One Girl, 12 Ways -- Operation: Badass Librarian

jingle hell

2010-12-11T09:10:00.000-08:00

Ok, I kind of fell off that #10reverb wagon after one post.

Me, give up on a project after one half-assed attempt? Don't act so surprised.

So while I wasn't writing contemplative blog posts about the experiences of the past year, the holiday season has crept up on me. I walked into Rite-Aid yesterday, fully prepared to roll my eyes and snort derisively at the aisles of Christmas candy and crappy ornaments, as has been my habit since October when all the Christmas shit first appeared. But suddenly, the XMas aisle was lookin' a little sparse. The fake trees and the candy cans have been thoroughly picked over, the five-pound bags of red and green Christmas M&Ms are now largely outnumbered by crappy plastic trays of stale holiday cookies. Who buys cookie trays in Rite-Aid? Besides hoarders or the elderly?

I digress.

It hit me then that the holiday season is official here and, in fact, is quickly approaching the Christmas climax. And my frigid little heart is nowhere near ready.

A quick glance around my apartment proves this fact. The corner where, in years past, my humble little fake tree stood is currently stacked with overdue library books. The kitchen still boasts the plastic jack-o-lantern from my Halloween party. There is also a fake bat hanging from the chandelier.

A carpet of notebooks, school papers, and Amy's sparkly fake mice surrounds the bed. In short -tattered cat toys are about the festive "decoration" in the house.

Instead of bustin' out the garland and Christmas carols, all my free time has been spent writing papers and slicin' tongue.

I did watch the holiday episodes of Community and 30 Rock this week, but even that felt strangely wrong:
"But -- Christmas is so far away!" I said to myself.
"Um -not really," my calendar replied.
"Seriously, why haven't you done any shopping? I'm only a cat and even I know this is the season for buying shit!" said Amy in disgust.

Things had clearly reached Scrooge-like levels of delusion.

So I did what I often do when seeking guidance about how to live my life: I turned to Sweet Mother TV for answers.

Sitcoms tell us that not every holiday can be the Best Holiday Ever. Christmas or not -- shit happens. Examples:

The Golden Girls:

Picture it -- Dorothy, Blanche and Rose are held hostage by a gun-wielding guy dressed as Santa who wanders into the Grief Counseling Center where Rose works. A holiday without cheesecake?! Say it ain't so!

Full House:

The Tanner family spends Christmas Eve stranded in an airport. This was especially tragic for all the other people forced to spend Christmas stranded in an airport with the Tanner family.

The Facts of Life:

Jo's parents suck, and she is forced to spend Christmas at Eastland with Mrs. Garrett selling fruitcakes. This actually sounds like the makings of the best Christmas ever.

Boy Meets World:

People lose their jobs, mall Santa has a heart attack, poor Mr. Feeny is like a sad old shut-in next door with no family. Weeping!

Roseanne:

Roseanne and Co. get snowed in at the diner on Christmas Eve. Better there than at the airport with the Tanner family, I suppose.

Yes, Tea Guarie -- there is a Santa Claus! And he is probably being played by a extra who graduated from Emerson College with a degree in Musical Theater.

In short -- the holidays are a time for the suspension of disbelief. No matter how outlandishly crappy your life may seem, you can have faith that Christmas will pull through with a happy ending. The holiday spirit can find us anywhere -- even snowed in at an airport, or trapped by a gun-toting Santa -- if we are just open to it. It's not too late for me to get on the holiday bandwagon -- after all, some of the best Christmases ever happened at the 11th hour.

Sigh. I feel jollier already! Thanks, TV.

the end is near!

2010-12-04T05:15:00.000-08:00

Um, it's December.

How the hell did that happen?! Where did 2010 go?? It seems like just yesterday I was crowing triumphantly about getting into grad school, and making plans to get in shape and grab this year by the balls. And now suddenly, its all drawing to a close.

Time freaks me out.

It always seems like there's not enough of it -- except when there's too much of it, as was the case with my Big Fat Year of Unemployment. Either way, Time is forever messing with my head.

So perhaps I should take a moment to put down the library-school books, set aside the organ meats, and reflect back on this wacky-ass year. God knows, I didn't do much writing / reflecting during the actual year -- please see giant blogging gap from June to November.

In order to make up for lost time, I've decided to participate in this #reverb10 project. For every day of December, the site sends a writing prompt designed to make you reflect on the previous year and think about what lies ahead for 2011. For lapsed-bloggers like myself, this challenge is also supposed to alleviate the: "waaah, i have nothing to blog about!" BS.

As usual, i am a few days behind on this challenge -- but better late than never. So lets just start with the day #4 prompt:

December 4 – Wonder.
How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year?

Wonder . . . well, I suppose I did spend a lot of time "wondering" this year: Is this grad school thing gonna work out? Am I ever gonna find a job? Am I ever gonna find a job I don't hate or suck at? Why is time going by so fast? What happened to my other black Reef sandal? Why do hoarders hate toilets so much?

Clearly, I'm not "cultivating wonder" in my daily life, so much as "breeding insecurity and self-doubt". Duly noted, writing prompt. In 2011, I shall attempt to be more ponderous and zen. I will take time to enjoy the scenery. I will stop wishing for a magic crystal ball that I can use to spy on my Future Self.

I will try to see the world more like Amy (my cat) sees it -- as one giant playground that exists solely for my entertainment and exploration, which I can also claw to shreds at my leisure.

And in the meantime, I will continue to wonder at the Powers of the Internet that allow me to stream Netflix movies directly to my Wii.

my offal new job

2010-11-14T09:25:00.000-08:00

food service jobs are, in many ways, a magical anthropological adventure. you can tell a lot about people based on what they eat, and how they choose to eat it, and how they behave when they're ordering it.

let us begin our study of human behavior at the deli counter, where people often line up to drool over the meats and organs on prominent display. my question to these folk is: why?? why would you eat this?? have u ever had to slice a giant hunk of cold tongue? cuz i have. and it really does look just like a giant dead cow tongue. now, perhaps back in medieval times, when serfs were given the discarded carcasses of butchered animals to nibble on, the tongue was the meatiest bit left. but civilization has come a long way since then, people -- you don't have to eat the unsavory parts of the animal anymore.

i believe the people who eat this shit should be invited back behind the counter for an up-close look at the tongue in its whole and natural state. they should be forced to really examine the . . . purpleness of it. observe the gelatinous mucus that seems to jelly up the ends.

still hungry? then you, sir, are a monster. good day to you.

also -- what is up with chopped liver? people order this shit by the bucket-load, literally . . . and it does, in fact, resemble the shit of a baby who has been fed only cat food and mashed bananas for several days.

worse, people seem very righteous when they order this crap:

"Yes, give me a pound of your finest chopped liver -- post-haste!"

"You there, girl! Fetch me a half pound of very thinly sliced tongue! So thin that I can see my mottled, liver-spotted hand through it!"

whatever, old people. you wanna stuff yourself gouty with offal -- who am i to judge?

in my previous food service jobs, cold food made for an irate customer. in this new world of strange deli offerings, people want everything cold. cold soup, cold fish, cold meat. if it looks like it could be served in the steerage section of an immigrant steamer, or the barracks of the gulag -- all the better! apparently, people like their sausages cold and seasoned with a hint of hardship and sadness. it brings back fond memories of when the whole family slept in one bed and had consumption, i guess.

now some of you might be thinking -- shame on you, tea guarie! how dare you be close-minded! it's true -- perhaps i am too quick to pass judgment on people based on their affinities for odd meats. some of these old folk might be scandalized by my tastes for diet coke and lean cuisine.

but hey, at least i can sleep at night knowing that i've never willingly had the tongue of a farm animal in my mouth.

just sayin'.

clear!!

2010-11-06T07:23:00.000-07:00

that's the sound of me defibrillating this blog and raising it from the dead!

mmmm . . . zombie blog want braaaaains . . .

as you can probably guess from the four month hiatus -- life has gone from super-boring to super-busy! quick recap::

-- i am still on the path towards becoming a badass librarian.

-- i now share my apartment with the world's most badass kittykat, Amy Sedaris Guarino the First:

here she is attacking an angel . . .

and here she is being an angel. awww.

-- amy also has a blog. like me, she does not update frequently.
-- i now have a part-time job at Local Family Restaurant, reprising my classic role of Snarky Countergirl #2.
-- the band T&A is making great strides towards taking over the nerd-punk-noise-pop world. we hope to record our first "demo" by the end of the year. what, whaat!
-- i am still locked in a love / hate relationship with Gold's Gym of Somerville. lately i have been ignoring its calls and blocking its facebook status updates, but i'm hopeful that we will reconcile soon.
-- i am still slightly insane.

so yeh, i think those are the major talking points of the past four months. from here on out, my goal shall be to chronicle Librarian School and Restaurant Adventures for your reading pleasure.

also, there have been some requests for another Lady-Mag, Deconstructed post. some day in the very near future, i will take a break from Librarian Homework to read something awful and full of perfume samples, and share my findings with you all.

stay tuned!

summer awakening

2010-06-16T19:32:00.001-07:00

hey, remember when i used to blog?

i know, i know -- i have been neglecting my little corner of the internet. crickets are chirping all up in here, and my last post was littered with spammy comments from asian robots. i deleted them all, so you can't see them now -- but they all included weird links . . . probably to some sort of penis enlargement website. sorry about that.

anyway -- i'm not dead! yes, i might have spent most of the winter holed up in my apartment watching TLC (aka 'The P.T. Barnum Channel') and eating. but now, summer is here, and life has gone from zero to 60 in the span of a few short weeks.

grad school has started! i am now officially a student of library science, hopefully on my way to becoming the most sass-tastic young adult/children's librarian the world has ever seen. if not the world, then at least east cambridge.

also -- i'm in a band. that's right -- you didn't know i could play a musical instrument, did you? well that's because i actually can't! i'm teaching myself the electric guitar with the help of our killer bassist, Rev. the band is called T&A. yes, we know what that means.

so far, we can "play" 3 songs -- one of which is an original composition. i figure another few practices and we'll be ready to go on tour. hell, we already have a myspace. now all we need is some hot merch and we'll be set.

i promise to keep ya'll regularly updated on my adventures in library-school-land. after all, the title of this blog promises a "bad-ass librarian", and i aim to please! in the meantime, go call your local college radio station and request something by T&A. when they claim ignorance of this new band, scoff at them. say: "you don't know T&A? dude, what kind of hipster are you?"

in the meantime, i leave you with this:

Cosmo, Deconstructed

2010-03-18T07:42:00.000-07:00

This week, Shaw's is having some sort of insane sale on 12 packs of Pepsi products. I know this because yesterday I spent 15 minutes in line behind a woman who was trying to buy an entire floor display's worth of Sierra Mist. The cranky old checkout woman was baffled by the whole transaction . . . is Sierra Mist a Pepsi product? Is Schweppes ginger ale? How do you even pronounce 'Schweppes'? Can we get a manager over here? Bueller?

While all this was happening, I had a plenty of time to browse the magazine racks / contemplate my own mortality. Which is how I even noticed this in the first place:

That would be Cosmopolitan magazine, with a faux-naked Lady Gaga on the cover. I should note that I spent a good portion of monsoon-weekend watching the Telephone video and contemplating making my own smoking glasses. Needless to say, Gaga in granny panties intrigued me. So, in a moment of grocery-store-impulse-buy weakness, I tossed Cosmo in my cart.

Now -- the last time I actually purchased an issue of Cosmopolitan, I was probably 14, and on my way to someone's pool party / sleepover.

It was a simpler time.

These days, I am a loyal reader of Bust, Bitch, Vanity Fair, and the occasional tabloid. Yeh, I like to keep abreast of how lonely Jennifer Aniston is, and whether or not Katie Holmes is preggers. But I usually draw the line at the heavy duty "lady-mags" . . . Elle, Lucky, Allure, etc. Which is why I was almost surprised to get home and find Cosmo in my bag.

So I sat down to lunch and started flipping through this glossy new world . . . and an hour of shame-eating later, my brain had officially exploded.

I feel like I need to share this experience with someone -- so internets, I choose you! Let's digest this amazingly whack lady-propaganda together, shall we?

What We're About to Read:

Welcome to the April issue of Cosmo! Spring is in the air, and you know what that means! Sex-capades and shimmery eyeshadow! Wheeee!! I can't wait to see what the 'Sex Article they Can't Describe Here!' is . . . its gotta be pretty freaky-deaky if the worldly Cosmo editors are censoring it. Also -- '50 Things to Do Butt Naked'? And here I could only come up with 32!

Page 30 -- Lady Gaga Wants You:

Wha-whaaa. Cue disappointment sound-effects. I don't know what I was expecting from a Cosmo interview, but this somehow managed to make the most eccentric performance artist of the times just . . . eh. Perhaps it has something to do with the target readership of Cosmo, which is ostensibly 14 year old girls and Snooki. But yeh -- they made Gaga fill out the effin' Cosmo quiz. Notice how she basically wrote in her own answer for every lame-ass question. Nice try, Lady!

Page 36 -- The Rise of the Less Successful Boyfriend:

Favorite Quote: "Give him opportunities to treat you in inexpensive ways. E-mail him a link to an affordable restaurant, and ask if he'll take you. Or point out little things you covet -- a hat, a pair of earrings, even a cupcake -- and say, 'I need to have that. Will you get it for me?'"
Everyone knows that successful relationships are built on a foundation of material goods and fancy dinners -- so keep those hats and cupcakes comin', boys!

Page 57 -- 4 Signs He's Hiding Something:

Seriously?! Way to fuel the paranoia-fire, Cosmo. The next time your boyfriend clears his throat or actually shares the details of his day with you -- throw that lying bastard out! Or, you could just cut the pockets out of all his pants. Problem solved!

Page 60 -- The Guy Report:

I'm going to print this out and keep it in my wallet for handy bar-reference. I recommend you all do the same.

Page 62 -- Why He Loves Your Cooking -- Even If It's Bad:

At first, I was trying to figure out how they stretched this to a full-page article. Or why this was deemed an article-worthy topic, period. To summarize this ground-breaking piece of journalism: dudes (by Cosmo's definition) are like giant 8 year olds who will gladly eat whatever crap is put in front of them.

Page 76 -- Beauty, HIS PICKS:

And here I'd been thinking that only chicks judged me based on my choice of nail polish color -- but it turns out, guys have very strong opinions about this, too. Um, direct quotage, in case you missed this: "Nails grown barely past your fingertips are the ideal length [ . . . ] They look feminine but won't stop you from, say, unzipping him or sexting." Brain exploding in five . . . four . . . three . . .

Page 116 -- Fun, Easy Ways to Fall More in Love:

I LOL'd so hard at this, I cried . . . and then I couldn't stop crying, for some reason. Best tips ever:
"Notice stuff about him. And then tell him."
"Really thank him. If he helps you paint your bathroom, leave his favorite salty snack in the pantry."
"Defuse a fight. Calling him by his pet name in the middle of an argument cools things down [ . . . ] Say something like 'Baby, I hate fighting with you.'"
"Learn a funny joke to tell him that night."
And don't even get me started on that '5 Best Compliments You Can Give Him' box! Seriously, have I accidentally stumbled into a hot-tub time machine back to 1950? I'm fully expecting next month's issue to have a 'Get Back in the Kitchen! 5 Great Sandwiches You Can Make For Your Man!' feature.

Page 118 -- The Sex Article We Can't Describe on the Cover:

I've been waiting for this one, Cosmo! What lurid new sex trend are you about to reveal to your innocent readers? Fetish porn, orgies and bears -- oh my!
Wait a second . . . "oral sex"? That's your top-secret-uber-steamy article of the month??
Dude . . . this really is a magazine aimed at 14 year olds, huh? Not that that's any comfort -- especially with this effing side-bar:

Page 122 -- Be the Girl Every Guy Wants to Talk To:

Please note the first heading in this article -- 'Don't Say A Word . . . Yet'. Instead of, like, talking to a guy, you should, like: "try to casually touch the guy your talking to 5 times within every 15 minutes". And don't forget: "Being a bit fearless by sharing something that's a little out there -- for instance, recounting the time you won a karaoke contest with your awesome rendition of 'Endless Love' or admitting that you've seen all the Saw movies at least twice -- shows an attractive amount of balls-out confidence."

Page 156 -- Read This Before You Drive Alone:

Translation: FEAR! FEAR! FEAR!!!!!

Page 174 -- 50 More Things to Do Naked:

My personal fav is #31: "Bid on eBay. Wearing nada will make you feel ballsy, so you'll get exactly what you want." Huh -- I always thought sitting around naked in front of your computer buying used crap you don't really need was a sign of clinical depression . . . but thanks for setting me straight, Cosmo! Girl power!

Page 178-- Send Him a Secret Sexy Message:

Now, I don't consider myself a bra-burning feminist or anything . . . but this page of Sexy Secret Messages for Your Man -- which are printed on cardstock and designed to be pulled out of the magazine and actually used -- is making me wanna go throw paint at someone.
Also, I am totally gonna use these "Sexy Messages", so watch your mailboxes!

Most Amazing Weight Loss Ad of the Issue:

Ok, so if I'm reading this right -- you're supposed to live on "Almased" and vegetable broth for a week, followed by several weeks of "Almased" and one meal of veggies and lean meat. Why does this sound like a recipe for failure in a glass?

