any form. There were all the times we've visited BBQ joints for a meal and I get the side dish platter (sidebar: is it bad to get mashed potatoes for three of your three choices? I enjoy starches). There are the times I pull out my best stink-face as I watch him eat ribs. There's also the time I threw a door-slamming, blacking-out hissy fit because he had the audacity to buy BBQ chicken pizza for dinner. The last one can be blamed on the time of the month in which it happened as much as my hatred of said pizza, but I digress.

It could stem from my Susie America childhood, when family visited and my mom always made her barbecue chicken. My mom is an insanely good cook (a case where the apple [me] falls six states over from the tree), and the family loved this chicken garbage. But as an otherwise normal kindergartner with a crippling, OCD-like hatred of getting her hands dirty, barbecue chicken was the devil. The sticky, messy devil. Thinking back now, almost smelling the Lucifer Chicken cooking, I'm filled with the same feelings of anxiety and a need to go through the house to make sure we had enough paper towels and soap.

So do you understand Boyfriend's point about the BBQ fandom? Well you shouldn't, because it's wrong. I am a fan of BBQs. Notice that little s there? He is important, and apparently male. If I come to your backyard, eat some hot dogs you grilled and some potato salad you got at Shaw's for $4, drink a couple beers, and sit at your patio set to talk about what a beautiful day it is? That's A BBQ. Hopefully I was invited too, because if I wasn't that would be terribly rude of me. Notice the distinct lack of barbecue sauce in that description. That is of what I decided today on El Libre to become a fan. You can slather on as much of whatever sauce you like featuring whatever jolly obese man on the label you enjoy on your hot dogs or burgers, but I probably won't eat those. That's where the aforementioned potato salad comes in. And beer. Lots and lots of beer.

Mmmm... cliparty!

Also, stop what you're doing right now and Google 'barbecue'. I don't care if you're curing cancer, that can wait. And let's be honest... if you're reading this blog you're probably one of my friends and clearly not curing cancer. You lying sack of crap. Anyway, there are some seriously cool inventions for barbecuing, including a grill that latches on to a pool wall and extends out over the water. It combines my three favorite things: grilling, swimming, and danger. Now you know what to get me for my bday!

Don't Get Me Started on 'Pocketbooks', 'Directionals', and Standing 'On' Line for Something

2009-04-28T15:26:00.004-04:00

Listen up, Massachusettsians (Massachusettsans? Massachusettsites? I just call them a-holes). Let's get this straight once and for all.

These are Jimmies:

*******************************

These are sprinkles:

Don't get it twisted.

Leave Me Alone, Girl Scouts

2009-04-28T10:16:00.003-04:00

Girl Scout cookies here... right in the middle of your walk to the train to get home...

F you, Girl Scouts. I've been so healthy lately. I won't fall for your minty seduction.

But they're delicious. You know you want some Thin Mints to take home and put in the freezer and then take out when they're just frozen enough to make your brain explode from happiness...

Indeed I do. But I'm going to be in Mexico in 59 days, hanging out next to my size-2 cousins who don't even know what cellulite means.

Tagalongs don't give you cellulite! They're actually healthier than eating a salad! Think of the chocolate and the peanut butter and all the good times you had with us.

You're a dirty liar. Back off. I mean it.

Remember how you hated Samoas when you were little and just realized last year how amazing they are? What with the caramel and chocolatey chewy goodness? Just think how much better your life will be with these cookies.

I mean it is for a good cause...

That's true! Remember all the wonderful things Girl Scouts did for you when you were a Brownie? Like teaching you how wonderful it is to not shower for 6 days while you're at camp?

That was one of the best lessons of my life. 3 boxes please.

THE END

You Know What Sucks?

2009-04-27T15:49:00.003-04:00

That you can't really eat s'mores without a campfire being involved. I love s'mores but don't particularly care for camping. Yeah, I know there are those s'mores kits with the little fire thing you can have at home, but you probably use like a votive candle and that sh*t just doesn't cut it. Plus you just feel like a loser who doesn't have enough friends or ambition to make a campfire.
UGH

Disliking Jade Jewelry and 3rd-graders in Equal Measure

2009-04-27T15:24:00.006-04:00

I decided today that how I feel about children is the same feeling I have about southwestern art. Growing up in Colorado, you see plenty of people thinking they're all nativist and decorating their yuppie palaces with this garbage. But let's be honest, it's ugly. I would never tell somebody with floor-to-ceiling squiggly lines and hot colors and cacti that his/her house is fug, but I think it. Just as I would never tell somebody that his/her little angel looks like John McCain and Bea Arthur (RIP) got the dirty on and that it also has a five-head (like the kid I saw at Union St Bar this weekend. Woof). I would think it and, clearly, blog about it, but I wouldn't say it.

