^^^ That is how I would spell "Halloween" if I lived in Canada. But I don't.
Anyway, I hope everyone is having an awesome holiday. I know I am. I did forty-five minutes of cardio and at 4 I'm gonna go trick-or-treating. At work. And by "trick-or-treating" I mean "delivering food and throwing pickles at the cooks, like I do every day." I'm going as a waitress. HOLLA.
Incidentally, here are some things I'm into today. They have nothing to do with the holiday, really, but I've never let that stop me before.
1) Honeycrisp apples
You think you know apples? You don't know apples until you've had a Honeycrisp. Believe me. I'm not too sure on the particulars, but I think they might be genetically engineered. Officially? I'm opposed to that. Unofficially? These things are delicious. It's like when you went apple picking when you were a kid and ate way too many warm, tree-fresh apples and almost got sick, but you couldn't stop because they were too delicious (just me?). Only they taste like that all the time, all year round. Also, in google searching them in order to get this photo, I discovered that you can order them through the mail and get them delivered to your house. Enough said.
2) Cool girls on bikes.
One of my life's dearest ambitions (besides owning the Most Adorable Dog ever, who will respond to commands in French and love me the most out of anyone), is to live in an urban area where I can be a total hipster and ride a bike around all the time. Ideally, said bike would have a platform on the back for roping grocery bags to, and a huge wire basket in the front for convenience. And I would ride it around in cute outfits, possibly with said Most Adorable Dog Ever in tow, and everyone would watch in awe and wish that they were as adorable/fantastic as me.
I faithfully collect every street-style picture that involves a bike that I find in an on-line folder, but today online I found this on Joanna's awesome blog, Cup of Jo. Look at all those sassy babes. Look at all those beautiful clothes. Check those sweet bikes. Hell, one of the girls in the first picture is from Copenhagen (aka my favorite city in Europe). There's even a baby. Lahve.
3) Whipped cream
That shit is delicious. Actually, when I was little, I hated whipped cream. Along with marischino cherries, they ruined sundaes for me for at least thirteen years. Now, I know better. Byrne Dairy whipped cream in a can? Yes plz. I don't shoot it directly into my mouth like some girls at work do (ahem, Crystal, I am talking to you), but I do pile it into huge mountains on top of hot cocoa and eat it with a spoon. And then not drink the hot cocoa. It's free at work. This is a bad thing.
As a side note, how is it that I am allowed to eat all the damn whipped cream I want on the job, but I am not permitted to have broccoli on my salad for dinner? Hm.
Side Note #2: When you google-image search "whipped cream", you would be amazed at how few pictures of the edible foodstuff there are, and how many pictures there are of women wearing it on their lady-bits, a la Varsity Blues. Ew.
So today I was at work and it was maddeningly slow and I had made no money, when Priscilla says, "Three cars just pulled up all at once. Maybe we'll all get a table!"
"Yeah," I said, "and with my luck one of those cars will have just one person in it and that will be the table I get."
Wronggggggggg. Next thing I know, I am up and it is fourteen people. Most waitresses love big-tops because they have the biggest bills and you can slap a gratuity of 18% on that shit if the party is larger than nine. But they terrify me. I needed the money, though. Last night I only made $17.50.
I took a deep breath and plunged in. Got drinks. Poured coffee. Poured coffee. Tried to smile. Even though there were fourteen of them, they were all so nice and friendly that I felt bad being anything but my super stellar waitressing best back. They almost all got big dinners. I got soup, I got salad, I got bread. I got the harried-looking dad at the end of the table his three Amstels. I poured more coffee. I got food out. I smiled until I thought my face would break. I fetched hot sauce and water and mustard and parmesean cheese and made sure everyone was okay, and then I let them eat.
I came back a little bit later. More coffee. Dessert. Cookies. To-go boxes. Are we sure we don't need anything else? I printed up the check and explained that I had already added the gratuity to it. (Some waitresses don't do this because they hope the people won't realize it's already on there and will double-tip them, but I don't feel right doing that.) I smiled and walked away, but then I felt a hand on my arm.
"Excuse me, miss," said the man from the head of the table. "Here, this is for you."
He handed me some money. "Oh," I said. "Oh, I thought I told you, the tip is already..."
"No," he said. "This is extra. See, three of us are all brother and sister, and we just came from our mother's funeral. We're driving back to Texas and it's been a long, sad day. I just wanted to let you know that you made our day so much better. You were so nice. You made our day. Thank you."
And then I realized that this is why it is important to be good to everyone you come across. Not just because you will get a $65 tip out of it, but because everyone you meet could be coming from their mother's funeral. Everyone you see could be having a long, sad day, and if you can do anything to make it better, you probably should.