Sigh. Well that brings us to the end of the issue, folks! I think we've all learned a little something, right? I know I have! I need to find myself a dude who drinks microbrews and never puts his hands in his pockets and, ideally, is more successful than me. To do this, I must keep my nails short (but not too short), learn some funny jokes I can tell him while simultaneously not talking too much, and caress him 5 times during a 15 minute conversation. Also, stock the cabinets with snacks and my crappy-ass attempts at cooking. Also, send him sexy secret messages and ask him to buy me cheap hats.

Also -- oral sex!!! Tehehehe!!!

T is for Toolgirl, Who's Terribly Handy . . .

2010-03-16T12:42:00.000-07:00

After a rainstorm of biblical proportions, I was all set to start my Build-An-Ark project . . . but lo, the sun is shining once again! In fact, today was so damn lovely, I was inspired to do some spring cleaning / home improvement.

Now . . . I should note that I was raised in a family where doing things the "right" way with the "correct" tools was generally scoffed at. Why bother looking for a hammer when you can just pound that nail in with mom's old shoe? Who needs a flashlight when you've got a booklight / cell phone / Game Boy to illuminate your path? As a result, I've learned to just live with a lot of malfunctioning appliances, burned out overhead lights, and a tub that doesn't exactly drain correctly.

But the appearance of sunshine made me so giddy this morning, I rolled up my sleeves and decided to clear away some winter cobwebs before the next round of rain and gloom. And since my schedule will soon be filled with school and work, I figured I might as well get my household in order while I can. So I dragged the stepladder up from the Basement of Doom and changed all the lightbulbs in the apartment to low-wattage, energy-saving ones. Then, by the light of freshly changed bulbs, I tore apart my closet and got down to some good ol' fashioned organizing!

I have lots of hats. And shirts. And skirts. And not a lot of dresser space.

Alternative storage solutions were called for.

Soooooo . . . I strolled over to Target in the lovely bright sunshine, and came home with this bad boy:

Meet My First Drill! Drilly McDrillerson!

Wow, you guys -- do you know how much easier shit is when you have a power tool?!

Don't answer that.

Anyway -- behold, the fruit of my labors!

Julie gave me this hanging candle holder for Christmas, and I've been puzzling over how to hang it for months now. Clearly, those hooks with the sticky tape on the back weren't going to cut it. But with my new pal Drilly, mounting a hook into the ceiling was a snap! I might need a slightly longer chain to hang the light from, but overall it looks lovely.

After drilling into the ceiling, I was ready to tackle a wall. But I was still a little nervous about attempting this. My apartment building is very old, and there's no telling what secrets / faulty wiring lie behind the walls. Perhaps a more conscientious person would have used a stud-finder -- or even a tape measure -- to figure out the best way to mount something. I used the next best thing to a stud-finder -- Papa G.

Papa G: "Good afternoon, Guarie Design Group."

Me: "Papa, it's me. I have a home improvement question."

Papa G: "Oh, God . . ."

Me: "If I just drill into the kitchen wall, will anything bad happen to me?"

Papa G: "Well, you could electrocute yourself. Where'd you get a drill?"

Me: "How will I know if I'm going to electrocute myself?"

Papa G: " Just don't drill directly above any light switches or electrical outlets and you should be ok."

Me: "Ok. If you don't hear from me for a few days, it probably means I've zapped myself and I'm being eaten by the cat."

Papa G: "Good luck!"

So, I called upon the protective powers of the Patron Saint of Household Chores, and went to work. And not only did I survive -- I managed to successfully hang this Ikea storage rack that's been in my closet for months!

You have no idea how happy this thing makes me! I have no drawers in my kitchen. At all. My silverware has been living on the sideboard in these little metal containers -- which look way cooler hanging from the wall!

After my success in the kitchen, I moved on to the closet:

Fancy-pants new rack . . .

. . . means no more hunting for lost scarves and hats!

Who knew hanging shit on the walls would be so satisfying/empowering! If anyone needs any drilling done, you know who to call!*

*ew - not that kind of drilling, you pervs!

maeby this time . . .

2010-03-04T07:01:00.000-08:00

blargh, it is march. tis the season for madness!

i feel like i haven't seen the sun in a year. i'm beginning to think this might really be the end of the world -- earthquakes, tsunamis, blizzards in places where we grow citrus. i fear that boston is doomed to become a gray colony of mole-people. or perhaps we'll be overrun by glittery vampires, escaping the sun.

i need to get out of the house.

i'm not going to lie to you, internet people. i've spent the better part of this week in my bathrobe, watching Arrested Development. when i confessed this to my therapist, she said, "well, that's fitting!"

rut roh.

seriously, though -- nothing cures late winter SADness like an amazingly clever sitcom. i don't know why i didn't pay more attention to this show until now. i seem to jump on the pop-culture fan-wagons about 4 years too late. so in 2014, i'm gonna be all about vampires and Lost. adjust your christmas shopping lists accordingly.

anyway -- so yesterday, i tore myself away for the antics of the Bluth family, put on some clothes, and dragged my pathetic ass to the gym. i was fully prepared for a beat-down by Ron. i have not been very consistent in my gym efforts of late. my procrastination efforts, however, have been off the charts!

Ron has switched up the workout routine to a 30 minute, full-body gorefest. last week, i was left shaking and sweating, flat on my back in the middle of the weight-lifting room while Ron's smug face spun above me. this week, i was prepared for a similar out-of-body torture experience. and i wasn't looking forward to it.

"what's the point of all this exercise bullshit, anyway? the world is clearly ending soon. i should be out eating ice cream and making bad decisions."

once Ron and i got down to business, however, my rouge muscles seemed to pull themselves together and turned out a decent workout. at one point, as i lunged the length of the gym, Ron called out, "you are lookin' goooood right now!" i assume he was talking to me and not the WWE-wannabe who was grunting menacingly on the other side of the weight bench.

when i'd completed my final crunches and was sprawled on the floor at Ron's feet, i asked him to give it to me straight.

Me: "am i improving at all?"

Ron: "you've definitely got potential . . . i mean, you're lookin' good right now. all you need is consistency -- you just gotta get in here and do this routine every other day, and throw some cardio in on the off days, and you'll see the results."

Me: "i get kinda intimidated when i'm doing the workout solo, you know? i've . . . i've never been athletic at all, i've always been kinda goofy and clumsy, so i feel really self-conscious when i'm back there tryin' to do crunches on the big rubber ball without you there to make sure i don't roll away."

Ron: "you gotta be confident! you got this -- and you already look great as it is, you're just tryin' to tone up a little bit. trust me, i wouldn't tell you no lies . . . you don't need to feel self-conscious."

Me: "spring is coming. i'm freaking out about shorts. also, bathing suits."

Ron: "don't be thinking about the summer or the clothes or any of that. just work on bein' consistent, and you'll see the results. you've got this."

this is why i'm paying Ron the big bucks -- to tell me that i'm not a giant mountain of mole-flesh that should just go home and wait for the apocalypse to start. he also puts my goals in perspective. they are not as insurmountable as they might feel, here in the deep cold depths of winter.

the sun will shine again. i will wear shorts again. don't over think it. you got this.

catty

2010-02-25T06:41:00.000-08:00

Look who has a new roommate!

Due to some complicated family disasters, I have been given the OK to welcome pets into my apartment! Soooo . . . everyone meet Emily, the cat I've had since I was 14. Which makes her a dottering old woman in cat years. Like Carol Channing.

Actually, Em is a lot like Carol Channing. She's always had this aura of raggedy-ness to her, like we just pulled her out of a dumpster -- even though she's been a pampered indoor cat since kittenhood. Apparently, you can take the kitty out of the derelict house in Revere, but you can't take the derelict house in Revere out of the cat.

She's also totally wacky and acts like a dog. She comes dutifully when called, but only if you say her name in this high pitched sing-song voice "Eeeeemmmmmmilllllllieeeee!"

I suspect Emily was the runt of the litter, and never quite got the hang of basic cat behavior. She has shitty balance. She will take five minutes to psych herself up for the epic leap from sofa to floor. She never quite got the hang of the cat tongue-bath, either. Instead of finding a discreet corner and grooming herself, she'll crawl into your lap, lick your hand, and then rub herself against it. This is either incredibly lazy or incredibly brilliant.

Emily is also skinny as a crackwhore, dispite the fact that she loves to eat, and will often eat so fast that she pukes. The only way I was able to lure her out from under a chair yesterday was with the promise of yummies:

I was a little afraid that the move to the big city would be traumatic for a cat who has only the left the confines of my parents' house a few times in her entire life. But she is adjusting rather well, and is slowly starting to explore . . .

Even she is horrified by the condition of my ancient kitchen floor.

Emily and I share a mutual love of watching TV, so that's what we did for much of yesterday:

"That Dr. Phil is full of shit! Put on Tyra!"

"And get that camera out of my face, bitch!"

And while I'm still paranoid that the apartment is not totally cat-proofed, we seem to be settling in nicely here! And now, when I'm talking out loud to myself or the TV, its like I'm ostensibly talking to Em.

Meow meow meow meow meow meow!

sk8er boi

2010-02-19T15:13:00.000-08:00

kick-assed

2010-02-17T10:31:00.000-08:00

As my previous post so cleverly (read: lazily) illustrated -- I had a birthday!

I turned 27 on 2/7. Which seemed only mildly cool until I started to figure out the "magic" birthdays of other members of my family, and realized that not everyone lives to see this numerological milestone. For example, my brother will have to wait until he turns 127 on 12/7. Sorry, Ev.

Anyway -- birthdays are always an excuse for festivity, magic number or not! I definitely dragged the celebrating out for a whole weekend. A weekend full of booze, fried food, and waffles.

And it was glorious!

So after a delicious party-bender, I returned to the gym for my Monday afternoon session with Ron. I was feelin' ok -- a little bloated, maybe, but certainly not hungover.

"Are you ready for me?" Ron asked.

"Sure!" I blithely replied, as I wandered over to the weight room and plunked myself down on the giant rubber exercise ball.

Five minutes later, I knew something was horribly, horribly wrong. The muscles in my arms felt like they'd been replaced with waffles.

"Are you sweating maple syrup?" asked the 6-foot talking lobster with Ron's voice.

"I'm dying!" I groaned, and rolled ever so gracefully off the ball and onto the floor. Where I planned to remain until Spring.

"Party too hard?" Ron asked, as he pressed some slightly-less torturous 3lb dumbbells into my hands.

"It was my birthday weekend," I said.

"Ahhhhh . . ." Ron said, as he propped my limp body up against a wall. "Seven reps, you can do it . . . ok, seven more . . ."

Ron was not about to let me off easy, even though I was about to let loose a weekend's worth of junk-food all over his sneakers. I'd had my fun, and now Ron -- and my pathetically uncooperative body -- were going to make me pay for it.

At this moment, I hated Ron. The same hot, prickly, frustrated rage I felt towards every gym teacher and soccer coach I've ever had. Why are you making me do this? I can't! Not today. I can't.

It turns out, I could. And I did. Ron cut the end of the session a little sort and let me off without much of an ab workout. He was probably also afraid that I was about puke all over him. I limped and crawled frantically out of the gym like I was escaping from some sort of POW camp.

Never again, I thought to myself. That SUCKED.

At first, I blamed Ron. Couldn't that bastard cut me a break? It was my birthday . . . er . . . month, after all! I was pissed. And . . . disappointed.

I'd been feeling so good about my little baby-steps of gym progress. Lifting weights and doing crunches had made me feel strong and powerful and capable. Like my body was a well-tuned machine, instead of a doughy sack of insecurities. I was on the road to becoming a stronger, healthier, less insane me . . . and now I was back to square one. Cue the crying and shame eating.

It's taken a little time to shake off the frustration. I'm realizing, though, that getting in shape really takes a certain amount of commitment. I've always rolled my eyes at people who get up at 5am on Christmas Day to get in their workout or whatever . . . but I'll bet those people feel pretty damn good when they're done.

Yes, there are going to be days when my brain says, "Eff it, Tea -- let's skip the gym today. You went yesterday, you can go tomorrow!" Or, "Life sucks, have another beer!" I can choose to listen to that voice -- and there will probably be times when I do -- but there will be consequences. I will feel like ass the next day. My strength training will come to a standstill, and workouts will get harder. I will continue hallucinate that Ron is a giant crustacean.

Basically -- I gotta make a commitment. Which, for a commitment-phobe like moi, is scary shit. But I also need to choose what's more important to me -- feeling good in the long term, or self-gratification in the short term.

Heady stuff, man. And I thought I was just signing on to drop a few pounds for bathing suit season!

This week, I'm gonna get back in the saddle and commit to the plan. Four strength training workouts a week -- 1 with Ron, 3 on my own. That's 2 Upper Body Days, 2 Lower Body Days. I'm also gonna be brave and hit up the Sunday morning yoga class. I'm gonna include my Couch to 5k training sessions as warm-ups before my strength training sessions.

I don't have to do everything perfectly, but I have to make the effort. Time makes things easier -- but only if you stick with it!

Sticking with things has never been a strength of mine. But this is all about getting stronger -- in every sense of the word.

27

2010-02-13T06:19:00.001-08:00

1. February is a short month.

2. As is customary with my magic-short-birthday month, I have been doing a lot of eating/drinking/partying!

3. Blogging, not so much.

4. I have seen lots of lovely bands:

5. I ate wondrous pomme frites while bicycles twinkled above me . . .

6. I hung out with the locals and watched J.Bo's karaoke-DJ destiny be fulfilled!

7. We also played darts . . .

8. Apparently, I have taken very few photos in the month of February. I must rely on stock-images from the internets!

9. But Libby did come over and take pictures of me for her photography school assignment. Hello, Libertine!

10. My apartment smells like springtime:

11. On my birthday, I had a lovely massage here:

12. The massage lady was very nice. Especially after I fell asleep on the table.

13. Chicken and waffles changed my life!!

14. You should all stop reading this blog and go, immediately, to Tupelo in Inman Sq. I'll wait for you to get back.

15. And while I'm waiting, I will think about how lame all the Superbowl ads were.

16. Except for the one with Betty White:

17. Chelsee and I have seen lots of movies, in preparation for the Oscars.

18. I love this girl:

19. This girl, too:

20. And speaking of Carey Mulligan, An Education sparked some serious "50's-style-retro" cravings. The cure?

21. Diners . . .

22. . . . and shopping for vintage goodies.

23. I found these old school menus, which will make lovely art for my kitchen . . .

24. I also found $600 Chanel pumps for $68!

25. But now it's time to get back on the bandwagon. Less shopping/partying/waffles, more job-hunting/FAFSA-filing/weight lifting!

26. I promise my next update will feature more words . . . and perhaps some wacky stories of my gym exploits. That's what the readers want, yes?

27. For now -- here's to my lucky year!

the lazy-ass and the 5k: part I

2010-01-28T15:21:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time, there were three girls named . . . er . . . Miss T., Miss C. and Miss M. They worked together all day (and sometimes all night) at a Big Nameless Company in a City Near You. These lovely ladies were sassy, stylish and awesome, even in the face of adversity, hardship, and evil sea witches.

Sometimes, they were very busy. And sometimes, they were very bored.

When boredom struck, these three intrepid young ingenues turned to the internets for distraction and entertainment. They started blogs, and stalked other peoples blogs, and obsessively checked boston.com for updates on the outside world.

Miss C. became an internet celebrity.

Miss M. learned 4000 new ways to prepare oatmeal.

Miss T. laughed out loud too much, and often got scolded.

Eventually, the three friends were forced to part ways, but their love of voyeuristically stalking girls much more motivated and physically fit than themselves remained strong. United by their love of shit on the internet, they remained in touch.

One day, in the bitter depths of January, Miss M. sent her fallen comrades a message, reminding them of a pact they'd once made. (well . . . not so much a "pact", as "half-assed pipe-dream". and Miss C. would probably argue that she'd never agree to such crap in the first place -- but whatever).

"Hey guys -- Remember when we talked about running a 5k? Well, I've found the perfect one for us! It's a flat course, with a scenic view -- and there'll be refreshments afterwards!"

At first, Miss T. and Miss C. were a bit hesitant. Miss C. hates running. Miss T. has never actually run anywhere, ever. But the more they pondered the challenge, the more appealing it became. Sort of. And after all, if all those "healthy living" girls could run marathons and whatever -- surely our three heroes could do it too, yeh?

"Miss M. -- you had me at refreshments," replied Miss T.

So the three girls vowed to get themselves in running shape and kick some 5k ass. They have 2 months.

Let the adventure begin!!

Guess what, guys? That's a true story! I know, you were probably thinking it was some sort of Disney princess fairy tale, right? Any minute now, a singing june-bug is gonna come in and teach Miss T. about the importance of hydration while training. And maybe that will happen, if I get dehydrated and delirious enough!

So yeh . . . I'm gonna run a 5k. My two former co-workers have signed on to join me. Anyone else wanna be part of the story?! It'll be awesome -- you might even get to see me cry / throw up!

Seriously -- you should all come join us. Yes you, blog reader. I know who you are, and what you're thinking. And you're thinking, "Oh, heeeelllll no!" Well stop thinking that, and come sign up for the 5k with me. You know you want to.

Anyway --as the story above states -- I've never run before in my life, except to catch a bus or something. And even then . . . .I give up easily. Eh, there'll be another bus . . . sometime. In the meantime, lets just sit on this bench . . . .zzzzzz . . .

Miss M., knowing about my reluctance to move, also sent along the link to this handy Couch to 5k training program. Any exercise program that has the word "couch" in the title is a-ok in my book. Today, as I hit up the gym for a non-trainer sweat session, I decided to put the plan to action.

