Archive for the 'Mmhmm That's Right' Category

24

October 26, 2007 | Filed under: Great moments in narcissism, Mmhmm That's Right

“Birthdays are good for you. Statistics show that the people who have the most live the longest.” ~Larry Lorenzon

When I was eight, before the world was dominated by Bushs and Clintons, I made this timeline of every event in my life from my high school graduation to when I would get married and start having children. 24 was apparently the age that my eight year old mind thought would be a good time to start in on the whole marriage and parenting one-two punch. Normally I’d say that my eight year old self was high, but instead I will say Aww. Because eight year olds are cute and wistful and think that 24 is ‘old’. Eight year olds have yet to become cynical and pessimisstic. They are wonderfully optimistic most of the time and one must admit that it can be adorable.

Today is my 24th birthday and I am a tad more pragmatic and would like to set my goals a little lower. All I really want is to have a good year. There are also more personal things like the ability to eat a burrito without analyzing every bite and calming the fuck down because some things won’t ever change. But other than that it’s all very simple and the rest written down and tucked away for a rainy day. I think that if I told my eight year old self that having a baby at 24 really wouldn’t bode well for her career (never mind what she would do if I told her that she would have enough money to fill her closet with shoes, because she HATED shopping with a passion) or for her relationship with her roommate, but at 24 there could be as many cupcakes as she wanted because her mother won’t be around to say No; then she would totally be down with that. So I think I’ll shuffle things around and save those major life events for another year.

Diminishing Marginal Utility

October 17, 2007 | Filed under: Mmhmm That's Right, The District Of Columbia, The Great Moving Caper

“Very often a change of self is needed more than a change of scene.” ~Arthur Christopher Benson

Part of my major was Economics and though I did well in college level economic courses in high school, college was significantly more difficult. I retain very little information when it comes to math or science, which is why my attention span for the production possibilities frontier waned after the first 20 minutes. Those precious moments were instead used to think sweet thoughts of J. Crew and how to perfect a keg stand. The one thing I will always recall is the law of Diminishing Marginal Utility (DMU). With ‘utility’ being satisfaction, the premise follows that as a person increases their consumption of a product, there will be a decline in the satisfaction (utility) that the person derives from the consumption of each additional unit of that product. It’s the law that keeps Chinese Buffet in business as they know that while it’s technically ‘All you can eat’ no one is going to eat seven plates of orange, MSG filled, faux Chinese ribs even if the first plate is so awesome, the subsequent plates of ribs will be less awesome and then you’ll you want to vomit. Not that I know from personal experience or anything.

Lest you think that I’m extolling all of my economic knowledge on you, I have been finding that DMU applies to most everything. Like on Sunday, when we went apple picking, Matza and I each bought a dozen hot apple cider donuts. In years past she had to overnight them to me individually wrapped in order to retain their delicious freshness and I would have one – who the hell am I kidding? Three – and share the rest. I was able to eat them fresh out of the bakery this time so we both had one in the car on the way to the apple trees. Then because I was doing most of the work and demonstrating my flexibility by arching my back to get under a tree to a perfectly shaped apple, I was exhausted at the end so I had another. Then I got home and The Roommate wasn’t there so while watching Tell Me You Love Me, I had two more. There were other insignificant events that mostly involved me sitting in front of google reader and then going to the gym but each time I felt inclined to have a donut even though by the 10th (I shit you not), the allure of the crispy outside and the soft cake-like inside made me want to die. So I did what any smart woman who doesn’t need a larger ass would do; I dumped half a bottle of Downy Wrinkle Releaser on the last two donuts. On Monday, I survived on two apples and a bowl of peas.

I’m writing this from a hotel in DC, where my satisfaction of coming back to one of my favorite cities in the world, has significantly declined. The first time I came back to DC it was great, the second time still pretty good; I could see my friends, shop in Georgetown and buy as much organic seven dollar oatmeal from Whole Foods as I wanted. This trip will last until Saturday and it is my fourth in two months. If DC were donuts or plates of lo mein from the Chinese Buffet, I would have wretched all over the bathroom floor by now. It’s not that I don’t love it here, because I do and everything will always and has since compared to DC, it’s just that I have had this very large tub full of sweaters and boots sitting in the middle of my bedroom floor for like six weeks now. Every morning I have to choose which side to get out of bed based on what I fancy ramming my toe into that morning. Will it be the suitcase full of God knows what? Or maybe I’ll go for the hamper and the box of books? It’s like a fun little guessing game I like to call “How will I fuck up my toe?” and my big toe always loses.