He rides a Vespa. And chain-smokes. And has night terrors. And is totally neurotic and twisty. And's he's only eight years older than me! That's the same age as the state trooper who always hits on me at work. It could happen, right? Right?
Not only did he star in Forgetting Sarah Marshall, which is unabashedly totally hilarious, all awkward naked penises aside, but what is more impressive to me is that he wrote it. I know for a fact that writing a screenplay is harder and way more difficult than any other kind of writing. Writing dialogue that sounds like actual people talking and not just an episode of the goddamned Gilmore Girls is difficult and takes skill. Writing funny things is about a million times harder than writing sad or dramatic things. Also, he's 6'4".
He made me cry with laughter in I Love You, Man. Do yourself a favor and do a youtube search of any interview with him and Paul Rudd. (Try the one where they sing Les Mis.) They are on their own planet of hilarious. Watching interviewers try to keep up with them is just sad. It can't be done.
But what really did it for me was Freaks and Geeks. What he does in F&G is what I think makes him such an effective and endearing actor in all his other roles. It's what makes the penis scene in Sarah Marshall kind of awkwardly touching, in spite of everything. He is completely emotionally vulnerable. Watching him in F&G is like watching a bundle of raw nerves walk around on screen, and isn't that what high school is actually like? His jittery nerves and facial expressions capture completely what it is to be broken up with, or in love, or happy, or high, or pissed off, or whatever.
Um. I just realized that I'm really bad at describing why I like things.
Anyway, watch this and tell me you're not in love with him, too:
So, earlier this spring I had a problem. I have bad eyes, but my insurance only covers me for contacts or glasses once a year. Since I primarily wear contacts, I always chose to stock up on them, but as a result my backup glasses were something like seven years old and worse than useless. Finally, I decided that I was just going to need to buckle down and spend some exorbitant amount of money on glasses.
Luckily, I found Warby Parker before that. Warby Parker sells really cute, vintage-inspired glasses for men and women. I know vintage glasses might not be everyone's cup of tea, but they have styles that aren't so much mondo-hipster, so you should check them out, anyway (like the Japhy, the Nedwin, the Belen, the Thompson, and the Cailin).
Things That Are Fantastic About Warby Parker:
1) Their styles are pretty cute, but still original, so your glasses won't look just like everyone else's.
2) If you don't know your prescription off the top of your head, that's fine! You can just enter your eye doctor's phone number, and Warby Parker will call them and get the prescription for you. If you have a weird phobia of talking to receptionists, like I do, this is awesome and a godsend. Or if you're lazy. Or busy. You know.
3) All their glasses are $95. Just $95, lenses included. No shipping, no tax. Does it get much better than that? I don't think so.
I realize this sounds like I'm being paid to tout Warby Parker or something, but I just feel like, in today's tumultuous economy and a lot of post-grads (like myself) having issues with health insurance and cash flow in general, it's nice to spread the word.
I have the Roarks, by the way. You know, as in The Fountainhead? I'm not going to lie and pretend that the name didn't play a big part in me getting them. I am also not going to lie and pretend like I don't look adorable in them, because I do.
“Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.”
So you know how I was complaining that I gained a bunch of weight this weekend and needed to lose it, stat? Well I did and I do, so this week was supposed to be Diet and Exercise Lockdown for me. Um, small problem: my brother's seventeenth birthday was this weekend (HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BUD!) and my mother made him a cake. My mother makes fucking amazing cake. My mother made a whole cake and for some reason my family decided to pick at it like little birds so there is still a ton left over. That was Saturday, this is Wednesday. Guess who has been not-so-sneakily cutting themselves little slivers (okay, big slivers) all week? Yeah, you got it right. But it's not my fault! The cake is still so moist and perfect and if I don't eat it, it'll go stale, right?
For my birthday, I asked for mostly books and movies. I've been (trying to) write short stories lately, so I've been trying to read short stories, too, for inspiration. The only thing is, I'm usually a novel girl. I like to sink my teeth into a whole books. Kind of like how I like to sink my teeth into an entire chocolate cake? But I digress.
I got The Collected Stories of Colette for my birthday (thanks, Mom and Dad!) and didn't know what to expect. Honestly, I didn't know much about Colette but I knew that she was French and owned Russian Blue cats and that made her okay in my book. This shit is bananas, which is good because the volume is like 650+ pages long. I'm not really sure if I can make any kind of writerly judgements as befit my English major yet, but she spends one whole section in the beginning writing out one-sided conversations with her hairdresser, the lady who makes her corsets, and masseuse. She also talks about clothes a lot. I was sold.