Week 1, Workout 1 is clearly designed for people who loooove their couches. Like moi. After a "brisk 5 minute warm up walk", you then jog for 60 seconds and walk for 90 seconds. You keep that up for 20 minutes. Then you're done.

Even I found this to be pretty easy.

10 minutes in, I was feeling pretty good. I'll admit, it was a little awkward cranking the treadmill back and forth from "run" speed to "walk" speed every 60 seconds. It only got more lame when some long-legged Olympian hopped on the treadmill next to me and broke into a flat out sprint.

Walking . . . . .jogging! Ok, walking . . . walking . . . jogging! . . . Walking . . .

My grandma could probably have done the walk/jog thing more gracefully. Granted, my grandmother also probably has much better support garments than I. But I digress.

So I was nearly done with Workout 1, when my trainer, Ron, wanders over and gives me the thumbs up. Yes, hi Ron. Good to see you too. My arms, shoulders and back still aren't speaking to you, though -- so eff off.

I realized Ron was probably expecting me to go bench-press some shit after this lame treadmill routine, so I shamefully dragged myself over to the free-weight area and actually completed a decent set of squats and lunges.

Ron says I have "perfect form" while squatting. I know. I know.

After 20 diligent minutes of bobbing around with the giant exercise ball and stretching, I scampered the hell out of there. Mission accomplished! Workout 1, in the bag!

Two months is not a long time to go from lazy-ass to runner, but I'm keepin' the faith. If things are looking bad come race day, I'm sure a whistling cricket or a dancing crab will come to my aid with some golden sneakers or something.

Cuz that's how fairy tales work, yo.

shame on tea -- an extremely belated/half-assed red carpet recap

2010-01-26T06:54:00.000-08:00

I know, I know - all has been quiet here at One Girl, 12 Ways. Sorry, readers. My bad!

So, I've been planning to do a Red Carpet Recap of the Golden Globes. I started hunting the internets for suitable photos of all my fav celebs . . . and then the People's Choice Awards happened, and the SAG's -- and suddenly I was overwhelmed with red carpet pics. Two weeks later, my thoughts on the Golden Globes seem pretty irrelevant. Now it's full steam ahead to Oscar season!

I am making strides towards my goal of seeing all the Academy Award nominated films before the big night. Which some might argue is a nonsensical feat. Since the Academy Awards outcome will have no direct impact on my life whatsoever. Also, actual nominees have not even been announced yet.

Whatever! This pop-culture whore flies in the face of common sense / reality!

So I'm basing my current movie-viewing line-up on all the other award show nominations of the season. In fact, I am heading off in a bit to see another potential Oscar contender this afternoon! When the actual shortlist is announced for reals, I'll give you my picks.

But for now, here are a few of my favorite moments from the 2010 red carpet season thus far . . .

Oh, what I would give to be sittin' at this table! Though I must admit, I enjoyed Tina's SAG awards dress more . . .

. . . but really, you could put this sistah in a burlap sack and she'd still be freakin' hilarious and amazing.

And speaking of Golden Globes vs. SAG Awards fashion, which Gabourey Sidibe ensemble do we like more?:

Golden Globes

SAG Awards.

My vote is for the SAG-blue number. I personally think all the "rhinestones" on the green dress are kinda "TJ Maxx salesrack". Hell, for all I know, they could be real emeralds. I'm just sayin' . . . from here, it looks a little "Isaac Mizrahi for Wal-Mart".

Please note my heavy use of "quotations" to denote my "opinions" in the previous "paragraph".

Can I also take this moment to say -- I hope we see more of Gabourey in Hollywood. Apparently, there are some people out there who don't quite understand that she's an actress. Yeh, and guess what -- Mariah Carey isn't a social worker, either! It's, like, make-believe!

Now for more people I love and the clothes they are wearing . . .

Carey Mulligan . . . my girl-crush of the week . . .

Betty White, my girl-crush of all time!

Jane Lynch, you were robbed!

Now, it seems that some media outlets have labeled Mad Men's Christina Hendricks a "big girl". Say wha? I don't see it . . .

Um, yeh -- she has boobs. Just like our awesome-hot friend, Penelope Cruz:

Those aren't "big girls", people. Those are women who look like actual women and not tanned, botoxed lollipop sticks. I would gladly swap bods with Christina Hendricks. Or Helen Mirren, for that matter:

And finally -- while both of these looks might have been trashed by the rag-mags, I give these girls snaps for doin' their thing:

Am I the only one who really enjoys this sparkly hoodie number? It's for an after-party, people! Come on!

I'll stand by you, Amanda Palmer! I'll stand by you!

ripped

2010-01-13T15:31:00.000-08:00

Greetings, Comrades! Hope everyone is having a good week . . . or at least, a survivable week. According to the weatherman, Boston is supposed to hit 50 degrees on Friday! There's something to keep living for!

So, remember how I got bamboozled into signing up for free personal training? Betcha thought I blew that off, huh? Not so! I've been taking a few days to digest my latest gym adventure. Also, I was unable to lift my arms to the keyboard. Until now!

Gather 'round, kids -- Tea's got a tale for you! With a surprise ending, no less!

Monday, 4pm -- I scurried into the rat-hole that is Golds Gym Somerville. I mean that in the most loving way possible. But seriously, this is the actual gym entrance:

It's located in the basement of a strip mall. Enough said.

Ron, the young man who initially approached me about signing up for a free training session, was literally waiting for me at the door.

Ron: "Heeeeey! You ready?"

Me: "Honestly, I'm kinda scared."

Ron did not seem particularly moved by my apprehension. He laughed and told me to go suit up. I was already wearing sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt -- was I supposed to bring a spandex leotard? Weight lifting belt? I played along and huddled in the locker room for a few moments, and then returned with my water bottle and my last remaining shreds of dignity.

Ron was waiting for me with a guy who is best described as a 'budget-Guido.' He introduced himself as Carlos, the General Manager. He was going to be my trainer for the evening.

"Are you ready to do this?" Carlos asked, with a genuine enthusiasm I'd not seen in Ron. Or anyone else at Golds Gym Somerville.

"Um -- sure?"

"That's right you are!"

Before we got down to sweatin', Carlos had me fill out a survey covering my medical history and fitness goals.

Carlos: "Have you ever had a stroke?"

Me: "I don't think so."

Carlos: "Are you currently pregnant?"

Me: "No sir."

Carlos: "Have you ever been on a diet before?"

Me: "[laughing] Oooooh yeh."

Carlos: "Is your spouse or partner supportive of your fitness goals?"

Me: "Uhhhh . . . sure?"

And so it went. I told Carlos my weight. He said some stuff about cardio, nutrition and free weights - the Holy Trinity of physical fitness. There was talk of ripping apart muscle, and muscle eating fat, and body fat ratios . . .

This was all starting to sound like an anatomy lecture. Taught by a Guido.

Then, Carlos sent me off to the elliptical machine, saying, "Don't go crazy, just get a little warmed up."

After 10 minutes, I was feeling sufficiently warm. I've been a member of Golds Gym for 4 years, and my usual workout sessions consist of 20 minutes on the elliptical, followed by 40 minutes of power-incline walking on the treadmill. Usually listening to some sort of talk-radio podcast. Not exactly heart-pounding.

After 20 minutes, Carlos deemed me sufficiently prepared for the next phase of the workout. And it wasn't going to involve The Hater podcast.

We wandered over to a corner of the gym with several dubious-looking machines. Carlos instructed me to lie down on what looked like some sort of torturous operating table, put my feet up on a bar, and reach back over my head to grab the handles behind me. Then, sit up. He helped to lift the machine with me the first time, so my completely uncoordinated body could figure out what was going on.

Well hi there, stomach muscles! Where the hell have you guys been?!

After a few reps on the crunch machine, Carlos led me over to the . . . "pull up machine"? I don't know the technical terms for the equipment, but basically, I was suspended from my arms and lifting my legs straight out in front of me.

Now things were getting tricky.

Me: "Oh, wow! Um -- yeh . . . I don't know how many more of these I can do."

Carlos: "Just 2 more! You got it! You got it!"

And, much to my surprise -- I got it. I completed the set. And I didn't fall / cry / collapse! A gym class miracle!

While I took a water break, Carlos asked me, "So who are you paying attention to in the gym right now?"

"You," I answered.

"Who else?"

"Uhhh . . . me?"

"Who else?"

"Uhhh . . . "

"No one, right? Because you're busy doing your own thing. And guess what? No one else is paying attention to you right now either. Everyone's concentrating on their own workouts, no one's watching to see if you're going to mess up."

This might sound like fairly obvious advice -- but in the moment, in all my sweaty, awkward glory -- it kind of blew my mind. Carlos was right -- no one gave a rat's ass what I was doing over here in the pull up corner. They were all busy sweating away on their own torture machines, or jogging along reading US Weekly.

And this was the turning point right here, people. This was when I started getting into it.

Carlos took me into the stretching area and had me lay down on my back, legs hovering inches above the floor. Every time he said "Up!" I lifted my legs straight up in the air. When he said "Down!" I lowered them. He put me through a rapid-fire series of "Up! Down! Up! Hold it! Hold it! Down! Up! Down! Up!" -- and I kept up with him. Through two whole sets, with barely a break.

Carlos: "Your lower abs are strong."

Me: "Seriously?"

Carlos: "Sure. I'm putting you through a slightly more advanced beginner series, and you're keeping up with me."

This was perhaps the first time anyone has ever commented on my physical strength. In a positive manner. I was sweaty, and starting to feel a little jello-y . . . but it was a good feeling. I was pumped! When Carlos challenged me to do some planks, I was determined to hold the pose all the way through his 30 second countdown -- no flopping to my belly with 10 seconds to go.

And I did it!

By the time we made it over to the final ab machine, Carlos and I were chatting like old friends. When I referred to the machine as a medieval torture device, he laughed appreciatively. I have no doubt that flirting with the young, female, non-athletic potential clients is a big part of Carlos' job description. But I was feelin' so pumped by the emergence of my previously hidden ab-muscles, I didn't even care that he was buttering me up for the Big Sell.

When Carlos led me away from the machines and back towards the office -- I was actually surprised. Our workout hour had flown! And . . . I liked it. I liked feeling strong -- like every machine was a new little physical challenge. I liked pushing myself right to the "oh-my-god-I-can't-do-4-more-reps!" edge -- and then doing 4 more reps. I'd walked into the gym certain that I would crumple in the face of weights and scary machines -- but I didn't! In fact, I did the whole routine without copping out on a single thing!

When Carlos shut the office door, I said -- "I need to be really honest with you. I came here tonite mostly for a laugh, definitely not planning on signing up for anything. But I really liked this. And I wanna keep doing it. But my financial situation right now is a huge joke. Seriously. Funds are . . . nonexistent. Almost."

And Carlos, in true Guido fashion, said, "Talk to me. What can you afford? If this is something you really want to do, we can make this work."

I sat there and thought about it for awhile. Was this something I really wanted to do? God knows, I've never been a gym bunny, or a fitness fanatic. Hell, I'm usually the first person in line to scoff at those people who get up at 5am to do spin class, go running in the snow, can't miss a workout. And yet . . . I've struggled with my body image and my weight for most of my life. I've tried every diet plan you could think of -- and a few I've invented myself. I've had some successes -- but I have never really reached a point where I've felt truly comfortable and confident in my own body.

But strangely enough -- I felt confident out on the floor doing leg-lifts with Carlos. I felt strong, I felt determined. So . . . maybe its time for me to start focusing on what my body can actually do, instead of just what it looks like.

"Ok, Carlos -- let's talk," I said.

I bet you can all guess where this is going, right?

Tea Guarie, sucker of the century, now has her very own personal trainer!! I'll be meeting with him once a week for a one-on-one session, and then he'll give me two other workouts I can do on my own for the rest of the time. Financially, I think I'll be able to swing it. If not, I can cancel it without too much trouble. And really -- people have made worse investment decisions, right?

I won't lie -- I'm really excited! Is that weird? To get excited over exercising? God knows, my muscles have been making their displeasure known over the past few days. My ab muscles seem to be particularly resentful - I had to roll out of bed onto the floor this morning. But this is just the beginning -- even though it hurts like hell now, I can't wait to see where I'll be three months from now. Maybe Carlos will be able to put some actual weights on the machines! Maybe I'll be able to do more that 5 pull ups!

The possibilities are endless!

So between my library hook-up and my gym escapades, I feel like I've been more productive this week than I was in all of 2009! And if there's one thing I learned from my "workout", its to take it all slow and steady. One movement, one step at a time.

Piece o' cake.

hit the ground running (or in my case, walking)

2010-01-11T16:23:00.000-08:00

How is it already 7:30pm? Funny, how time flies when you're out being productive! I've gone a whole day without watching a single episode of Real Housewives of Orange County or Teen Cribs. And I don't even miss it. Much.

So, what have I been doing with my valuable daytime tv watching time? I'm glad you asked!

Today was my inaugural day of "volunteering" at the Cambridge Public Library!

Volunteering is in quotes because, while there is no official volunteer program / position for me at this time, my library administrative coordinator contact (a friend of my dental hygienist) has offered to give me projects on an as-needed basis. She's also going to pass my name along to the Friends of the Library committee, to see if I can help with any of their upcoming programming. She is hopeful that by the fall, when I'm officially in school full time, there will be more opportunities to work with the library on a regular basis. Can we say boo-yeh?

The reason the CPL is in such chaos is because they've just moved into a brand spankin' new building. It is squeaky-clean-wonderful-gorgeous. My time spent slaving under a regime of architects who specialized in "light-filled, community gathering spaces" gives me a special appreciation for the library's awesome new layout. Sunny reading areas. A Harry Potter-esque study room in the refurbished historic wing. An amazing new "Teen Lounge." Man, I love this place!

I am a dork.

But I don't care!

So yeh, I didn't get to do anything really "librarian-y" today. Which is fine, because I have not yet begun my official librarian training. Instead, I got to put together brochure packets that pimp the awesomeness of the new library. Needless to say, I read a lot of brochure packets while I worked.

Fortunately, reading is encouraged at the library.

True confession time -- I love collating. It's true. When I'm not under a major deadline, I find repeatedly bundling massive piles of papers in specific order extremely relaxing. My imagination wanders. I think about my life, and if it would make a good sitcom. I think it has potential. Especially if I could somehow finagle it so all my friends had apartments in my building. Then we could make a reality-sitcom. A reali-com? A Doc-com?

Then I start thinking about what the theme song to my reality-sitcom would be . . .

And poof -- three hours later, I'd created 500 new brochure packets! And the library staff was amazed at my collation stamina! It's a win-win!

As payment for today's efforts, I was given a little library freebie:

So here's hoping my library hook-up calls me back for more random fun at some point soon! Just being in the building, meeting people and doing random little housekeeping chores is a treat at this point -- and hopefully, will lead to bigger and better library adventures in the future!

The second half of my day was so mind-blowing, I think it deserves a post all its own. I'll give you a hint, though -- it involves sweat, guidos, and risk-taking of both the physical and financial sort.

Any guesses?

its time for . . . Tales From the Treadmill!

2010-01-09T13:46:00.000-08:00

Picture it -- Golds Gym Somerville, 2010.

I was strolling along on the treadmill like I normally do, after successfully convincing myself that my "walk-jog" routine will start Monday. Everyone knows, diets / exercise plans / weeks start on Mondays. Duh.

I was listening to The Hater podcast and trying not to laugh out loud like a creepy freak, as I'm sometimes apt to do. This week Amelie Gillette is making fun of Tyra Banks, Oprah, the Jonas Brothers and Domino's Pizza. I effing love her.

Suddenly, I'm aware of someone standing on the vacant treadmill to my right, staring and gesturing at me. My first thought was that this is "Ghostbusters dude". What -- I've never told you about Ghostbusters dude? Allow me to indulge in a brief tangent here:

There's a guy at my gym who is apparently a huge fan of my "Ghostbusters shirt". It's just a black t-shirt with the Ghostbusters logo on the front -- suitable attire for dive bars, the gym, job interviews at the Sav-Mor Liquor Store. Nothing special.

The first time I wore it to the gym, this guy stopped right in front of my elliptical machine and started talking at me. Which was pointless and annoying, because I was listening to the Glee soundtrack at top volume and couldn't hear what the eff he was saying. At first I thought he was a fomer match.com date, come back to awkwardly remind me of some unreturned phone message or something -- but no, this dude merely wanted to tell me how much he liked my Ghostbusters shirt.*

"Ghostbusters, man! I remember that movie! That's so cool! Where'd you get it?"

"Thanks . . . uh . . . Target, I think?"

"That's awesome!"

A few minutes later, he came back with a friend, and proceeded to proudly point out my Ghostbusters shirt to his buddy. His friend, to his credit, looked confused and embarrassed.

"Dude, remember Ghostbusters?"

"What?" said his friend.

"Ghostbusters -- that movie! With that guy . . . that was the logo!"

"Oh yeh . . . I don't know if I ever saw that . . ."

"Whaaaaat?! Are you serious?!"

So they went on. I stopped even pretending to be a part of the conversation and cranked up my ipod once again, and eventually, they wandered away.

So, needless to say, the Ghostbusters shirt was taken out of gym rotation for several weeks. When, at last, the day came when all my other gym tees were in the laundry and I was forced to don the GB tee -- dude was right there in front of my treadmill again!!!