That being said, there are definitely some places that pull of the Arizona-y look. Just little hints of it are cool, or cool vintage pieces can be okay. Toddlers and my badass nephews, cousins, and friends' nephews/nieces are cool in my book, so long as they don't touch me with sticky hands. Then all bets are off.

This makes me want to yarf.

This too.

I Showed Him My Oregon Trail High Score!

2009-04-24T14:03:00.003-04:00

Boyfriend came into the city today to have lunch with me. I know, right? Anyway, I'm pretty sure the feeling I had when he was on his way was the exact same feeling I had in elementary school on Back to School Night.

Oh my God my mom is going to see my classroom and my desk and my teacher and my drinking fountain and the class hamsters and my glue!!!!!! Even if she was the one who bought it for me, she hasn't seen it in like 3 months and she's probably forgotten how awesome my glue is!!!! And I'm going to show my dad the music room and the gym and the art room and the library and how many books in the library I've read and the librarian Mr. Martin and him will be best friends!!! And my teacher and all my friends will see my mom and how cuddly she is and my dad and how funny he is and it's like EVERYTHING AWESOME IN MY LIFE WILL BE IN ONE PLACE!!!

You probably didn't know I used so many exclamation points when I was little, didja? I also spoke exclusively in italics. One year, we had an "art night" where you went to the gym with your parents and the art teacher had a bunch of stations set up with different art projects you could do. There was marble painting and clay and then one where you made little beads out of rolling magazine paper. My dad was really good at that one. Awkward.

Dad?

I Wonder...

2009-04-24T11:32:00.006-04:00

... every day why my parents haven't cut me off yet.

Me: "... so I told that guy to lick my taint and get the hell out of my face."
My mom: "You should really stop demanding people lick body parts you don't have when you're mad."
Me: "But MOM! 'Lick my ovary' is disgusting. And, frankly, too suggestive."
My mom: "Where did you come from?"
Me: "You."

80 Motherfing Degrees, Motherfer

2009-04-24T11:01:00.009-04:00

Oh you read that correctly. Forecast for this weekend is 80 degrees. This is remarkable for two reasons: A) It has been beyond-imagination-my-hair-is-cold-and-my-hearing-is-going cold in Boston for about 14 months straight. Okay, I exaggerate. More like 9. I vividly remember wearing my mittens last August. Could have been a coozie-related substitution... but whatever. B) The (FEW AND FAR BETWEEN) nice days this month have all fallen on a Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday. For you students, stay-at-home moms, hobos and trust funders out there who don't work during the day, this isn't a big deal. But for those of us caught in the soul-crushing embrace of the 9 to 5 corporate world, this sucks nards. Imagine looking over the Boston Harbor, seeing people at the Barking Crab enjoying some overpriced fried crap with the sun on their faces and the breeze in their hair, while you are on the other side of the window wearing a scarf and cozying up to your space heater because your office's air conditioning is on the fritz, your only light coming from the oh-so-flattering florescents above and the glare of the computer screens ahead. Ah, adulthood.

So tonight I'm taking advantage in Mother Nature's lapse in judgment and partaking in some great warm-weather activities. Tonight is the first Red Sox-Yankees game of the year at Fenway and my friend Kelly has SERIOUS hookups for tickets. Before that, however, comes my absolute favorite hobby ever: drinking on a patio. I'm getting excited just thinking about it. The way people think about hiking or antiquing or volunteering with orphans, I think about Patio Boozing. It's who I am, it's what I do, it makes me a better person.

Patio Boozing in March in Colorado. That's dedication.

Patio Boozing in Mexico... which is really an entire country of patios. Drug wars be damned, I love it there.

Patio Boozing with my sister-in-law there purely to make me look tan.

Patio Boozing in D.C with bonus crazy eye!

Reason #3,409,658,306 I Should Probably Not Procreate

2009-04-23T14:21:00.007-04:00

I find this HIGH-larious (from Finslippy which is my current obsession and the reason I have been quiet-laughing in my cube for the last two days in case you were wondering, coworkers):

"Finally, here's a parenting tip for you: even though your four-and-a-half-year-old is deeply enamored with David Bowie's song stylings, you might want to skip past "Rebel Rebel," Because maybe you forgot that your child has ears and a brain, and you were listening to it in the car on the way to school, and then your kid walked into the classroom and called his teacher a "hot tramp."

Tell me that's not the funniest f*ing thing you've heard all day. The problem lies in the fact that this woman probably had enough sense to say something to said four-and-a-half-year-old. I, on the other hand, would probably- after initial peeing of my pants- encourage him to do more. "Ever heard 'Baby Got Back', son? Repeat after mommy: My anaconda don't want none unless you got buns, hun!" Then I would of course let the hilarity ensue.

I'll just stick to being an aunt for now and pumping my nephews full of sugar and swear words when I babysit.