Seriously, though. I've heard that Colette translations in the 70's, when my mother went to college, were so notoriously bad that no one read her. I'm not sure if the situation has changed or if this is all just silly talk, but her language is very exact and she makes very astute and satirical observations which kind of serve to define the era and place (Paris Paris Parissssss) in which she was writing. And I've always admired authors who can give you a good feel of setting without just going on and describing it for eighteen straight pages (*cough*CHEKOV*cough*).
Also, check that haircut.
2) Flat boots
I love me some flat boots. Love, love, love. But, alas, I have really weirdly shaped feet and it's hard for me to indulge this love. As a result, my only pair of flat black boots right now are black and from Target and were very cheap at the time (cheap boots will fit my feet, nice ones won't. Go figure.) but they are also starting to look like they cost $39.95. Thus, I am in the market for new black boots. Piperlime to the rescue. These are all under $100. If that is not fucking fabulous, I do not know what is.
Perfume that smells like delicious things? Yes please. While I'm not sure if I would want to smell like vinyl, for example, I would love to smell like snow. Or rye bread. Or licorice. Or honey. Or a clear, northeastern spring night. Yeah. Demeter can make you smell like all those things.
I need help picking a scent. You guysssss. What do you think?
In case you didn't know, speaking in fluent LOLcatz is a talent of mine. So is watching a huge amount of cooking shows on Food Network.
During finals week last year, I came across this on the awesome blog CheapHealthyGood. It made me laugh. It made me cry (of laughter). It made me think about cooking shows in a different way. It reinforced my dislike for Sandra Lee and Rachael Ray. Mostly, though, it's just really fucking funny and I like sharing funny things with people.
So go. Read it. You'll be glad you did.
PS- CheapHealthyGood is a pretty awesome blog, in general. It's equal parts smart and funny, and it will teach you how to cook, how to cook more healthfully, and how to save money. And thus, how to basically rock at life. You should add it to your GoogleReader. ...What? You don't have a GoogleReader?
I know everyone has been waiting with bated breath to hear about my weekend. I'M SORRY. My GPS took me home for three hours down all backroads and I almost ran over an orange cat that wouldn't get out of the middle of the road. I was a little tired/overwhelmed last night. No posting! But I'm back. I know you were all really worried. You can exhale now. The yoga lady on TV said it was okay.
But anyway, suffice it to say that I have returned more in love with my friends than ever and missing college desperately. I also reminded myself at how bad I am at picking things to drink. Seriously. Any mixed drink I make is horrible. I bought myself a bottle of red wine that was too dry and turned my teeth bright purple, even after I tried drinking it through a straw. I bought myself two big bottles of Guinness and then remembered that Guinness is so heavy you usually can't drink more than one in a sitting. I took a class in Ireland, you guys. How am I so dumb and why did I forget this?
I also ate a ton of delicious food, gained about five pounds, and am spending the day detoxing with water and green tea and psyllum husk as a result. Brueger's bagels are delicious. Why don't we have them downstate? So is everything at The King and I. And so is drunk Subway at two am, even if the girl serving you is really mean and obviously doesn't want to be there. And, guys! My friends are adults! With cute apartments and job offers (Congrats again, Drewski!). And Rochester is cute! With adorable neighborhoods and things within walking distance and everyone walking their dogs all the time. And Wegmans. We can't forget how much I love Wegmans. And people I love are there. (See the above picture again. Who wouldn't want to be around those faces errday?)
This makes me feel like, if New York doesn't work out, I could conceivably be very happy in Western New York. Who ever would have thought?
Please excuse the creepiness involved in the fact that I stole this picture from her facebook. And that I was not present at the event pictured.
She's in Spain right now. And she's really awesome and I love her a lot. And she broke her leg. In Spain. Pretty spectacularly, too, if what her mom told me is correct. She's got pins and plates and everything. What a rockstar.
I don't think Cait has internet in the hospital. From what I've heard, I don't really think Spain believes in internet, because it seems to be difficult to get and sustain it. But anyway, we love you, Cait. And I hope you get better soon. And so does everyone reading this. They're sending you and your leg good vibes. And if they're not, they're bad people and we don't like them, anyway.
IT'S FRIDAY and in half an hour I will be out the door and on my way to Syracuse to eat me some five-dolla pizza buffet (note: now that I have looked up the website, I see that there is a nutrition panel and I am torn between looking and being horrified at what I am about to consume, or ignoring it but having it bug me all day. Hmm.) and then truck the rest of the way up to Ra-cha-cha with Karin to see Alissa and Paige!