Him: "Heeey!" [gives thumbs up on shirt]

Me: [startled, confused stumbling, followed by embarrassed nod / thumbs up]

Seriously? Does this guy just wander around the gym checkin' out people's outfits? If so, I pity him -- because Golds Gym Somerville is certainly not a fashionista gym. Unless the hot new trend in workout wear is "moving company t-shirts, old sweatpants, and ill-fitting support garments". They had to post a sign at the front desk stating: "As of January 1, 2010, No Jeans Allowed".

I'm no athlete, but even I know you shouldn't wear jeans to the effing gym. Come on, people!

Ok, end tangent.

So back to today's treadmill visitor. It was, thankfully, not Ghostbusters dude. It was a guy wearing an official Golds Gym Somerville shirt, which immediately made me nervous. What did I do? I wasn't wearing jeans . . . did they notice that the last time I was here, I failed to wipe down the treadmill when I was done? What -- its not like I touch the damn thing other than to press the Start / Stop button! Get over it!

But no, Official Gym Employee had not come to scold me. He had come to gently shame me.

Him: "Hi, My name is Ron. I don't think I've seen you at the gym before -- how long have you been a member?"

Me: "Um . . . awhile . . ." [by awhile, I meant 4 years. although clearly, the effects of 4 years of gym membership are not immediately apparent when looking at me in all my gym-clothed glory]

Him: "Oh, ok -- so you're getting back into it for the New Year!"

Me: "Right!"

Him: "Has anyone ever talked to you about doing a free personal training session?"

Me: "Uh . . . no . . ." [but they have approached to me comment on my t-shirts / oogle me]

Him: "Is that something you'd be interested in?"

Me: "Kinda . . . I gotta be up front with you though -- I'm not gonna be able to commit to paying for sessions, because I have no job." [ and I'm pretty sure that once you watch me attempt a sit-up, or a crunch or whatever -- you're probably not gonna wanna train me, either.]

Him: "Totally understandable . . . just see what training's all about . . . blah, blah, blah . . . should I put you down for Monday at 4?"

This is usually the part of any pitch where I break the sales-person's heart with, "Weeellllllll . . . let me think about it . . ." and then run out the door and never return. But today, I thought to myself -- what the hell? I've been coming to this sweaty pit for 4 years, and I still can't touch my freakin' toes. Maybe it is time to switch it up, get some "professional" advice.

Which is exactly what they want you to think.

Damnit. Clearly, the treadmill is my kryptonite. Corner me on one and I'll agree to anything.

Ron obviously saw me as fresh meat. Sauntering along at an easy 3.5 miles per hour, occasionally snickering to myself. Oooooh yeh, he thoughtThere's a girl who's enjoying the gym too much. There's a girl who needs some pain. .

Ron's parting words to me were, "Bring water and a towel, and come prepared to sweat."

I should have told him, "Ok. You bring Band-Aids and a face mask, and be prepared to call 911 at some point."

Instead, I actually said, "Ok, great! Nice to meet you! Can't wait for you to kick my ass!"

The moral of these stories: I need to stop being friendly to people at the gym. Or anywhere. Or just walk around laughing out loud to myself at all times, so they'll stay away.

*Just so we're clear, I am aware that this dude was probably more interested in my "lovely lady ghosties" than my "shirt". I can be clueless . . . but not that clueless.

ten for '10

2010-01-05T07:02:00.000-08:00

A new decade, a new adventure, a new blog layout! I'm fairly certain that the image blogger has randomly superimposed into this template is the Boston Public Garden, yes? Or is it one of the many other "monuments to men on horses" that exist all over the world? Whatever -- I'm choosing to believe it is a photo of my hometown, and therefore this template was designed especially for moi!

So - I didn't have the heart to scrap all the "One Girl, 12 Ways" biz from 2009. Even though my efforts to improve myself with monthly themes didn't work out so well -- I feel like it should stand as a monument to a strange, transition year in my life. RIP, 2009 - Viva 2010!

You may have noticed a small addition to the blog title. That's because -- drumroll please --

I've been accepted to the Simmons Grad School of Library Science!

I'm trying not to let the word "science" scare me too much. The word "library" counteracts the traumatic memories of high school Chemistry.

School officially starts in May, which means I've got a few months to clear the cobwebs out of my head, figure out a job situation and prepare myself for being a full-time student once again. Fortunately, I enjoy school -- so much, in fact, that my goal is now to work in an academic-type setting for the rest of my days. No more late-night deadlines, no kissing CEO ass, no blah-blah-blah corporate bottom lines. No more gray, windowless cubicles! Bring on some dusty, windowless bookshelves!

So this year, the blog is gonna be a lot less "theme-y" and a lot more . . . "life-y"? A humorous peek into Tea's wacky world, and a place to record all my little adventures.

Also -- there will be lots of book reviews.

So, its time to list my 10 Completely Achievable Goals for 2010. Lets not dwell on the fact that I "achieved" very few of my 2009 Goals. A new year -- a clean slate. Here we go:

10 Completely Achievable Goals for 2010
1. Go to Grad School
2. Get a new couch / pull up nasty-ass carpeting in my apt
3. Keep my nails painted and not let them get all chipped and gross
4. Do yoga. Regularly. For real!
5. Learn to play an instrument so our amazing band, T&A, will take off (tambourines count, people -- we're talking "achievable" goals here!)
6. Run / jog / briskly walk a 5k
7. Volunteer at 826 Boston
8. See all the Academy Award nominated movies ( i need to get on this, like, now)
9. Write something -- short story, screenplay, lyrics for amazing T&A songs . . .
10. Go to the beach, again!

Ha! I don't know how "achievable" some of those are . . . considering last year I didn't manage to "wear eyeliner everyday" or "do my dishes with some semblance of regularity". But we'll see . . . even if I semi-achieve half of these things, I'll be living a productive life. So get on my ass, friends -- remind me to start running / volunteering / movie-watching.

It's gonna be a hell of a year, folks -- get ready!

december will be magic

2009-12-03T05:37:00.000-08:00

we have reached the end of the year! sort of!

december is upon us, folks. i know this because my little corner of east cambridge is suddenly a-glow with christmas lights. this makes me happy. i'm a sucker for tacky holiday decorations.

what a wacky year it has been! i know there are still technically 28 days left in 2009, but i can't help but look back at where i was 11 months ago.

let's bust out the Completely Achievable Goals for 2009 list, shall we?

1. Wear eyeliner every day
not sure i fulfilled my eyeliner obligations. there were definitely some lazy days where i didn't even brush my hair. does wearing yesterday's eye make-up count?

2. Read a book
yes! for evidence of my ability to read, check out my Goodreads page.

3. Gain 100 pounds and apply to be a contestant on The Biggest Loser . . or, just stop dieting
oh man. my weird eating issues were all over the map this year. i did, for awhile, stop dieting . . . and then i got laid off and packed on some shame-eating pounds. not quite biggest loser proportions, though. i continue to try to be less neurotic about my weight . . . but this monkey on my back is just so damn cute! until it tries to tear my face off, that is.

4. Do dishes with some semblance of regularity
eh. like eyeliner -- there were lazy /busy days where the dishes sat in the sink overnite. there are no dishes in my sink right now though -- so lets call it victory! sort of.

5. Reach "Expert" level drumming for at least one Rock Band song
i've reached "Medium" level on a few Rock Band songs. laaaaame. but i fully intend to start a real Rock Band in the coming year, drumming skillz or not. so get ready.

6. Stay up later
check! now that i have no job, u will find me up all nite!

7. Shop more
lol -- i was doin' damn good with this until -- oh right! -- i got laid off. i'm beginning to see a theme here . . .

8. Be unapologetically proud of my tv watching and pop-culture obsessions
was this ever *not* true? obviously i'm a pop-culture whore. loud and proud!

9. Go to the beach

check!

it's funny to review where my mind was in january, as compared to now. i was so focused on the minutiae of my day to day existence, because so much of my time was eaten away by work. being banished from the cube has definitely given me perspective. i don't think i ever would have had the time / motivation to apply to graduate school if i'd still been locked away in my Corporate Dungeon. i think i've figured out a very big part of what i'm looking to do with my life, career-wise. 2010 will be all about putting the plans into action . . . assuming i get accepted to Librarian School. fingers crossed!

but we've still got all of December to go before tackling a whole new decade! i plan to live out the rest of this year just enjoying every moment as it comes. no dwelling on the events of the past 11 months, no freaking about what lies ahead. its the holiday season, goddamnit! and for the first time in a very long time, i feel like i have the opportunity to breathe and actually enjoy the festiveness.

so let's try for a Merry December, people!

shameful!

2009-11-23T15:02:00.001-08:00

so this has obviously been Slacker month here at One Girl, 12 Ways.

matt said to me, "tea! you almost made it through the whole year!"

i don't think i've ever managed a year-long commitment to anything, so that'd truly be an accomplishment. i hang my head.

BUT -- i can always hope to redeem myself come December, yes? a chirstmas miracle! stay tuned!

until then, enjoy this video of paula deen eating a "burger", which i would argue is more shameful than my blog-lapse this month:

all dressed up, nowhere to go . . .

2009-10-19T09:07:00.000-07:00

Scared yet?

Halloween is nearly upon us, people! Dispite my attempts to be on top of shit this year, I am once again clutching at costume straws. My most excellent Roller Derby Girl outfit is proving more challenging than I anticipated -- and that's ignoring the minor detail of my not knowing how to skate. So now it's time to come up with a Plan B -- but I'll be damned if I'm going to the Garment District this week. I'm a weird girl, I must have some wacky, costume-worthy shit around the house, right? Let's see . . .

Ok, this is what I managed to gather from my "dressing table":

Hmmm . . . how about a "fuzzy beast" costume?

(I actually bought this wolf hat to wear this winter. It's really warm. Also, I don't have to go into an office anymore . . . so I am a little out of touch with how "normal" people dress. Don't judge.)

Or maybe "Flapper of the Night"?

(This headdress was my great-grandma's from the 1930's, the fan was a gift from Julia's travels.)

"Washed Up Devil"? or "The Octomom's Oldest Child"?

(Yawn, I know. Horns came from Canobie Lake - they also light up. Badass!)

"Grizzly Sea Captain":

With Mermaid:

(Captain's Hat was picked up in Florida, the paper-mache mermaid was inherited from Mama G. Yarrrr!)

"Everyone's Favorite Revolutionary War Hero, Sam Adams":

Or, I could throw a sheet over my head and go as "The Spirit of the Revolution":

I'd have to be a taupe colored ghost, though.
(Tri-corn hat was a 4th of July accessory. Because I need hats for every holiday.)

Along the same vein, I could also be "The Spirit of New Orleans":

(Mask was a NOLA souvenir from Papa G, voodoo doll was also a NOLA gift from Julia.)

I seem to have small collection of these hats of the 1940's/1950's . . . perhaps I could be "Jackie O's Personal Secretary" or "An Extra on Mad Men" . . . or "Grandma, 1952":

(Both hats were, in fact, inherited from my grandma.)

Oh man . . . so many choices! Any further suggestions of stuff I can make with this rag-tag pile of weird hats?

No wonder I love Halloween. If this accessory collection is any indication, every freakin' day is like Halloween over here! It's true - I don't like to take myself or my fashion too seriously. Life's too short, people. Put on a wacky hat and go to the grocery store.

Actually . . . maybe I could wear one of these hats, some slippers, and a stained velour sweatsuit and go as "Crazy Woman in the Canned Food Aisle of Shaw's".

I like it.

down the rabbit hole

2009-10-12T07:40:00.000-07:00

tap, tap. is this thing on?

is there anyone left out there?

many of you have been "reminding" me to blog for weeks now -- sorry it has taken me this long! i'm not dead - i'm not even suffering from the swine flu. i've simply been poking around inside my head for the past month. i am happy to report that things are starting to get sorted.

so . . . where were we?

when i last left ya'll it was Back to School month. while my plans to blog about all things educational failed miserably, i *did* manage to set in motion a true Back to School plan. i'm officially applying to grad school at Simmons for my Master of Library Science degree. every parent's dream, right? a librarian in the family!

i've been taking stock of all the things i truly enjoy doing: reading. sometimes writing. looking up crazy crap on the internet. entertainment. snarkiness. stand up comedy. i weighed these against the things i hated about my last job: a cubicle. suits. kissing the asses of my corporate overlords. working a gazillion hours a week to improve the company's bottom line and not my own.

based on my calculations, being a Young Adult librarian will allow me to focus on the things i love -- books, information, youth culture -- in an environment that is refreshingly far from corporate america. everybody wins!

so the past couple weeks have found me slowly pulling together all my application information, which has been slightly stressful. its been a long time since i've filled out a FAFSA form, or written an essay about my Career Goals. the ball is in motion, though -- and with any luck, i'll be polishing off the last few pieces of the application this week. then comes the financial part. anyone need a kidney? i'll sell ya one for $27,000.

i'm really excited about this new vision of my future! excited, and nervous. commitments of any sort freak me out -- perhaps that's why i've waited this long to seriously consider any sort of "long term" life plan. but now that i've set my cap on librarianship, i'm in love with the idea. i'll feel a lot better once the application process is complete, though. paperwork fills me with anxiety. and rage.

anyway -- we have now reached the month of October! insanity! where has the time gone?! the trees outside my window are all bare and brown, the Garment District is packed full of obnoxious college students. i need to get a jump on my costume plans, so i'm not frantically tearing through the leftovers three days before Halloween, like last year.

have i mentioned how much i love Halloween? i love it. a lot.

a few weeks ago, Miss A and i took a trip out to Wilmington to see the roller derby. which was amazing. while we were strolling the desolate streets from the train station to our dinner destination, Miss A took a good long look at the thoroughfare of car washes and crumbling strip malls and asked, "so, what did you do for fun here?"

i replied, "oh, you know . . . we'd walk to the library. or go hang out in the cemetery."

i didn't think of myself as one of those "goth" kids in high school -- i didn't wear black lipstick or eyeliner or listen to excessive amounts of the cure or anything -- but there has always been a whiff of the macabre about me. i was armed with a ouija board at age 9. i was the kid that other mothers would politely ask to stop scaring the rest of the sleepover guests. i looooved being scared. i loved blurring the line of reality and the unknown -- i dreamed of having some sort of supernatural experience. i wanted the ghost stories to come to life. thus, my passion for halloween.

also, there was free candy. so yeh -- ultimate holiday for spooky, chubby kids.

while i like to think that i've matured slightly over the years -- i no longer move the ouija board to make it spell the names of my friends' deceased pets -- my love of all things creepy remains strong. i still enjoy cemeteries and ghost stories. i still own a ouija board. i watched the episode of Ghost Hunters where they take Meat Loaf to a supposedly haunted island:
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so October is going to be Gothic Month here at One Girl, 12 Ways. that doesn't mean i'm out to rob a Hot Topic or anything -- its just the time of year to curl up with a good ghost story or go shuffle through the leaves in a big ol' new england cemetery. and before this month is over, i vow to do both.

and i vow to keep you better informed of my movements, blog-readers! i realize the end of the year is fast approaching, and i wanna keep the blog momentum rolling all the way into 2010!

anything is possible, right?

tea and archaeology

2009-09-04T07:15:00.000-07:00

Weekdays can get a little maddening when you're unemployed. Friends are working. Oprah is still in summer reruns. And I refuse to allow myself to get hooked on the soaps. If I start talking about how Brad thinks Sage is totally his, but she's actually been sleeping with Dylan while Madison is in a coma -- come over here and slap me.

It shouldn't be that hard to find interesting things to do with my time that don't involve TV or alcohol. After all, this is a fairly bustling metropolitan area. Plus, I live within walking distance of two of the most geek-chic-elite universities in country! Surely there must be something more intellectually stimulating to do besides camping out in the cafe of Borders, reading all the British tabloids.

A Yelp search of "Cambridge arts & entertainment" opened a whole new, touristy world of activity to me. Boston/C-bridge is chock full of museums and galleries, historical monuments and trails. I have seen almost none of these things, because I spend all my free time in karaoke bars. Or my apartment.

So what better activity for "back-to-school" month than to learn more about my hometown, and take advantage of its uber-intellectual resources?

Sure, I may not be smart enough or rich enough to attend Harvard. But on Wednesdays and Sundays any shmuck with a Massachusetts license can check out the University's "collection of artifacts we begged/borrowed/stole from native peoples" -- for free!

You all know how I love free shit.

So, come with me on a magical mystery tour of Harvard University's Peabody Museum of Archaeology & Ethnology!

See -- it's appropriately brick-ish and museum-like from the outside:

A brief note about Tea and museums -- I effing love them. Truth. Every since Miz Linda and I did our "backpackers tour of London" back in September '07, I've learned to appreciate the weird and wonderful world of display cases, dioramas, and ancient-dust-covered shit. I enjoy crappy museums and world-class, state-of-the-art museums with equal measure.

For the record, the Peabody Museum is neither.

But let me start from the beginning.

Wednesday, 3pm. I wandered into the lobby of the Peabody Museum, which reminds me a bit of a Victorian-era high school. Or library. Actually -- remember that '80's movie, The Neverending Story? When the kid hides in the attic of his creepy school or whatever, reading the magic book? It's kinda like that:

Attic from Neverending Story . . .

Attic of Peabody Museum.

Point made?

Anyway - the woman at the reception desk appeared genuinely surprised to see me. I suspect the museum is not exactly a happening place most weekday afternoons. In fact, I seemed to be one of only 4 people wandering the halls of the place, which added to the overall creepy-haunted-museum vibe. Excellent.