At a fundraiser last night, people couldn’t believe that I lived in upstate NY and continually asked if I was happy and if it was good and how in the world people survived outside of the beltway. The answer is very, very easily. I might complain and compare and might punch the next person who tells me in excruciating detail what it will be like the first time I try to park in my neighborhood after it snows; yet my satisfaction of being in upstate NY has yet to diminish, in fact it’s finally starting to show.

Like hell

September 23, 2007 | Filed under: Mmhmm That's Right, Sucks like a vacuum

“One’s friends are that part of the human race with which one can be human.” ~George Santayana

When I first moved, I put the word ‘moved’ in air quotes because I still had an apartment and my bills and a constantly sober roommate who looked at me with disdain every other night. My bed and furniture was still there and the metropolitan police department still remembered my license plate number and the exact location of my vehicle, thus the seven parking tickets received between May and July. So really, I hadn’t moved.

I went back for a weekend whenever I felt moved to do so, which meant a rather consistent relationship with friends even though I was technically living 400 miles away. When my lease finally ended and I packed up the last of my crap including several incomplete sets of sheets and items of clothing that haven’t fit since 2001, I still remained confident that I’d keep up with my friends due to the advancements in technology including this thing called email and something else called a cell phone.

I hate being one to divide my friends into categories as it seems so very third grade, one is my first best friend the other is my second best friend, type bull shit. Yet there are distinct differences between those who knew you from through your awkward, fat, sweater vest, clarinet playing days and those who knew you during your awkward, fat, lush, JCrew days. And these are two completely different groups of people who probably wouldn’t think they were discussing the same person when retelling their favorite stories about me.

The above isn’t to say that I’ve changed by leaps and bounds and that six years of not living in a ridiculously small town has turned me into a new, grown up woman. It means that there is a profound difference between the 17 year old me – the me that never left the house and spent hours in her room alone reading and writing in a full on pity party for one full of loathsome teenage angst – and the 23 year old me – the me that enjoys being out for drinks or a good foodie dinner out and likes Sephora and can’t resist a sale at Banana Republic.

The 17 year old lived at home and though she wasn’t ok with being ridiculously unpopular she just went with it. The 23 year old has lived in an amazing city for six years and has friends that she adores and - oh my God this is going to sound so trite – has friends that have literally been the one thing that has held her together. The latter group knows what my ugly crying face looks like and that I don’t do the dishes until the last cup is dirty and how I feel about sex and what size bra I wear and that I’m not allowed in Nordstrom alone and my favorite vodka and are proud of me when I do something great and cry with me when everything hurts. They know the little things that I was keeping to myself for my entire adolescence while sitting in my bedroom alone.

Where I was going with this, is not where I ended up. I wanted to say that I feel like I’ve been an adequate friend and that despite my best efforts to see everyone, every time I’m in DC, I can’t because I’m one person with very few nights. Where I have ended up is realizing that my best friends in the world are in DC and I can’t ever shake this awful feeling I’ve had since I decided to move back here. I keep saying that it’s for the best and this was a good decision, excellent opportunity and it was and is. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to be sitting with LB or Kimber or JB or Pammy or Kris with a bottle of wine at some bar in Georgetown or Capitol Hill. The settling in here and being OK with my life hasn’t stopped me from missing my best friends in the world like hell.

The business of travel

August 6, 2007 | Filed under: BlogHer, Gruyere With That Wine, Mmhmm That's Right

First off: Y’all are awesome and so willing to share. Thank you.

Second: Behold the powers of my laziness. I’m a cross-posting machine.

Third: Please read this. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you might piss your pants in front of several elected officials.

“Men for the sake of getting a living forget to live.” ~Margaret Fuller

At my former place of employment I did a lot of scheduling and booked a lot of travel. Sometimes to places that I wanted to visit like Jackson Hole or Italy and other times to less extravagant places like some random city in Ohio or the always exciting Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I would get jealous of course, when it came to the trips to Juneau or Florence because I’ve always wanted to travel to Juneau or Florence and wouldn’t it be glorious to get to do so for BUSINESS?? I wanted to travel for work. I was bored and restless and thought that some travel would do me good. Now would be an excellent time to become delirious with laughter because apparently when I had these thoughts I was either drunk or high. Or both.