I usually plan my outfits for a given length of time before I pack, but this time I didn't. I just realized I forgot underwear and socks, for example. Just sitting here now as I typed this. But I do have six pairs of shoes. For three days. That's reasonable, right?
In conclusion, here are some really fucking cute baby animals. Kapow. I'll be back on Monday.
This is my boyfriend's blog. And a shameless plug. He's funny and you should go read things he writes and then bug him to write more of them. (He is going to kill me for putting this here.) That is all.
Wait, no it's not. My back is KILLING me. As in, super huge amounts of pain that make it hard for me to lift the heavy dishes of pasta (seriously, pasta. Who would have thought something so innocuous would be the heaviest thing on the menu?) that it is necessary for me to lift at work. I don't want to go to the chiropractor. Does anyone have advice and/or want to come walk on my back? kthxbye.
This morning I woke up and my dad asked me if I knew who Blake Lively was. When I told him that yes, I did, he proceeded to inform me that he saw her in the New Yorker in an advertisment for a book of Vogue photos (hipster family I told youuuu) and thought she was so pretty that he googled her.
Then he proceeded to read me tidbits from her wikipedia page, like that she doesn't work out and that she likes burritos and that her mother used to make her clothes when she was little and that kids made fun of her because it was the 90's and she was dressed all nicely and they were running around in giant neon teeshirts. Then, we image-searched pictures of her adorable puppy for like half an hour and made squealy noises and Dad concluded by saying, "I think the two of you could be friends. She seems like a girl with values."
This is a post about music that I like. Everyone is groaning, I know. But I like good music. I do! Get over it.
Warren Zevon is awesome, and it makes me really angry that people only know him from this song:
and even angrier that most people only know him from this song. (It doesn't deserve to have its music embedded, although I guess I should say props to Kid Rock for recognizing a good thing when he hears it?)
My love for Warren Zevon is yet another example of how much cooler my dad is than me, because Dad was the one that taught me to like him. My dad has awesome taste, and Warren Zevon falls in his official I LIKE EVERYTHING THEY HAVE EVER DONE, INCLUDING ALL THE ALBUMS THAT EVERYBODY ELSE DIDN'T LIKE AND I LIKED THEM BEFORE IT WAS COOL TO DO SO category. (Oh dear god. I just realized that my dad is a hipster. Why didn't anyone tell me?!) (The aforementioned category includes, in case anyone was wondering, Warren Zevon, Frank Zappa, and Neil Young. Only those three.)
Anyway, anyone who knows me knows how much I like poetic song lyrics, and Warren Zevon just might be the king of those. Even in songs where he just sounds angry, he manages to put it in a way that no one else ever has or probably ever will. "Don't knock on my door if you don't know my rottweiler's name." Don't tell me you've ever told your ex that you fucking hate their guts in quite that way.
Warren Zevon died of cancer in 2003 and his last album, "The Wind", might possibly be the most beautiful thing I have ever heard. And also the saddest, because you can hear in his voice how hard it is for him to be singing what he is.
Anyway, here is one of my favorite songs by him. If you watch this video, it will make your brain bigger, I promise.
For any of you who are wondering, no, I absolutely cannot do the pose you see on your left. Just looking at it hurts me. I don't even know what it's called. But it looks cool and maybe someday, yeah?
Right now I am doing a kind of hilarious video called "Beyond Basic Yoga For Dummies!" The woman talks very slowly and often recommends that I use a chair for baalnce, etc. This leads me to believe that this video (which I scored fo' free from the public library. HOLLA.) is meant for very stupid people and also eighty year olds. I choose to ignore that, though, and instead to just feel really superior that I don't have to take little breaks in between poses to catch my breath, as the video recommends. I rock.
2) Crystallized ginger
This shit is bananas. Enough said.
3) Green tea
This is actually kind of a lie...I'm not wild about green tea. I don't know if I always steep it too long or what, but it always tastes bitter to me. This could also have to do with my seventh-grade trip to Japan, and the large quantities of foamy green tea ceremony-style tea that I dutifully drank, but green tea has never been my fave. HOWEVER, I know that it's really good for you, so today I am going to make a conscious effort to drink it and see what all the fuss is about.
(On a side note, how bizarre is this? Yeah, that's a
green tea Kit Kat. I kind of want to eat one. Nom.)