So after showing her this:

. . . I was given one of these:

I love these little museum lapel clips. I usually lose them about 5 minutes into my museum visit . . . but there must be some sort of fun craft I could do with 'em . . .

Back to the Peabody:

As the name suggests, the Peabody Museum is full of artifacts "recovered" from various indigenous peoples. The entire first floor is a homage to Native Americans. Complete with piped in sounds of tribal drums and chanting. This was a little disconcerting, as I was wandering the floor alone. In some places, the exhibit rooms were completely dark until I tiptoed in and set off the light sensors. The overall "you're-about-to-be-scalped!" vibe was way more exciting than most of the exhibits, which were limited to 1950's-era dioramas of tribal huts and displays of old baskets, blankets, and sliver jewelry / belt buckles that could have come from straight Urban Outfitters.

Clearly, I need to foster a greater appreciation for the arts of our native peoples.

Anyway -- there were a few highlights, including this totally random modern graffiti piece:

And this sign, explaining how Native Americans kinda hate Harvard University . . . and the rest of America:

There was also a small installation on "Excavating Harvard Yard". Digging in the Yard unearthed a whole load of broken pottery, animal bones, and bits of old pipes -- giving us a unique window into the life and times of Ye Olde Harvard Students. For example -- did you know that back in the day, the food at Harvard was really, really bad? We're talking rancid butter bad. Also, your socio-economic status determined whether or not you were allowed to eat with a fork:

Bored with the dusty old crap of the USA, I wandered up to the South American floor, where I found the best display in the whole museum:

. . . also, the most hot-pink display in the whole museum!
That, my friends, is a Dia de los Muertos shrine. I wish my cell-phone camera was less crappy, because it was the most ornate, detailed, fabulously cool thing ever. I could have stared at it for an hour. Sadly, some obnxious lady and her super-bored children wandered in and interrupted my private gawking session. But I would seriously go back to the Peabody just to visit this shine again . . . which maybe makes me a loser. Whatever - I stand by that statement! It was cool, people!

Moving up to the attic-like 3rd floor, I found the Pacific-Islander Artifacts. This crap was actually pretty cool:

I have no idea what this little dude represents. I probably could have read the accompanying explanatory placards . . . but who has time for that?

There was a brief moment on the 3rd floor where I actually did get spooked. I was the only person on the entire level, and most of the floor was still shrouded in darkness, since all the lights are on occupancy sensors. Suddenly, there was a tremendously loud creaking noise behind me, and I jumped about a foot in the air. Total Ghost Hunters moment. Then I realized the noise was actually coming from the floor below me, where that annoying family was still hogging my Day of the Dead shrine.

Any museum that can so fully capture that spooky, Hollywood-esque haunted house vibe gets two thumbs up from me! The whole place is like a little portal back in time . Maybe not to ancient times, but perhaps a Victorian Harvard where students still wore caps and gown to class and stealing from the "Indians" was not considered a crime. Bottom line -- I would love love love to spend the night in this building. And not so I can read up on gods of the Pacific Islanders.

After about 45 minutes, I'd had my fill of the Peabody Museum. Since it was free, I didn't feel like I needed to linger and read all the boring signs to get my money's worth. As I skipped back down the steps and up the street towards home, I was mildly impressed that a) I'd just gone to a museum all by myself in the middle of the day, and b) all this crazy ancient crap was tucked away in an unassuming brick building just up the road from my house. This "learning about my city" thing is a-ok! Next up -- the MIT Museum? The Somerville Museum? The Lars Anderson Auto Museum? How many of these bad boys can I hit before the end of September?

Only one way to find out!

trapperkeepers unite!

2009-09-02T16:00:00.000-07:00

Wait -- it's September?!

Seriously, where did the summer go? A whole season gone -- poof! Just like that. One minute it was May, and I was sitting in a lonely cube, contemplating taking my own life with an staple remover . . . now suddenly, autumn is here and I'm living off Uncle Sam while trying to stay sober long enough to come up with a life plan.

Fortunately, fall has always been my favorite time of year. Perfect weather, perfect sunlight, an abundance of apples and pumpkins. Halloween! Seriously, what's not to love?

And obviously -- it's back-to-school season.

Now, when I was actually enrolled in a school of some sort, I was perpetually bitching and moaning about something . . . the loss of free time, the homework, the early bedtime. The uniform. The B Line. There was no end to my educational complaints.

I stand before you today a reformed girl. I, Tea Guarie, miss going back to school. I miss the smell of the floor polish, the shopping for Lisa Frank folders, new backpacks and booklists, the syllabi, the after school activities, the day planner dutifully filled in until the second week of October.

I was pretty good at school. Not an Einstein or anything -- as the grammar and spelling of this blog can attest. But I loved that feeling of a fresh start every September, with new teachers and subjects and challenges. I love learning things. I don't retain most of what I learn -- but I have always found the process of learning enjoyable. In school, your job is to simply be open to knowledge -- have an opinion or an idea, and defend it. Express yourself. Think beyond the borders of your own world.

God, why wasn't I so hot n' bothered about learning when it actually counted? Probably because they were making me learn Geometry and Chemistry.

But, yes. This year more than ever, I wish I was going back to school.

Which brings us to September's One Girl, 12 Ways theme. While I may not be currently enrolled in any formal educational institution, I vow to make this a month of mind-expansion. Clear the cobwebs out of the ol' brain and learn a little, goddamn it!

And unlike my half-assed summer posting schedule -- this month I vow to be on the ball! In fact -- I already have the topic and research for my next September post all ready to go! That's right -- I'm doin' the assignments ahead of schedule! How do ya like them apples??

Don't worry -- just like every other school year, my motivation/enthusiasm will have all but disappeared by October. Just in time for Halloween.

and we've got to get ourselves back to the garden

2009-08-17T19:48:00.000-07:00

I'm sick of the concrete jungle this week, kids. It's so hot. And yes, I know it's hot everywhere . . . but there's something extra oppressive about summer in the city. Every surface seems to absorb as much heat as possible and then radiate it back like a giant convection oven.

I'm pretty sure I'm sizzlin' at medium-rare right now.

In my 'hood, people go to the dog-park for relief. It's the closest expanse of green space available -- and even that little mecca of grass looks out on the shopping plaza and a McDonalds.

As Kermit the Frog once said: "Green can be cool and friendly-like." Unfortunately, our green space is more: "humid and full of homeless drunk people."

I digress.

So tonite, whilst making sweet love to my air conditioner, I stumbled upon a documentary on the History Channel called Woodstock: Now & Then. Which reminded me . . . oh yeh, it's hippie month!

I've always had a thing for Woodstock. I went thru a hippie-lust phase in high school, around the time most of my friends were enjoying N'SYNC and shopping at Abercrombie. I kept my unruly curly hair long (mistake!) and wore a lot of baggy shirts. And I had a lot of crap from The Body Shop. Not much of a counter-culture statement.

I think what has always captivated me about true-blue flower children is their uninhibited approach to living. Hippies were free. On a lot of drugs, yes -- but free to do those drugs, make love and art, dance naked in the mud, start communes, start movements. They lived in the moment, and in that moment their lives had meaning. Just by simply existing, they were part of something much bigger than themselves.

Look at the music that came out of that era. People had shit to say -- they expressed themselves through art in hopes that they could change the effed up world around them.

We're living in effed-up times too, people. And so I sit and watch America's Best Dance Crew and Toddlers and Tiaras. I freak out about my weight and tell myself that once I lose 15 pounds -- then I can go take on the world.

God, I'm a terrible hippie.

But I'm trying. I'm recgonizing the things that keep me from being as free as I want to be.

This weekend I went to a Healthy Living Summit sponsored by some of the darlings of the food/healthy lifestyle blogging community. It was inspirational in a few different ways. I've started thinking a lot about what I want my ideal "lifestyle" to be . . . and I smell a new blogging project on the horizon. As if don't have enough blogs going at the moment -- but this is an exciting one, kids! I'll say no more now. Stay tuned.

So anyway, one of the speakers at the Summit was a woman who runs an organic dairy farm in Vermont. She gave a talk on organic farming and agriculture, and showed pictures of her farm -- green rolling pastures, happy cows heading out to graze, her super adorable family. They all work together on the the farm. They know each of their cows and their distinct personalities. They work super hard -- but their work is tangible, it has meaning.

I don't know if my work has ever had meaning.

But Tea -- surely you aren't suggesting you're going to go become an organic dairy farmer, are you? You can't even commit to taking care of an effing hamster!

That's a fair point, readers. And while the likelihood of me becoming a farmer of any sort in the forseeable future is slim to nil . . . my next career move needs to be a more meaningful one. I want my life to have some substance -- I want to get up in the morning and have a purpose, to do something I actually care about. The trick is figuring out what that is. And once I do that, maybe then I'll get a little taste of that hippie-freedom.

Or do I have it backwards? Do I need to just let go and be free in order to discover what it is that makes my heart happy? Isn't that what this month was supposed to be about?

Luckily, life is a journey, not a race. I've got more than the 31 days of August to set free my inner flower-child and head out on the road. This right here? This is me just trying to figure out which way I'm holding the map.

s-t-a-u-n-c-h

2009-08-14T07:27:00.000-07:00

I won't lie, I've been feeling a little "Grey Gardens" the past few days. I'm choosing to believe it's the time of the month and not the beginnings of my slow descent into madness.

Flower powers, activate!

Today the sun is shining, the workmen outside my apartment are laughing and yelling in Portuguese, the nut factory's a-roastin' . . . it's gonna be a good day! I'm going to take a stroll through my fair city, run some errands and generally enjoy the outdoors. Just because the world out there is mostly concrete and exhaust fumes doesn't mean I can't appreciate the mood-boosting benefits of sunlight. And also -- the river. Have I mentioned there's a river near my house?

Gotta love bodies of water.

Anyway . . . yeh, this is basically a post about nothing. But with any luck, I will have much more exciting topics to tackle in the very near future.

Now . . . time to shake off the lethargy and go interact with the world. Peace out, Little Edie!

peace, love & august

2009-08-05T05:39:00.000-07:00

When I started this blog waaaay back in January, I wanted to change my attitude, try new things, and just generally expand my horizons.

Most of these monthly goals fizzled out pretty quickly. I blamed Corporate America. It was simply too hard to focus on becoming a more loving / badass / optimistic / funny person when I woke up every morning ready to stick my head in the oven.

Sad but true. I was on oven-watch there for awhile.

But last Friday morning, I woke up to sunshine and a light summer breeze blowing through my curtains. I'd just had some goofy-ass dream where Tina Fey had hired me to work for her, and Rachel Dratch was my new work BFF. I lay there for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling, letting my mind wander and wondering why I felt so weird. And then it hit me.

I was happy.

I'd forgotten what it felt like to wake up in the morning without a feeling of dread. Recovery from my Corporate Nightmare didn't happen overnight. It took three weeks for my stomach to unclench and my disordered stress-eating to subside . . . but it looks like I'm finally gettin' there.

These days, I wake up every morning with a feel of excitement and anticipation. Anything is possible. My life is my own now, and I can make of it what I will.

I almost wish I could go back and redo all my monthly themes now with this new "can do!" attitude. So, in keeping with the feeling of new cosmic energy and love of livin', I'm gonna totally ride the karma wave and make this a month all about making peace and lovin' myself & my life.

Welcome to hippie month, people!

As usual, I'm using the term "hippie" loosely here. This is basically all about cultivating these happy thoughts and gettin' back in touch with my "inner Tea" . . . the one who felt so trapped for so long. Time to unleash her back into society and see what happens!

In keeping with hippie month, I have consulted the stars to find out what I should expect in the month ahead. My August horoscope reads:

This is your big month! The full moon lunar eclipse in Aquarius at 14 degrees will arrive on August 5. This looks to be a red-letter day for you. Because it is in your sign, it will affect you with double strength, and will have the power to change the way you see yourself and present yourself to others.

You have been so busy growing, maturing, and evolving that you may have been hanging on to an outdated self-image and not giving yourself enough credit. If so, this eclipse will allow you to revise how you see yourself and also make at least one important announcement. Your lifestyle may change, or you may meet someone who will become very important to you. Eclipses also bring endings, so you may see a woman say goodbye too, and in that departure, you may feel the passage of time.

Years that hold an eclipse in our sign often are highly eventful, memorable years. You have been seeing eclipses in Aquarius and Leo since February 2008, arriving in pairs every six months. This month's eclipse is the last, and after this you can rest. Admittedly, eclipses in one's own sign can demand quite a bit of adjustment to a whole new reality.

Not all eclipses deliver their news immediately, although many do. If you don't notice anything changing, don't assume you won't hear something later. You might because eclipses have an area of influence for up to a year. If you don't seen any shifts and especially if you were born near February 3, then you may one month to the day later, so note September 5, plus or minus five days - you may hear something then in regard to a very personal matter. Also, when Mars opposes the degrees of the eclipse, you may have news about a partner. That will happen three times, on November 18, 2009, and on January 18 and May 4, 2010.

Your ruler, Uranus, is still retrograde, and so is Jupiter in Aquarius, and when these two big planets will go forward, you'll notice that good things are suddenly happening near October 13 when Jupiter starts working harder for you, and again later, on and near December 1, when Uranus turns on the juice. As you see, you are moving into a very important and very upbeat phase.

For now, events from the outside will begin to come in and change your world in ways you could not have anticipated. That's what eclipses do, and that's why their news always seems so random and sudden. You are fortunate in that this eclipse is very friendly, especially to Mars, which is now circulating in your house of true love. Mars will be working hard to boost your social life, and if you're single, you're in luck, for this eclipse could bring an introduction. Because this is a full moon, you will be noticed and in the spotlight, so this could be a tender and quite exciting time for your love life.

Your creativity will be very high at the time of this lunar eclipse, August 5, and you may get a freelance job that will use your talents well. You may be ready to show your work to the world at this eclipse, and if so, you certainly will be seen and buzzed about, and others will likely be lauding your work. If you are self-employed, you may now pick up an important new client or be told you have the support of someone highly influential. Whether you work for yourself or others, you may get some very important publicity - the kind you can't quite believe is happening!

One of your very best days will be August 12 and 13, when love and happiness will be yours. These days are yours to indulge yourself in any way you please.

On August 17, you'll have a way to show off your creativity in a big way - don't miss that opportunity!

Two difficult days are due after that, August 18 and 21, when first Mars will challenge your ruler, Uranus, and then Mercury will do the same to Uranus on Friday. These are due to be nerve-wracking days, when financial worries could interfere with your concentration on anything else in your life. Be prepared.

If single, keep your eye on August 22, a day when Venus will be beautifully oriented toward your ruler, Uranus. This day will brim with surprises, and with the moon in sublimely compatible Libra, you should find this weekend one of your best of the month.

Um, yeh. This Astrology site is pretty effing rad . . . I literally squeaked with freaked-out surprise at how spookily this applies to my current life / attitude.

The planets are aligned, man!!! Uranus and Mercury and . . . total eclipses of the heart, or whatever . . . but yeh -- this is my moment in time and space. I've always believed everything happens for a reason, and there is a reason that I am here in this place at this moment.

I'm ready, world! Bring it on!

one final freebie

2009-08-01T19:15:00.000-07:00

Nothin' says summertime like listening to kickass music outdoors. For free.

Miz A and I hit up the FNX Best Music Poll free concert in City Hall Plaza. We got to check out Passion Pit and Metric, live and in person. It was awesome. Also awesome? The fact that is was seasonably warm and unseasonably not-muggy today.

Oh yeh -- and it was FREE.

So I think this has been my most successful month to date, in terms of adhering to the "blog theme". I have discovered that there are plenty of wacky, wonderful things to see / do / experience that don't involve $$ at all.

This is a vital lesson, as the first unemployment check has still not arrived.

And now -- on to August! Let's see if I can continue riding this wave of success.

Stay tuned.

i'm on a BOAT

2009-07-22T08:39:00.000-07:00

No, fo' reals:

That's me on a boat. A free boat, no less! My month of thrift is turning out to be a huge success, people! Who knew?!

My friend Chelsee's pal, Sara, is an intern for Yelp. I've met her a couple times and helped out at a past Yelp event -- so when Yelp sponsored this Boston Harbor Booze Cruise for Elite Yelpers, I managed to weasel my way onto the list! I seriously need to up my yelp review quota, because these free events for elite yelpers are rockin!

The night featured free cocktails from Maker's Mark and Malibu Rum, free beer (Miller 64), a full buffet and chocolate fountain for dessert, and this dude:

I've lived in Boston my entire life, and I can count on one hand the number of times I've been out in the harbor. Twice. Yes, that's right. Once as a girl scout, when we took the ferry to George's Island for the day. TAnd once, a couple of months ago, when I chaperoned a Harbor Cruise for some patients at the rehab facility where my friend Julie works.

So I was like a total tourist on this cruise. It's amazing the parts of your city that you don't even realize exist:

Even more exciting than the free booze and food was rockin' out on the top deck, under the stars, while planes headed for Logan airport swooped dangerously close:

I wonder why there isn't a budget version of the Harbor Cruise where people can just go out, drink and dance on the open sea. Like a floating nightclub. Why has no one thought of this? I know you can charter these boats for private functions, or book a ticket for the regular evening dinner cruise -- which I'm sure is a much more sedate affair. Grandparents and anniversary couples and tourists, etc. But it would be great if, for like a $20 cover, you could go our for 3 or 4 hours, sail around the harbor, and just dance the night away. People pay good money to ride those party buses all around town -- wouldn't a party boat be a thousand times cooler?!