Are You Psychic or Something?

2009-04-23T11:17:00.004-04:00

You will never in a billion years guess what I have for lunch today.

Turkey and cheese sandwich, you say? Because that's what I have for lunch every day unless I have leftovers from a previous night's dinner in which case I try to switch it up but don't necessarily like to because it means questionable nutrition and probably unwieldy Tupperware containers on my already-uncomfortable T ride, you say?

Damn. You're good.

Ugh, I'm so funny

2009-04-23T09:32:00.004-04:00

If this blog were about living in Boston, and all about my hilarious experiences in the city rather than just dumb things that fall out my brain, I would call the blog 'Life in the Big Bean'.

HAHAHA!

Get it? New York is the Big Apple, but Boston is known for baked beans and...

[crickets]

I guess that wasn't as clever as I first thought.

This is actually in Chicago, but it's a bean. Explain that, brainiac.

I Wonder...

2009-04-22T15:21:00.004-04:00

... if the fact that everybody in my department except me is in a meeting right now should be a warning sign that my future here is precarious. OR they're planning a surprise party for me. My birthday isn't until June, so maybe that's the surprise. YAY PARTIES!

UPDATE: manager has just told me it was a meeting with a client I don't deal with, so I didn't need to go. Likely story.

Hobos, You Crazy

2009-04-22T14:59:00.003-04:00

Two reasons for this post. 1) I thought of this title last night and wanted to write a post with this title. 2)The list below looks so pretty (which to me is equal to organized). So here is my list of my favorite hobos in Boston.

Nice Dunkin Donuts Hobo. By far the #1 best hobo of all time. He's so very nice. He always sits in front of the Dunkin Donuts on Cambridge and Bowdoin Streets in Beacon Hill. I haven't lived there in almost a year and he still remembers me. Midge (who still lives in BH) is always regaled with his compliments on her hair, her clothes, even her smile. He's very polite and never pushy, well-spoken and relatively well-kept. This dude would make a way better mayor than Mumbles Menino over there.
Sleepy South Station Hobo. There's always a hobo at South Station in the morning, sleeping standing up at the top of the stairs. He isn't in anybody's way and he's sleeping standing up. Perhaps if NDDH does get elected mayor, he could pull some strings and get this guy a special position in government. One that focuses on the awesomeness of being able to sleep standing up.
Hunchy the Hobo or "Long Beard". I used to see this hobo a lot when I worked in Downtown Crossing (aka Hoboshire, Massachusetts. Not to be confused with Hoboken, New Jersey). He was really short already, but he also walked totally hunched over at an almost right angle. He also had a probably 2 foot long beard that was sometimes braided. He clearly couldn't see in front of him, seeing as though he was looking straight down, but he always seemed to know where he was going. And he always hauled ass to wherever that was. This was a hobo on a mission.

Honorable mentions: Spare Change Hobo (I don't like him but he seems to have a following- like Danny Gokey), Sleepy Government Center Hobo, and the guy I saw on West Street once in a business suit smoking a bong. I don't think he was actually a hobo, but he probably should be.

Organs of Unusual Size (that size being tiny)

2009-04-22T14:14:00.007-04:00

One of my coworkers just commented that I go to the bathroom a lot. I always had an inkling my coworkers noticed that, but figured they assumed I just did a lot of coke. I'm in the Finance industry, after all. I'd be willing to bet a lot of them saw their share of Kate Moss Candy in the eighties. It was a crazy time.

But I digress.

The coworker who made the comment is pregnant. A pregnant woman thinks I pee excessively. She has a thing (not getting into the "IT'S A PERSON, DAMMIT" versus "IT'S NOT A PERSON, DAMMIT" debate here, as opinions make me tired) literally sitting on her bladder all the live long day, yet my bladder is even more hyperactive. She's very nice, so I know she meant no disrespect. I personally don't like to share my thoughts on my friends' restroom activities, but maybe that's just me. Could be a Massachusetts thing. Though that would be more like, "What the f**k is wrong wichu, kid? Did you drink da Boston Hahbah or somethin'? Go Sox."

So just to keep things straight, here's a study guide to me.

Parts of me that are unusually small:

Bladder

Pinkie toes

Conscience

Parts of me that are average:

Ears

Eyes

Sense of Wonder

Parts of me that are unusually large and should probably be studied by scientists:

Everything else

Get away from my ottoman, Asian lady!

Useful Math

2009-04-22T09:43:00.004-04:00

Torrential Downpour

Scary as F book about shit going down at a loony bin

Boyfriend at work and therefore not home to protect me

Roughly 3 hours of sleep for this girl last night. The teddy bear did NOTHING. D*ck.

I Wonder...

2009-04-21T14:04:00.003-04:00

...if cab drivers make fun of other cab drivers for the ads on their little signs up top of the car.