I was really, really lucky. Freshman year of college, I got randomly housed in a suite in Wyoming (the dorm, not the state) with five other girls. One of them ended up being a crazy psycho, but the rest were pretty cool, and three of them ended up
living with me until I graduated. I don't think there are pictures of a weekend at Geneseo where we're not with each other...at least one or two of us. I don't know what college would have been like for me without them, but I probably would have drank a lot less and also been a lot less happy and a lot more lame. Also, I would never have learned NOT TO BRUSH MY HAIR. (Thanks, Karin and Al.)
So we all graduated and things are different now. Al and Paige are both in grad school and Rochester. I'm home, obviously,and Karin is in Chittenango and rocking it out at Bed, Bath & Beyond. And I miss them all so so much. We've never beenapart for so long before and it's starting to seem weird that I don't come every day to weird smells in the kitchen because Paigeis roasting something. But that's okay because I GET TO SEE THEM THIS WEEKEND. We are going to take on Rochester(or is it Geneseo? Ladies, have we decided yet?) and be in love all weekend. And probably spoon. And I can't wait.
Sometimes this song is all that gets me into the car and on my way to work. Sean introduced me to it and Brian played it for me the last time I was in Geneseo and I was hooked. It, I think, has earned the title of Catchiest Song Ever (or at least until I find a new Catchiest Song Ever.) But I only just thought to look up the video today. Watch it.
A couple things:
1) I am obsessed with the green backup singers. How did the middle girl get her eyelashes like that?! I know she's obviously wearing fake ones, but I have never gotten them to look that good on me.
2) The girl on the right at 1:40. In the nerd glasses. How much cuter is she than the object of Cee Lo's affection? The answer is so much. So much cuter. And I am not just saying this because I am a Girl With Glasses. Or maybe I am. Maybe I'm biased. Whateva.
3) How awesome is Cee Lo, period? In 2006 he made clinical depression sound sexy. I can get on board with that. Also, he wears plaid and nerdy glasses. All I look for in a man, really. I'm so serious.
4) It's official. I can no longer see a diner- even a fake one on a sound stage in a campy music video- without wondering about the setup, how many people can fit on the counter, how the booths are divided up, how many waitresses it would take to keep the place running during the day. Help. I officially have no life.
5) Slipping on fries is a bitch. And, along with burning myself on the toaster (heat lamp, hot ceramics, coffee machine or anything that gets even remotely warm), it might be the most hazardous part of my job.
Okay. I'm going to go watch it again. Feel free to send me links for songs that you deem catchier than this one. I dare you. I triple-dog dare you.
Today is mine. I'm twenty-two ,which I guess means that I am officially "in my twenties" and should get cracking on that whole "real life" thing. And maybe use fewer quotation marks, because that makes you look pretentious and no one likes that, right?
I took the day off work today, which probably wasn't smart because I could use the money. I could always use the money. Couldn't we all? But (most of the time) I really, really hate my job, so I figured that taking the day off could be my present to myself. In addition to the two (overly expensive) vintage dresses that I didn't really need. That I bought two weeks ago.
Randy The Busboy says that I'm weird because I get happy about "weird" things, but doesn't he know that that's how you keep yourself from going insane when you spend the majority of your productive time worrying because you seem to have lost your ability to write creatively (aka- the ability you were counting on to make your whole future, well...happen?) and serving fries to irritating people?
You have to focus on "weird" things, or little things, so for my birthday, these are things I am doing to celebrate:
-wearing my favorite elephant earrings and that obnoxious hipster hat that I secretly love but almost never wear because I know it makes me look like an asshole.
-listening to Le Show with my mom on NPR.
-eating wings for breakfast. Ten of them. With ranch dressing.
-not weighing myself.
-doing a new yoga video that isn't meant for octogenarians with back problems while Etta (BEST. DOG. EVER.) sits on my feet in an effort to help.
-reading "A Diamond As Big As The Ritz".
-burning my cider candle all. Damn. Day.
-painting my nails.
-drinking a lot of water and a lot of tea. Anyone who knows me knows how into beverages/hydration I am.
-getting Mom to alter dresses for me. Like I'll have anywhere to wear them in the near future, anyway. But seriously, how lucky am I that I can just be like "I want these sleeves less 1994! I want this hem shorter! I want my boobs to be more/less obvious!" like the obnoxious princess that I am and my mom can just make that happen with nothing but her sewing machine and a measuring tape? So cool.
-watching Cheers! at 5pm because I am an old lady who likes her stories.
-NOT working/stressing about internships/running any errands/worrying about anything. At all. If I can help it.
So that is what is bringing me limitless joy today. Which is kind of weird to list like that, since everyone knows how much I love to complain. But I'm trying a new thing here, people. Positivity. Can you dig it?
Okay, I'll shut up now. Text me and tell me how awesome I am. I'm twenty-two today, after all.