Sigh. If I had the capital, I'd launch my own "booze cruise line". It'd have a sexy pirate wench logo. And the boat would be really cool looking. And it'd be awesome.

Any wealthy investor types out there? Who wants in on this? You provide the boat -- I'll provide the off-the-wall business scheme! We'll be rich, I tell ya! Rich!

But for now -- back to my regularly scheduled life of poverty.

free bird

2009-07-16T11:38:00.000-07:00

So my entertainment budget has become a bit tighter since being cut loose from the shackles of the working world. This seems to be the catch-22 of unemployment -- loads of free time, and no $$ to go anywhere or do anything. Capitalism, you win again!

So my goal has been to try to find budget-friendly fun to occupy my time. My pal Chelsee helped me kick this off with an invite to a free screening of the movie Paper Heart, sponsored by the Boston Independent Film Festival. There's a reason my name is Tea "Free Movie Screenings" Guarie. Hell, I'll watch the free Scientology video they con you into viewing after you take the free "stress test".

So yeh, this event was totally up my alley. The movie stars Charlene Yi and Michael Cera, who are two of my comedy crush/heroes. It's a quirky cross between a documentary and a fictional romance, with lots of hilarious awkwardness, guitar playing, and puppets. In short, the type of movie I would pay good money to see.

And as if a free movie wasn't awesome enough -- following the screening, Charlene Yi and Jake Johnson actually came out and did an audience Q&A! Because it was a packed house, we ended up sitting in the front row, so I was literally 5 feet away from the actors while they fielded the typically lame-ass questions from the crowd. They were both equally hilarious in real life, and I wanted them to be my friend and take me back to their hotel to drink beer and play Wii. But alas, they did not.

I would like to make an offbeat indie comedy that takes Sundance by storm. And writing a screenplay is a fun, free thing I could do with all this extra time I have. Maybe I could make a faux-documentary about a girl who gets laid off and decides to write a screenplay while wandering around her city, looking for shit to do.

Clearly, my imagination has grown rusty during my time in the cube farm.

In the meantime, I recommend Paper Heart. It's totally the type of movie I would make, if somebody else hadn't made it already. It will be opening soon in a city near you -- very soon, if you live in a "real" city. Go see! It's worth the $10.50 -- I promise.

lest i be accused of blog neglect . . .

2009-07-15T07:48:00.000-07:00

i will have some penny-pinching adventures to share soon, kids! in the meantime, allow me to direct your attention to my other two blog projects, updated daily for your time-wasting pleasure! Government Cheeze, chronicling my adventures in the world of unemployment, is now up and running. Also, my Cheerios Project is chugging along nicely -- although my waistline might not agree.

where thrift goes to die

2009-07-09T11:30:00.000-07:00

Where does a soon-to-be-unemployed girl like to spend her Tuesday nites? Why, the Taj Boston, obviously!

Visiting an out-of-town friend at his swank hotel address offered me one final peek at how the other half lives. Apparently, the other half is willing to pay five times the reasonable price for toast or bath products, if said goods / services are listed in a leather-bound menu printed in script-y font. Observe:

The Breakfast Menu. The "Arlington" is basically your standard continental breakfast: toast, jam, coffee, oj, fruit . . . all for the low, low price of $18!

Travelling with pets? No need to pack the Alpo. The Taj has its very own Pet Selections room service menu, where one can ordef Fluffy such delicacies as "pureed seared scallops and shrimp" . . . for $38. Please note that the $22 "warm milk and biscuits" are served in "appropriate petwear".

Cost of a "Make Way For Ducklings Bubble Bath" at the Taj Boston? $35.

Shutting up your little "Muffy" or "Snooks" for 20 minutes in the tub while you phone the concierge and check your portfolio? Still $35.

Naturally I was afraid to touch anything in the room for fear of being charged for it. Even the little chocolates left on the pillow . .. I pretty sure there's a gratuity tacked on to them, too.

Of course I had to give the Taj a little of my hard-earned cash. Behold, my $7.50 Sam Light. No worries, though -- I loaded my pockets with complimentary bar nuts and snack mix before hopping on the T and heading back to my sweet slum.

perspective

2009-07-07T05:38:00.000-07:00

What I Won't Miss About This Job . . .

. . . having to leave this note on my computer screen when I'd go to lunch. Fo' serious.

My Greatest Accomplishment At This Job . . .

. . . my desk collage, 3 years in the making. Featuring Tina Fey, a pirate with low self esteem, and the cover of a proposal that I almost died trying to deliver. Sigh -- memories!

ch-ch-ch-changes

2009-07-01T07:27:00.000-07:00

Hey yo, world!

As ya'll might have noticed, this blog has been awfully quiet lately. I've been wrapping my head around some big ol' life changes over the past few weeks. At times, I was not feeling quite so optomistic. Or blogger-y.

But now, it is the sparkly new month of July. Not that you would know it by looking out the window. Boston seems to be stuck in a perpetual state of November.

Anyway -- July is gonna be a very different month in the life of Tea Guarie. I have been officially cut free from the shackles of Corporate America (read, "laid off"). I am about to embark on a magical unemployment adventure -- and of course, you will all be able to follow along via the interwebs. Because I have no shame. And also -- a lot of free time.

A blog devoted exclusively to my "Life of Alternative Employment" is going to be launched soon. I'm not sure if this blog will eventually be combined with that one to create one superblog. As my friend Chelsee says, "seriously, how many blogs do you have?"

Lots. In fact, please to enjoy my latest internet-voyeur experiment, "The Cheerios Project", now listed in the handy link bar on your right!

In keeping with the theme -- July is going to be Thrifty Month here at One Girl, 12 Ways. Watch Tea attempt to formulate a budget, and devise clever cost-cutting measures and get-rich-quick schemes! It'll be pov-tastic!

See you in the soup line!

tea's best friend

2009-06-17T18:15:00.000-07:00

I think the time has come for me to welcome a fuzzy / scaly / spiney / feathered companion into my life.

And no, I'm not talking about dating.

While TV has been doing its best to warm my long, lonely weeknights, I could really use a comrade with a pulse. My apartment technically has a "no pets" policy, but I'm assuming this means no pets of the canine / feline variety. A furry friend who dwells in their own, self-contained habitat should be a-ok, right? After all, they aren't technically a resident of "the apartment" - they reside in a cage that just happens to be located in the apartment. Zing!

Now for the big question: what kind of pet is right for me? I'm sure there's a Facebook quiz for this, but I'd rather do some old-school brainstorming, using my very own brain. Computers will be making all our decisions for us soon enough.

So let's start with the most obvious domesticated cage-dwellers:

Hamsters

Ah, the noble hamster. It's not a mouse, not yet a guinea pig. As a kid, I was obsessed with hamsters . . . and cats, and dogs, and bottle-nosed dolphins . . . and briefly, during the 4th grade, capybaras -- which are essentially giant, mutant African hamsters.

Hamster-Pros
--So easy to care for, even 10-year-old Tea could do it!
--Fuzzy and cute - like Japanese cartoon creatures come to life.
--Tons of fun accessories - hamster-ball races could become the new Primetime if I'm forced to cancel the cable.

Hamster-Cons
-- They look like mice, which are the scourge of all apartment-dwellers.
-- Easy to lose / squish.
-- Lack of "street-cred". Although this could be an opportunity to rebrand hamsters as the "recessionista's pocketbook dog".

Ferrets

Admittedly, I don't know much about ferrets. I think there might have been a giant flying one in the Neverending Story movie. Or maybe that was a "luck dragon". Well, whatever . . . it lives in a cage, yes?

Ferret-Pros
-- It's got fur and a cute face. And really, isn't that all ya need to make it in this great big world?
-- You can walk them on leashes. Can we say 'making new friends at the dog-park'?!
-- They kill snakes! Right? Or are those weasels?

Ferret-Cons
-- They've got teeth.
-- They look cunning. Almost too cunning. I don't want a pet that can outsmart me / steal my soul.
-- I'm pretty sure they are loud and nocturnal? And eat meat? And suck the breath out of people while they sleep?
--I clearly know nothing about ferrets.

Rabbits (plinkity-plinkity-plink)

(Amy Sedaris' rabbit, Dusty)

Ah-ha! A house-rabbit would be the cleverest way for me to thwart the "no-pets" clause. Because while rabbits are technically cage-dwellers, you can also house-train them and let them hop free! Like a cat with longer ears.

Rabbit-Pros
-- They're totally furry and lap-friendly.
-- Amy Sedaris has one!
-- They deliver chocolate eggs.

Rabbit-Cons
-- A free-range rabbit + my apartment full of extension cords = imminent electrical fire.
-- I have a hard time imagining a rabbit being happy living in an apartment. Anyone who has read Watership Down can probably see why. Rabbits are meant to live underground and steal carrots from Mr. McGregor's garden.

Geckos

Not fuzzy or cuddly, I know . . . but have you seen a gecko? There was a tank full of them at Petco, and I stopped dead in my tracks and grinned at them for about 10 minutes. They've got these giant, moist, understanding eyes . . . like a cage full of tiny therapists.

Gecko-Pros
-- They've got British accents.
-- Will give the apartment a more tropical feel . . . "blimey, you've got geckos in here, mate!"
-- Also, you can apparently dress them in tiny sweaters?

Gecko-Cons
-- Like living in a tropical climate, which mama won't be able to afford come winter. Unless gecko wants to go out and shill some auto insurance to help pay the heating bill.
-- Not fun to pat.

Hedgehogs

Don't knock 'em, people -- do you see how cute these little bastards can be?

Hedgehog-Pros
-- British!
-- Requires virtually no grooming.
-- I will never have to buy toothpicks again.

Hedgehog-Cons
-- Shows it love by piercing you with tiny spikes.
-- Pretty sure these little dudes are nocturnal, which means I'd never see him.
-- Eats bugs. Which means he'd also be needing his own separate refrigerator, because I'm not keeping his effing mealworms in with my people food!

Sugar Gliders

AKA -- flying squirrel. Yes, these animals are real -- and yes you can keep them as pets. My dad actually knows someone who has one. It is a marsupial that like to sleep in a pouch -- or your pocket. I'm sold!

Sugar Glider-Pros
-- Pocket-friendly!
-- It lives for like 12 years or something like that -- so it's like all the fun of having a dog or a kid without having to walk it or send it to college.

Sugar Glider-Cons
-- Also nocturnal. His party will be just starting when mama is ready to hit the hay.
-- Lives in a giant cage suitable for climbing / "gliding". I currently don't have enough space for a floor lamp, never mind a small zoo enclosure.

So that's my shortlist thus far. Consider the voting lines open, people -- what pet should tea get? If I've left an amazing creature off the list, feel free to write one in.

summer in the city

2009-06-09T09:56:00.000-07:00

Now that the cold winds of winter are officially behind us, I need to reconnect with my city and remind myself why the hell I continue to live here. Thus, my epic Sunday afternoon tour of Cambridge. I forgot to bring a real camera with me, so documentation was limited to some snaps with my phone. And no, I don't have one of those fancy iphones, where you can watch a movie and sign up for online photography classes while waiting for the bus . . . so please forgive the crap-ass quality of this photo collage. In real life, Cambridge is much less blurry.

Behold, Boston in all its summertime splendor! This is the money shot right here -- the picture that makes tourists and locals alike sigh with admiration. Just remember, kids -- that booming metropolis still has an over-priced, urine-soaked, 19th-century subway system and anyplace remotely fun (or booze-filled) closes before 2am.

Growing up, I used to play a game whenever we went for long car rides called "Where Would I Sleep If I Was Homeless". Popular choices were: thicket of bushes on a traffic island, fire escapes, old / abandoned barns / houses, trees (both under and in the branches, depending on the tree), abandoned train-cars . . . you get the idea. Needless to say, this "clearing full of ducks" or "DuckCamp!" totally would have made the list. Not only is it surrounded by leafy-groundcover, it comes complete with feathered-companions, perfect for snuggling with on chilly nights.

One of the things I love about Cambridge is that there's always something wacky going on. Every cultural group / college / religious cult seems to sponsor their own street festival. And if there's one thing I love, its giant crowds and fried food stands. Behold, two examples from Sunday alone. First, We have the Dragon Boat Festival on the Charles, featuring a family-friendly street fair on the shady river banks by Harvard.

Now here, we find the . . . . well, to be honest, I'm not exactly sure what this is called. "Portuguese Jesus Parade?" As a proud resident of East Cambridge with some family roots in this hood, I know that my mother was forced to march in these Portuguese Saints Day parades as a small child. Please note the lack of spectators / concern for traffic. There was one, lonely cop blocking off part of Cambridge Street, while drivers on all four sides of the intersection honked at those little girls in bridal dresses and the elderly brass band.

Oh, Boston. How could I ever leave you?

blue skies

2009-06-01T10:59:00.000-07:00

Summer is here, people. I know this, because right now I am drinking a tall glass of Crystal Light raspberry lemonade. For me, that artificially sweet chemical-tang is the taste of summertime . . . the taste of long days spent lying in front of the AC, reading books, watchin’ crap daytime television, and wondering why I was still such a lard-ass. I was drinking the effing Crystal Light, goddamnit! Eff swimsuit season. Pass the Cool Ranch Doritos.

That’s “What I Did Over My Summer Vacation” from roughly age 12 to age 20. The formative years of Tea Guarie were a sarcastic, bitter, indie-comedy kind of time. I’ve always been a sass-mouthed and salty, even as a small girl. One of my mother’s favorite stories of my sweet babyhood is when, at age three, I walked up to my grandfather with my hands on my hips and said, “Grampy, you’re pissin’ me off!”

Get to the point, girl. Ok – this month, I’m going to attempt to recapture all the promise and excitement of a childhood summer . . . minus all the moping around whining and refusing to wear a bathing suit. This June, my goal is to practice Optimism. Sure, the world is a crazy place. Yes, I am preparing to be laid off any day now. No, I have not yet developed a taste for cat-food and government cheese . . . but I’m not going to let all that “doom and gloom” business spoil my good time.

I have never been a particularly “optimistic” person. Hell every time I get on an airplane, I prepare a Will. So this might be a bit of a stretch here -- but for the next 30 days – the glass is gonna be half full. Half full of an “artificially flavored lemon drink”, perhaps. But you know what they say: when life gives you lemons, use them to garnish your pitcher of powdered lemon-flavored beverage.

fail!

2009-05-26T08:18:00.001-07:00

Sigh. If only I could be as obsessive about writing in this blog as I am about reading / stalking other people's blogs.

It's true, I'm a blog-stalker. It has become part of my daily routine, to the point where I now check in on certain people's blogs as though I actually know them . . . which I don't. This is both weird / kinda creepy, and strangely satisfying and addictive -- much like a Real Housewives of NYC marathon.

A lot of the blogs that I follow religiously are food-blogs, so I thought that making May "foodie" month on this here blog would be easy. Turn on the stove, snap some photos of some meals, voila!

Not so, kids. Turns out . . . I don't cook much. I mean, I "cook" . . . in that I take previously raw ingredients and heat them to a temperature at which it is safe to consume them. But my food routine does not usually vary all that much -- and when it does, it is often not worth documenting. As in: "I got drunk and decided pizza at the bar, followed by a bagel and iced coffee at 1am would be a good food choice" . . . or "I'm currently really stressed about the volatile state of my life, and so I consumed an entire box of Weight Watchers latte bars in a 24 hour period". Boring, uninspired salads followed by random binges do not a foodie blog-post make. I fail. Forgive me.

I did do a fair bit of munching over the Memorial Day weekend, however! I spent the better part of my mini-break in the 'burbs at a friend's wedding -- which always makes for delicious nibbles. The favors were something my friend referred to as "Christmas Crack". I'm guessing her mom typically makes this stuff for the holidays . . . and it is, indeed, dangerously addictive -- the more sophisticated cousin to my old bark standby. I wish I had a photo to share . .. but sadly, it has all been consumed. Basically it was buttery squares of chocolate and pecans with a crushed saltine crust. Drool.

I came home yesterday in time for a cookout with the gang:

We all offered our best culinary contributions here -- sweet potatoes and mac n' cheese, meats, cocktails, homemade guac, a heavenly fruit salad with marshmallow that was like a decadent dessert (but "healthy", cuz there was fruit in it!) homemade Depression-era peanut butter cookies and snickerdoodles . . . and, of course, a very uninspired salad by yours truly. But, as with all things, its the company and not the menu that truly makes a meal. This weekend was the perfect kick-off to summer, and I can't wait for sunny days ahead -- no matter what the rest of my wacky life has in store.

mmmmm . . . may.

2009-05-11T05:46:00.000-07:00

Holy crap, its May!

Now that the sun is shining, birds are singing, green things are growing . . . I have been busy! During the “hibernation months” I forget how nice it is to leave the house. Oh, Spring. Never leave me.

I gotta admit, I don’t really have a “theme” for the month of May. I’m still workin’ on the comedy, still trying to be more friendly and funky in my day-to-day life. I was looking back through some of my earlier posts, and found my List of Completely Achievable Goals for 2009. I’ve been a little lacking on some of my goals. Surprise, surprise.

Since Spring is a time of “rebirth”, it seems like a good time to resurrect these bad boys. In fact, I’ve been consciously working on “Not Dieting” for the past couple weeks. Perhaps my success / failure in this seemingly idiot-proof task would be a good blog-topic for May? Do you guys really wanna read about my bizarre-o relationship with food?