I would totally make fun of the guy I saw today with the Smooth-Away ad on his. That shit is unfortunate.

Two Coloradans Walk into Boston...

2009-04-21T11:51:00.005-04:00

Midge just reminded me of the weekend we visited here right before we moved, and this legitimately happened.

Me: “Um… this is probably a really dumb question… but… is Boston the capital of Massachusetts?”
Midge: “You know… I think so, but it may be one of those states with a really obscure capital. Like Florida. We should look it up.”

Note: this took place on the steps of the Massachusetts state capitol.

I think it's where the Queen of New England lives

Here's the Thing

2009-04-21T11:17:00.005-04:00

I love starting statements with, "Here's the thing". You automatically sound either really thoughtful or really drunk. My friend Kiki is usually both and she starts thoughts with "Here's the thing" all the time. Sometimes it's more like "hhhheeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrsthh theeeeen" and then finishes it with "I gotta peeeee" or "that girl was a BISSSHHHHHH!"

Dinz

2009-04-21T10:55:00.005-04:00

I was going to make myself a delicious BLT for dinner tonight, but then remembered I have no L. I do, however, have Prosciutto. What, you may ask, could possibly make me justify the substitution for a negative-calorie vegetable could be cured Italian meat? It's simple really:

I like Prosciutto much better than I like lettuce.

You thought I had something deep and philosophical cooking up, didn't you? Something more mature and thoughtful than "Prosciutto is yummy, lettuce tastes like caca."? I don't. I should have something healthy but that's what the T is for. And the B is turkey B so that's pretty good. I may just skip the third letter and call it a day. I don't know, the world is my oyster.

Delicious, even L-less

The Fur Realz

It Didn't Go Well

Better Believe it's That Important

The Wind... Cries... Phyllis

The Stinkiest Fight Ever

I Wonder...

One is Silver and the Other Gold... and Some Others are Pure Booze

TGG Insults of the Day

So I Says to Him I Says

Fun With Euphemisms

Stop It With the Mini-Evergreen Deliveries Too

What Would Roller Skate Dude Do? (WWRSDD)

I Wonder...

They Also Seriously Impair my Tall-Buildings-Single-Bound Leaping Abilities

I Also Rarely Use "Personification"

Also, Mini Tacos!

The Ever-Glamorous Literati

I Wonder...

I Wonder...

You're Puttin' Me Through Hell-a!

Lessons for the Corporate World

A Banner Night in the TGG House

Mommy Issues

Public Transportation = Epic Win

More Tales from the iPodkeeper

Me and Fitty Down by the Schoolyard

My iTunes, in Graphs

My Mom Totally Has a Broncos-induced Heart Murmur

Yet Another Rehab I Should Probably Check Into

Thresher? Thrasher? Thrash Unreal?

Don't Tell My Mom, She'll Cut Me Off

Awky!

The Whole 'Can't Vote Cuz I'm a Chick' Thing Doesn't Sound So Great Though...

Car 2 is Obviously a Dodge Caravan

The Story of my Day in Pictures

Heard Any Good Jokes Lately?

If You're Thinking of Having a Kid and You Already Have an Adult Sibling...

The Best Ones are at Disneyland

Just Saw a Commercial...

Seriously, Mumbles Menino

Hookers and Blow: You Know, the Usual

Why I'm NOT an A-hole

In Defense of Poudre School District

What With Their Toddling

You Know What's Awesome? Hormones!

'Bams Ensemb #4: May 29, 2009

Not to Get all Jerry Seinfeld on you...

I'm Back, Mothereffers

'Bams Ensemb #3: May 21st, 2009

Also Annoying? Cold Days in May

In Which The GG Offends an Entire Country

'Bams Ensemb #2: May 15th, 2009

I Totally Wore a Ruffled Dress Yesterday Too

Menino Better Read This

I Wonder...

Dummies

'Bams Ensemb #1: May 8th, 2009

Update

The Scientific Method: My 4th Grade Science Teacher is So Proud Right Now

I Wonder...

I'm So Trendy it Hurts

Enough With the Hallucinogens Before Bed

Science, You Crazy

Another Thing to Not Get Twisted

Don't Get Me Started on 'Pocketbooks', 'Directionals', and Standing 'On' Line for Something

Leave Me Alone, Girl Scouts

You Know What Sucks?

Disliking Jade Jewelry and 3rd-graders in Equal Measure

I Showed Him My Oregon Trail High Score!

I Wonder...

80 Motherf*ing Degrees, Motherf*er

Reason #3,409,658,306 I Should Probably Not Procreate

Are You Psychic or Something?

Ugh, I'm so funny

I Wonder...

Hobos, You Crazy

Organs of Unusual Size (that size being tiny)

Useful Math

I Wonder...

Two Coloradans Walk into Boston...

80 Motherfing Degrees, Motherfer