A few weeks ago, I happened upon this post from Pink Lemonade Diva in regards to a quick business trip she had to take, while the soon to be Mr. PLD travels several times a month:

People who don’t travel for work think that traveling for work is alluring. I’m one of those people. We hear Jim’s stories about trips to Ireland, Holland, Puerto Rico, and think “how cool” without noticing that he’s not tan. He’s Diamond, Platinum, Preferred and I don’t know what else. He’s in a hotel rewards program for people who have stayed in the hotel at least 75 nights in one calendar year. That’s not alluring – that’s annoying

Because there was a time when business travel looked sexy and there was something about expensing a few nights at the Fairmont or a Kimpton property – with FREE bonus happy hours – would be wonderful. I would could write off meals in fantastic cities while earning bonus frequent flyer miles. Let it be known that I moved in May and since May I have managed to earn three Southwest travel awards, 12 drink coupons, and I keep all of my liquids in a 3oz container or less inside of a quart sized bag. I’ve learned the art of removing my belt and getting it back on once through security quickly enough to then get my shoes on without exposing my ass to those in Security line 3. I can pack 9 days worth of clothing in a carryon. I rock.

I love my job. I love my job more than anything and it’s the perfect job for a 20-something who is young and has drive and has no problem waking up in the middle of the night not knowing where exactly she is. I don’t have a family or any real responsibilities I only have to worry about myself thus business travel is easy for someone like me. Yet my youth still leaves much to be desired because I still get tired, weepy and cranky. I can’t handle 7 AM flights and my arm is starting to hurt from dragging that damn suitcase/computer bag around (P.S. Macbooks, while lovely aren’t exactly light) around and maybe one day, I’d like to actually unpack. I’ve heard good things about padded hangers and would love to be able to use mine.

After August 12 I get to spend two entire weeks at home. I might take a day trip or two. But will most likely catch up on sleeping in my own bed, where I know that Dateline won’t be able to find anything mysterious with a black light. All I’m saying is that for two blissful weeks I get to be at home. I’ll make good use of my gym membership and God willing, I’ll actually unpack because there’s something about having to step over a rather large suitcase every time I want to go from one side of my room to the other. The other day it was my big toe versus a stray high heel. Guess which won.

I don’t really recognize her, but I’m sure she’s quite nice

July 20, 2007 | Filed under: Humdrum, Mmhmm That's Right

“Things do not change; we change.” ~Henry David Thoreau

 

 

And now more tales from my almost relentless need for introspection, complete narcissism, and trying to be fucking happy; I must find out who this new person staring back at me is. I look exactly the same. My hair is still all over the place and my eyebrows are slowly forming their own Cult of the Sacred Unibrow and yet things are oddly different.

Like my feelings on things. Like I’m getting older and acceptance and all that wonderful crap and the shitting of rainbows. Oh and yesterday, I saw a unicorn.

 

I, Queen of Misanthropy and declared Socially Awkward Barbie™ have decided to be social and to venture out sans a glass of anything fermented. An incredibly rough and indescribable evening occurred last weekend that left me spent and unable to walk, because the hangover was so painful that I could feel it in my hips. Thusly, I have been on a self imposed hiatus of all things fermented because while there are currently three bottles of Prosecco idly waiting to be opened and consumed, I am growing ill at the thought of putting any of that in my body. My liver has called it quits.

 

Now I shall be surviving on Poland Spring Sparkling Water (With Raspberry-Lime Essence) for the next several days, because it’s delicious and stays in my stomach instead of ejecting violently all over the Washington Hilton.

 

And in all things changing, I’ve found myself not only able to go without using alcohol as a coping mechanism but, I’m also feeling rather gregarious. I’m finding and meeting new people. But what’s more shocking than anything is that after many years of wishing an untimely crippling illness on several of my roommates, enough so that they have to go back to their respective hometowns but can still pay the rent, I think I’m actually in want of one. It’s like I can suddenly handle things. While these things that are conventional and so very obvious to the average person (Why drink if it makes you ill? Why NOT have a roommate and learn that sharing means caring?), they are monumental for me. And I’m realizing that my head will not spin around and explode if I allow other people into my space and I’m not constantly inebriated. Amazing.

 

I owe myself a toast of sparkling water for, you know…growing the fuck up.