Sure you do. Because everyone loves food. And every loves hearing about other people’s weird phobias and hang-ups. Put the two together – you’ve got yourself an Insanity Sandwich!

This might also be a good time for me to resurrect my food blogging project – see the sidebar. I’ve been trying to make some headway in the kitchen for awhile – hell, I even bought a cookbook. But up until now, the pressing need to document every morsel I put in my mouth and all the sordid nutritional stats has made the whole “lets play in the kitchen!” concept really daunting. But no more. I have not written down a single thing I’ve eaten so far this May . . . and I don’t weigh 200 pounds yet.

Miracles do happen!

So May is all about bellyin’ up to the kitchen table and learning to not freak about food / fat / body-image crap. LOL – the month of May might need to be 48 weeks longer than it actually is. But whatever – one meal at a time, people!

a bday gift for afp!

2009-04-30T14:57:00.000-07:00

As you might already know, I'm kind of obsessed with Amanda Palmer.

In honor of her birthday, she's asked her loyal followers to share her music with those who might appreciate a little Amanda Fucking Palmer in their lives.

So this is for all of you, from afp, on her jesus birthday. xo!

pig fever

2009-04-29T10:44:00.000-07:00

Do these pigs look feverish to you?

Today the Human Resources department forwarded the entire office a Swine Flu Newsletter. It’s pretty comprehensive. My favorite section is titled: “What should I do if I am in regular contact with pigs?”

Swine Flu Newsletter offers helpful tips for how to avoid contracting or spreading swine flu, such as:
“Cover your mouth and nose with disposable tissues when coughing and sneezing and dispose of the used tissues properly.”
And:
“If there is an ill person at home, try to provide the ill person a separate section in the house. If this is not possible, keep the patient at least 1 meter in distance from others.”
Or:
“Take care to cover your nose and mouth during travel.”

I can’t wait for next week’s issue of Swine Flu Newsletter, which I’m sure will feature tips on stocking your pandemic bunker and step-by-step instructions on how to throw your ailing loved ones into a pit of quicklime.

forever golden

2009-04-28T12:30:00.000-07:00

It’s taken almost 3 days for me to finally be able to talk about it.

Bea Arthur is dead.

My father was the one who broke it to me. “Tarryn, I have some bad news . . . mom doesn’t think I should tell you this now and spoil your Saturday night – but I want you to hear it from a loved one and not a stranger. Bea Arthur has gone to that big retirement community in the sky.”

Why, God?! First Sophia, now Dorothy?! It’s like you’re pecking off the Golden Girls in order of my favorites. Betty White, watch out!!

Oh Bea Arthur – how did I love thee? Let me count the ways. From your giant, linebacker-esque shoulder-pads, to your deadpan, manly voice . . . you were not afraid to be dude-ish and hilarious. You made sarcasm and “not-beautiful-ness” kinda hot. And of all the Golden Girls, you were the one who got married during the series finale. That’s right, Blanche – you can suck it!

On my last day at my old barista gig, I took a Sharpie into the women’s bathroom and wrote “Bea Arthur Slept Here” on the wall of my favorite napping stall. I hope that message is still there.

Bea, I hope you and Estelle Getty are yukking it up somewhere right now. And if swine flu has its way, I might be joining you soon enough -- save me a slice of cheesecake!

happiness is . . . a tiny pig

2009-04-13T15:40:00.000-07:00

I defy you to watch this and hate your life:

Last week, I was pretty sure I needed Prozac. Then I remembered this amazingly wonderful pig video I found one rainy afternoon at the office. I know its the type of thing your mom would send in a forwarded email message . . . in fact, I think the website I found it on labeled it "Forward This To Your Mom" . . . but something about this tiny pig just makes me so . . . happy. I need to find a way to download this video to my ipod so I can just whip it out and watch it whenever shit is hitting the fan. Trapped on a disabled MBTA bus? Don't worry -- pig is here! Waiting to hear your blood test results? Let pig keep you company! Being held hostage by pirates? Share this pig video with them! Nothing brings together pirates and Navy SEALs like a tiny pig at the beach. It's true.

Better yet -- where can I get a pig like this of my very own? Waking up to that tiny little face and that murderously adorable squealing everyday . . . that would make my life so much better. Some people want babies . . . some people want houses . . . I just want a teacup-sized pot bellied pig.

Sigh. A girl can dream.

friday fluff

2009-04-10T13:31:00.000-07:00

the week was long,
my brain is dead -
i have no blog-posts
in my head.

please read this list
and don't be mad -
my next post will
be really rad.

A List of Possible Band Names Based on the Crap on my Desk -- 4:33pm, Friday

The Diet Cokes
The Bobble-Lobsters
Unicorn Band-aid
The Dirty Notebooks
Nalgene
10 Dollar Nickel
Gum Wrapper Collection
Lonely Post-It
The Sustainable Design Brochures (not sure about this one . . . )

scared silly

2009-04-09T11:14:00.000-07:00

I’m aware that yesterday’s post might have been a little Crybaby-Saddam-ish . . . and during Comedy Month too, no less! My apologies.

I’d like to share my latest TV Guilty Pleasure with you all.

Ok, so last night found me beached on the couch, wearing my Robe of Sadness (read: fluffy hot pink bathrobe from Target) and stuffing my face with Bars of Anger and Desperation (read: Chocolate Peppermint Stick Luna Bars. Yes, that’s bars – plural. It’s been a rough week, people). Whilst surfing the tv listings, I saw that tonight’s Ghost Hunters episode was “investigating” Sacco’s Bowl Haven in Somerville, MA.

Say wha?! My favorite bowling alley, located in my favorite square of my 3rd favorite Boston suburb – could be haunted?! Once again, TV saves my life tonight (sugar bear!) . . .

I don’t normally watch the SciFi Channel. But the commercials alone deserve their own TV show . . . the SciFi Original Movie “Thor: Hammer of the Gods” looks so amazingly awful, it might actually be the best thing on TV. Also, If I’m ever home alone on a Saturday night, SciFi’s got me covered with a 3 hour fantasy drama about warlocks and dinosaurs. Seriously – who needs a date?

Anyway – back to the Ghostbusters . . . er – Ghost Hunters. These dudes are amazing. I can’t quite figure out their deal. By day, they work for Roto-Rooter . . . by night, they rid people of the pesky spirits lurking in their basements. I’m not making this up.

So, here they are at Sacco’s Bowl Haven – setting up their ghost-surveillance cameras and explaining the workings of their electromagnetic field detectors. The owner of Sacco’s is really glad they’re here. His employees are ready to mutiny, they’re so freaked out by ghosts when closing up shop at night. Right – ghosts. I should start trying to pull that at my place of employment . . . “I can’t work after dark, I’m afraid the building is haunted.” Unemployment office, here I come!

The owner shows the Ghost Hunters crew around the place. The most “haunted” areas appear to be a tiny closet where “the old janitor, Charlie, used to live. No, really – he had a hot plate, and a recliner back here.” Also – the area behind the bowling lanes where the ball return and pin-setting machine are located. Apparently, people hear strange noises back here. Gee – I wonder if all this rickety old bowling machinery could be the cause?

So the Ghost Hunters gather up their spook-detectors and turn off the lights. Because, as every knows, ghosts can only be hunted in complete darkness. Then, they play a game of pool. No shit. They set up one of their “electromagnetic field detectors” on the edge of the pool table, and every once and awhile they say, “Hey – if there are any ghosts here who wanna shoot some pool with us, come on over!” I was kinda hoping a pool cue would suddenly float down from the wall and beat one of them senseless . . . but no luck.

Ghost Hunters then move on to “Charlie’s Closet”. Here, their superior plumbing knowledge proves invaluable, as they conclude that the “ghost of Charlie” is actually a leaky toilet located off the closet.

Then, they bowl. I bet the owner of Sacco’s is kicking himself right now. Never has there been such a clever plot to get a free string of bowling – never!

Finally, they send in two squeal-y, 20-something girls. Everyone knows girls are a Ghost Hunter’s secret weapon. If there is anything remotely creepy / startling / spooky / gross to be had – a girl will find it and shriek about it. These two girls decide to try communicating with the spirits. “Why do you haunt this place? Did you die here? What’s your best bowling score?” Suddenly – they hear strange scratching noises coming from . . . somewhere. Behind the bowling lanes, perhaps. They dutifully crawl off into the bowels of the mechanical room, assuring the ghosts, “we just want to talk with you, we’re not going to hurt you!”

At this point, I’m sitting on the couch saying, “Squirrels! Squirrels! Squirrels!” or better still, “Rats! Rats! Rats!” Anyone who’s ever wandered Davis Sq after dark can’t doubt that there are rodents lurking in the walls of those old buildings.

Sadly, the Ghost Hunters did not stumble upon a rat colony. And, after thorough review of all their ghost-surveillance footage, they concluded that Sacco’s Bowl Haven is not haunted. Their employees are merely lazy / pussies. Then they hopped in their magic ghost-hunting van and headed back to Rhode Island.

This might be my new favorite TV show.

Better yet – they are holding a contest to find the “Next Great Pair of Ghost Hunters”! Viewers are encouraged to send in brief videos of themselves and a friend “hunting for ghosts”. The prize – a chance to be on the show and become part of the ghost-hunting crew!

Obviously, I’m currently accepting applications for the role of my Ghost Hunting Partner-in-Crime. Must love screaming and hate squirrels. Bonus points if you have an “electromagnetic field detector”. I’m pretty sure it’s just a radar detector. I mean – what was that?! Oh my god . . .did you hear that?! Is . . . is there something over there?? I’m freaking out you guys . . . !!! Eeeek!

rat in a cage

2009-04-08T12:20:00.000-07:00

Silence in the blogland is due to shake-ups in Corporate America, people -- I apologize. The world is a wacky place these days. I will spare you all the details (also, if the details were to be recognized, my little piece of Corporate America would probably give me the smackdown . . . which actually wouldn’t be so terrible. But I digress).

This is a difficult time to figure out what to do with one’s life. Choices are limited. Risk-taking is very risky. I am torn by my duty to be a responsible 20-something who feeds / clothes / houses herself . . . and my longing for a life that doesn’t resemble one long, miserable day in the DMV waiting room. That’s what my life feels like these days – not so much “living”, as “existing”.

But I can’t wallow. I gotta pull my shit together and start making some plans – because god knows I can only be a cubicle jockey for so long. I’m open to suggestions. What would be a good life for moi? Teacher? Waitress? Radio personality? Pirate?

I sometimes wish I could hit the reset button – just pick up and start over somewhere totally new for awhile. The Facebook quiz for “What City Should I Live In” says I belong in Seattle. It rains a lot there. I think I’d rather be rained on in London.

Moving places seems so hard.

If only I could make money making fun of things. That’s one of my true life joys / talents. Tea Guarie – Professional Heckler. Time to make up some new business cards.

Ah, well. Someday, we’re all gonna look back on this time in our lives and laugh . . . right?

we are very amused

2009-04-03T07:22:00.001-07:00

Oh, to be the filling in this "hug sandwich":

The British press was apparently blown away by the First Lady touching the Queen. Dude, didn't we have a president who threw up on the Queen or something wacky like that?

BFFs. Love it.

don't drink the water

2009-04-02T07:29:00.001-07:00

Ever since returning from vacation, my digestive tract has been rampaging like an uncontrollable adolescent – and I’ve been indulging its every whim. Blargh – someone please pass the Tums . . . and that bottle of rum.

The springtime air and my perpetual hangover have motivated me to declare April a “Month of Cleansing.” I’m back to my sensible salad eating ways, layin’ off the booze for a couple weeks, and just generally trying to maintain a semblance of healthy living until the nausea subsides. Brilliant!

Now, according to all the “women’s magazines”, drinking several gallons of water a day is one of the key rules to Healthy Living. And obviously, everything you read in magazines is true. I’ve been chugging water from my trusty Office Water Bottle (yes, I’m one of those lame-asses) like a marathon runner. Never mind that I literally sit on my ass for 9 hours a day – hydration is good for the soul, whether your body is actually dehydrated or not!

Here’s the thing, though. My office got rid of all of our Poland Springs water coolers as a “cost cutting measure”. So my primary water source is now an old-school style drinking fountain next to the bathroom. And while I was totally down with lappin’ H2O from these bad-boys when I was in 4th grade – times have changed. Yes, I’ve got my Water Bottle, so its not like I actually have to put my mouth close to the spigot or anything. But . . . the building I work in is over 100 years old, located in the heart of a major metropolitan area and built on filled-in marshlands. A few weeks ago, we had a major issue with sewage stink in the women’s bathroom beside the drinking fountain. Drains gurgle, pipes bang. I’m sure no one has looked into the plumbing of this building since the ‘50s.

Am I unwittingly chugging 64 oz of Sediment and Lead Poisoning? Is the slight cramping I’m experiencing today my body’s way of adjusting to a healthier diet, or is that the first twinge before my kidneys shut down? I’d WebMD this ish, but what would I search for – “toxic workplace water? Old-school plumbing poisoning?” Or maybe, “hypochondriac with too much time on her hands?”

Whatever – I’m gonna continue livin’ on the edge and drink my pollutants like a good little health nut. And if my mouth starts tasting like pennies and my pee turns weird colors . . . I’m sure its nothing a pizza and a couple of beers can’t cure!

i pity the fool

2009-04-01T07:28:00.000-07:00

Happy April Fools Day, people! A holiday that encourages cruelty, trickery and paranoia . . . or, as I like to think of it, Christmas in April. Ho ho ho.

I am waiting for someone to pop up behind my cube and announce that the past 3 years of my life have been one long-running joke. Pass me a check, Howie Mandel . . this has gotta be some sort of reality tv game show, yes? Yes?!

Oh, well.

So, since comedy class has just barely begun – and I was a bad little blogger for the month of March – I’m continuing the Comedy theme for the month of April. I think I will also bring back the February Challenge of posting once a day. (is she joking? see – you don’t know what to believe today, do you?)

So, at this week’s comedy class, we did an exercise where everyone else in the class tells you what their first impressions of you are, based solely on appearance. This might sound like being thrown to a pack of wolves – but it was actually pretty interesting. I have no concept of how other people see me. Hell, I barely know how I see myself . . . note the underlying theme of this blog. Apparently, strangers find me to be your Standard 20-Something Girl:

She has a lot of girl friends
She has a lot of guy friends
She likes playing flip cup
She’s creative
She’s into art
She likes the color pink
She’s into long term relationships
She’s a smoker
She’s a pot smoker
She has a tattoo
She’s sarcastic

Hmmm. Interesting. I’m surprised they weren’t able to pick up on my love of Muppets and my fear of left turns.

This is good though – it helps me figure out what my “stage persona” will be. If people see me as a run-of-the-mill, drinking-game-loving, girly girl, I can play with that. My “homework” for this week is to come up with 2 minutes of material based on myself. I could probably come up with 2 hours worth of material on my neuroses alone, so this should not be a problem.

Viva Avril! (the month, not the singer)

Tea Guarie's Wellness Advice*

2009-03-26T19:05:00.000-07:00

(*wellness not typical)

--> Spend at least 40 hours a week sitting on your ass in a dimly-lit, poorly ventilated cubicle.

--> Make sure your obsessive and unbalanced diet is supplemented daily with Diet Coke, sugarfree gum and Tums.

--> Sweat the small stuff . . . and occasionally forget to put on deodorant in the morning.

--> Take time out of your busy day to talk to your TV, the roommate who will never judge.

--> When times get tough, don't focus on the negative. Instead, occupy your mind with proactive things, like planning the music for your funeral, or fantasizing about bringing an "I Quit!" cake to work.

--> In these tough economic times, plan ahead. Scout out local parks, ATMs, and abandoned factories suitable for sleeping in. Also -- think about which body part you'd be most willing to sell in case of a financial emergency.

--> Liquor before beer, you're in the clear. Beer before liquor, never been sicker. Wine before three, you can be friends with Tea. Wine before noon, and you're totes gonna die soon.

Laugh Riot

2009-03-25T12:41:00.000-07:00

What happened to my dutiful daily blog posts? Sorry, people. This is a perfect example of why I continue to lag behind in the Journey to Life Fulfillment – lack of dedication.

I *did* make good on my commitment to comedy, though! Monday night was my first BCAE Stand Up class. I’ll admit – I was prepared for anything: A room full of sociopathic lonely people looking for an audience for their amusing pet bird stories. A bitter, washed-up “teacher” bent on heckling us all to tears. Discovering that I might not actually be that funny. Bring it on, Adult Education Place – I can take it!

Fortunately, my classmates appear to be normal and friendly, and our teacher is a young, genuine guy who is really in to sharing his love of comedy. We’ve got 6 weeks of class to build our routine, and then we’ll be doing a “Show” for an audience of family and friends! Hahaha – suckahs!

I’m really excited about this. I’m excited to have “homework” that involves making note of all the whacked-out, hilarious shit that goes on in my day, excited to have a “hobby” that doesn’t involve complaining and /or binge-drinking. Whether or not people who don’t know me will actually find me amusing remains to be seen. I’d pray about it, but I suspect Jesus probably remembers all the jokes I’ve made at his expense over the years. So I will just have Hope – Obama-style.

The only downside to the class is that it gets out at 9:45pm. I’m not one of those girls who fears wandering around after dark – but the MBTA seems determined that I should be assaulted. I waited in the creepy bowels of Boylston Station for a good 15 minutes for a Green Line train going to Lechmere. When one finally arrived, it was pretty sparsely populated – students, night shift workers, some sleepy drunks. No worries. I was being lulled into a “T-coma” myself, until we pulled into North Station and all hell broke loose.

The conductor suddenly announced that North Station will be the last stop. We all grumbled our way off the train – and into the angry mob crowded on the platform. Lots of drunk, tired people in Celtics garb. This could not end well.

“This is the THIRD TRAIN to come through here Out of Service! We’ve been waiting for 20 MINUTES!!” an irate middle-aged woman shouted at the T driver.

Hi lady – welcome to every day of my goddamn life. I have learned to accept the fact that the T is going to leave my stranded. It’s like the pot-smoking older brother of mass transit systems. It knows it’s supposed to come get you . . . but it has other stuff to do.

Now, the only time I find myself mustering actual anger towards the T is when it compromises my safety. Like leavin’ me hanging at an unlit bus stop at 11 o’clock at night for 45 minutes. Or forcing me off the train into an angry mob. Even the MBTA employees were starting to look nervous – although they adhered to the T’s strict customer service policy of ignoring everyone.

Angry lady started kicking the Out of Service train that was left idling on the platform for another 10 minutes. I doubt she could have done much damage, but I was getting more concerned about the drunk, pissed off frat boys who were debating prying open the train doors and refusing to get off.

Just when it seemed I’d be living out that romantic childhood dream of sleeping on a bench in a railway station – a train came. Crammed in with my boozy brethren, I kept thinking, “There’s comedy to be found in this situation, I know it . . . and I will find it, once I get the eff off this train.”

Teacher says life is one big stand up riff. Apparently I’ve been inadvertently preparing for this class since birth. Time to go do my homework!

she's baaaack

2009-03-19T07:49:00.000-07:00

Did you miss me, blogland? Because I sure did miss you! Not enough to spend $10 for an hour of Tropical wifi - but you were in my thoughts nonetheless.

It's back to reality after a week of fun and sun. I can't wait to retire! Only 40 years to go . . . assuming I'm not felled by skin cancer before the age of 65. As my use of sunblock is cursory at best, my retirement future is still up in the air. Whatever - I live fast.

Life was not particularly fast last week, though. Life involved a lot of lying around in the sun, admiring birds and enjoying the sound of breezes in the palm trees. No lie. My grandma kept us well-stocked in chocolate mints and snack mixes, while my grandpa plied us with rum.

And, as often happens when I am surrounded by members of The Greatest Generation, I learned things on this trip. Little gems of life wisdom that I will glad share with you, blog readers:

If your father tricks you into touching this prickly cactus, you can remove the spines from your hand with tape and / or a nail file.

Hush puppies contain neither hush, nor puppy.

This is what dolphin sex looks like:

Sigh. I vow to someday live a life filled with rum, sun, and plenty of dolphin sex. But now, its back to the Beantown grind. At least there's bound to be laughter ahead!

no joke

2009-03-03T05:51:00.000-08:00

I have trouble taking things seriously. This has, at times, been problematic. I was always the girl shaking with silent laughter in church. I joke about people’s personal issues that they find . . . not funny. I snicker during tragic, sometimes Holocaust-themed movies.

My sass-mouth is at times a curse, yes. But it can also be a blessing.

Who likes making up ridiculous lyrics to cheesy pop-songs to express her displeasure during the working day? Who can help lighten the mood at a wake / shotgun wedding / tearful college-move-in-day scene? Who’s a good time on long-ass car trips? If you guessed me – you know me well! Too well. Quit stalking me.

Anyway – the point is, I love laughing, and making other people laugh, and laughing along with others even when I don’t know what they’re laughing at. I figure the time has come to take this passion to the streets, people. So I am here to announce that March is officially Comedy Month!

I have signed up for a Stand Up Comedy Class at the Boston Center for Adult Education. I figure the class will either be a peek into the wonderful world of comedy . . . or a room full of weird, desperate social-outcasts that I can heckle. It’s a win-win situation. Aaaaannnd . . . for the final class, everyone gets up and does a five minute routine. I’m hoping “how to tell a mildly amusing story without cracking yourself up” is part of the syllabus.

My foray into the world of stand-up starts 2 days after I return from a Family Vacation! Team Guarie is hittin’ the road together, all four of us, for the first time since . . . well, since Golden Girls went off the air. We’re going down to visit my grandparents in Tropical Paradise. I am beyond excited to escape the snow and luxuriate on a trip not limited by my usual shoestring budget. No “leftover-hostel-baguettes-eaten-in-an-alleyway” dinnahs on this vaycay people – we’re goin’ First Class, Grandparent Style! Homecooked meals and heated swimming pools! Boats! Dolphins! Potentially dangerous watersports! My heart is *singing*!

This trip is obviously ripe for much hilarity. Will my mother behave like an autistic five-year-old on the plane, as she often does? Is my brother really only going to communicate with us via text message for the entire week? Will Papa G break another limb?? How hard is it to get a manatee to bite you?

I will have answers to all of these questions in just a few short days. I’m hoping I’ll be able to blog from FL, so stay tuned for more “Tea: Live from the Tropics!” action.

And don’t forget to tip your waitress! Thank you! Good night!

life's a bitch

2009-02-28T07:08:00.000-08:00

I have been following this sad story from across the pond.

For those too lazy to click the link - Jade Goody is apparently a reality tv star from Britain's super-popular Big Brother show. She's 27, she has 2 young kids, and she's dying of cervical cancer.

Since I am not privileged enough to live in the UK, I admittedly don't know a lot about this girl aside from the whole "oh-no-she's-dying!" thing. From what I gather, she seems like your typical reality-tv celeb. She's kinda mouthy. She has public "beefs" with other D-listers. The dude she married last week in a heart wrenching, cancer-stricken ceremony just got out of prison for beating a guy with a golf club.

Basically - the general public would think she was kinda whack, if it weren't for the fact that she's dying. And she knows it. And she's unapologetically continuing to live her life in the great big, tabloid-filled media circus.

And I love her for it.

This month was supposed to be about my efforts to become a better, more loving person. Did that happen? No, not really. For awhile, I was concerned about this. Am I really just a huge bitch? Am I truly destined to die bitter and alone in an abusive nursing home?

But watching this Jade Goody girl has made me think. Her situation is so tragically, awesomely effed up and randomly unfair. It's horrible, and ridiculous, and kinda beautiful, all at the same time -- just like life, really.

Maybe it's not worth wasting my time, worrying about my karma points, or if I come off as "loving" person . . . maybe it's more important to just love living - weather you are living like a saint, or a tabloid-bunny reality tv star.

Life is too short to be taken too seriously.

Which brings us to our theme for next month, people! VERY exciting . . .but I'll save for another post. In the meantime, here's a hint:

Academy Awards Recap - With 4 Day Delay!

2009-02-26T05:35:00.000-08:00

How has it taken me 4 whole days to get around to my Oscars recap? I could blame the 9 to 5 rat race, or make up a really great lie about being hit by a snow-plow . . . but the simple truth is - I am lazy.

Also, this year's Oscars was not all that exciting, in my humble opinion. Yes, yes, it was the typical, over-the-top, self-congratulatory Hollywood glam-fest that we all love . . . but still, there was some element of magic missing this year. Luckily, I watched the ceremony at Venn's Awesome Oscar Party - where fab food, booze, and friends made up for the lack of Hollywood excitement. Further evidence that we should have our own TV pilot . . . but I digress.

Oscar Hits!

Kids of Mumbai!
Ok, you all know how I feel about Brangelina (more about that in a minute) . . . but seeing these absolutely adorable Indian kids on the red carpet made me want to hop on a plane and go adopt some. Of course, I would probably have them taken away from me after making them dance and say "Who wants to be a . . . .millionaire?!" over and over, all day, every day . . . but still, a girl can dream, right?

Tina Fey!
We only saw her and Steve Martin for 2 minutes, but they were easily the best 2 minutes of the whole show. Academy, I hope you were taking notes . . . Fey for Host 2010!!

Foreigners!
I love that so many of the big awards went to out-of-towners this year. The international winners tend to be either super-eloquent and to the point in their acceptance speeches . . . or charmingly devoid of the English skills needed for an acceptance speech. Either way, you can't lose.

Gays!
The best speech of the night, however, was given by a good 'ol, corn-fed, Mormon-born American - Milk screenwriter Dustin Lance Black who won for Best Original Screenplay. Cheers, brother, for bringing home the message of equality and hope in sincere and moving statement!

Sophia Loren!
Some might say she looked like a poster girl for sun-damage, or that her dress appeared to be savaged by wolves (or lusty Italian pool-boys) . . .but I still give mad props to my homegirl Sophia for bein' sex-tacular at 85 or however old she is. You can totally tell she tans, smokes and drinks without giving an eff . . . and that's probably why she's still goin' strong! Ciao bella!

Oscar Misses!

Presentation of Acting Awards = Praise Orgy?
What was up with the new presentation format for the major acting awards? Bringing out 5 previous winners to gush on and on about the 5 nominees . . . Hollywood, is this night not grandiose enough for you? The best thing about these awards is watching the 4 losers try to suck it up and maintain their dignity. If you have Whoopi Goldberg come out and tell you, "You are like a gorgeous ray of sunshine that lights up a movie screen with brilliance . . ." where's the sting in losing?

Get Queen Latifah Out of the Middle of My Death Montage
My favorite part of any good awards show is the gut-wrenching montage honoring all the actors and directors and publicists who have died in the past year. Take some old school black and white photos, put them to an orchestral score, and suddenly every dead cinematographer from the 1940's is like your grandpa . . . "Why!? Why God?! I don't want to live in a world without . . . . wait, what was his name again?"

This year's death montage was interrupted by a live vocal performance by Queen Latifah. While I've got nothin' against the Queen, her diva-licious presence on the stage distracted us (and the camera operators, who clearly had no clue what to focus on) from the mourning process. Queen Latifah, someday you will get your 20 second sepia toned death-tribute . . . just be patient.

Actually Agreeing With Peter Gabriel . . .
Peter Gabriel was right -- the presentation of the Best Original Song nominees was effed. While I looooove me a good Bollywood dance number (or 2, or 5) -- trying to mix those hot Indian dance beats with a soaring Gabriel love ballad from a animated robot romance doesn't really work. Still, I was plased that my Bollywood friends took home the award.

Brangelina.
I don't actually have a reason why they brought the evening down, I'm just contractually obligated to hate them every 5 blog-posts or so.

hold on tight

2009-02-18T17:45:00.001-08:00

In just over 2 weeks, I too will be frolicking in the tropical sunshine.

If I survive until then. But hell . . . if Amy's still alive and kickin' . . . there's hope for me yet.

small favors

2009-02-17T17:47:00.000-08:00

I was doing so well with my daily updates . . . and then President's Day had to come along and ruin the whole thing!

Not that'd you'd have known it was a National Holiday yesterday. Things were in full swing in my little corner of Corporate Hell . . . I got home basically in time to throw together some food, turn my brain off and the TV on.

Are we noticing a pattern?

Tonite was a Very Special Episode of everyone's favorite little-people-reality show: Little People, Big World. If you've never
wasted a half hour of your life watching an extremely entitled, asshole-y 3 foot tall man brow-beat his entire family and spend ridiculous amount of money (from the Bank of TLC?) on wacky shit . . . well, good for you.

Last night's Very Special Episode featured Little-Dad travelling to Iraq to "help" some Iraqi dwarf children recieve surgery to correct their legs and knees. This sounds like it would be a touching act of humanitarism . . . people helping people across borders . . . Heal the World . . . blah, blah, blah. And yet, Little-Dad somehow managed to make the whole thing about his noble sacrifice -- the dangers of travelling into a war zone, how effing hot it is in Iraq, how hard it is to climb to the top of a 5000 year old temple that is not handicapped accessible.

Meanwhile, the Iraqi family was obviously moved and genuinely grateful, and super-worried about their kids. I'm sorry, but I'm pretty sure that the world over, parents don't appreciate having video cameras and pompous little people crowding the Recovery Room when their child is waking up from life-threatening surgery.

The Iraqi kids were so gracious and thankful that some a-hole American dwarf and his camera crew came to watch their legs get sawed open, they put up with Little-Dad's half-assed attempts at "comfort" and "bonding". Little-Dad seemed to think it would be a good idea to show the kids a video of Spoiled-Little-Son playing soccer in their lavish backyard back in America. "See, he's had this surgery too!" he shouted. Little-Dad then presented the bed-ridden Iraqi child who'd just had his femur sawed apart and screwed back together with . . . a soccer ball. Classy.

This episode reminded me about my initial goal for February . . . reaching out and being kinder and more loving towards my fellow man. Yeh, remember that? Well, Little People, Big World gave me a great example of how not to be a better person. Acts of kindness can't be done simply for the sake of being kind -- or, you know, because they make for a good TV show or blog post. It's gotta come naturally . . . in the moment. Or you gotta wanna really do it because your heart is telling you to . . . not your TLC reality show producer.

If Little-Dad wanted to spend some of his "fun money" to really do some good deeds, he would have flown those Iraqi kids to America to have their scary bone surgeries, and let the family stay on his 100 acre farm while they recovered. He would have left the TV cameras at home.

Little People, Big Mistakes.

the race is on

2009-02-15T18:32:00.001-08:00

So in case you haven't noticed, I watch a lot of crap tv. It is just one of my many innocent vices . . . and the reason I would probably make a bad high school English teacher.

Anyway, today's shameless boob-tube indulgence was The Amazing Race. For a long time I scoffed at this show as another Survivor-style, reality show for corn-fed middle american housewives. Then I watched 5 minutes of it and was completely sucked in.

I would like to be a contestant on The Amazing Race.

Laugh all you want, bitches! You know the footage of my mad-cap dash across the continents, booking flights and chatting with cab drivers and eating weird shit would make amazing television. Think of all the great songs I could make up along the way . . . "Oh, Travelocity gnome! Eff this shit, I want to go hooome!"

So, I will be accepting applications for My Partner on the Amazing Race. All are welcome to apply! A few up-front guidelines:

1. As my partner on The Amazing Race, you will be required to do all of the driving. Exceptions can be made for rickshaws / donkey carts / bicycles / paddleboats / and other vehicles not requiring strict adherence to the rules of the road.

2. We will be super nice to all cab drivers, no matter how creepy / filthy / inept they are.

3. We will attempt to speak to the locals, in their native tongue, as much as possible. Whether or not we actually know the language is irrelevant. "A" for effort, people!

4. We will try to work in plugs for various products / personal agendas as much as possible. For example, at some point during our donkey-milking challenge, I might say, "Gee . . . I really wish we had some delicious Kashi Heart to Heart cereal to go with this donkey-milk . . . nothing fuels me for a race across the continents quite like a healthy and delicious bowl of Kashi brand cereals." Then, even if we are eliminated from the race, we still get to come home to a lifetime supply of free Kashi.

It would also be nice if you could say, "You know what would make this 18 hour train trip across Siberia much more entertaining? Some great blog-reading material!" which would be my cue to say, "Oh! You should check out this crazy-awesome blog called "One Girl, 12 Ways . . . you'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll learn more than you ever wanted to know about penicillin . . . tell your friends!"

5.There will be no alliances / strategies / trickery. We are on The Amazing Race to be wacky and take a free trip. Winning, etc is just gravy.

Think you can handle it? Send me your "Why I Am Your Obvious Partner For The Amazing Race" essays now. You know you want to.

heart

2009-02-14T16:44:00.001-08:00

friday the 13th . . . scary or delicious?

2009-02-13T17:12:00.000-08:00

Scary:

This kid fathered a child:

Scarier still -- I knew he was British before I even clicked on the article. Doesn't he have a pathetic, Oliver Twist-y look about him?

Delicious:

Chelsee made this amazing Valentine's Day bark that I could probably eat every day for the rest of my life! It's salty, its sweet . . . just like moi. The perfect kickoff to a pms-y Valentine's Day weekend!:

Scary:

Drew Peterson has a more active dating life than most people I know.

Delicious:

Corporate America threw me a bone today a rewarded me with a swanky lunch on the town. This Office Monkey is not above workin' for food . . . especially when it's sashimi tuna and champagne!

All in all, a not too terrifying day. Guess that fist-full of salt I threw at a black cat this morning served me well.

And yes . . . I know this is not exactly a riveting post -- but we're going on 13 straight days of blogging here, people! It's quantity not quality that I'm going for right now. I promise I'll try to live dangerously and romantically this weekend, to make for better reading. Until then, go check out this weird shit!

doctors and saints

2009-02-12T18:59:00.000-08:00

my head came dangerously close to exploding earlier this evening. dr. phil was involved -- that should give you a clue.

of course, the good doc has wasted no time in putting together a show devoted to crazy-octuplet-mom. if there is misery and dysfunction to be plundered -- dr. phil is there! there's a special place in hell for that dude . . . and i know, this is supposed to be my "month of love" . . . but i consider it an act of compassion for the housewives of middle america when i wish death upon dr. phil. why is he on the air?! he brain-washed oprah, he's clearly lobotomized that robot-wife of his . . . should we be allowing him to prattle into the ears of the innocent and impressionable day-time-talk-show audience? once again, i cry out -- save us, barack!!!

anyway, here's my explode-y moment . . . so, dr. phil's take on octo-mom was basically, "that shit ain't right!" except dr. phil speaks in his own secret language of faux country colloquialisms, so really he said, "don't let the barn cat have kittens if she ain't got access to a puddin' patch!" . . . or something. i was too busy trying to rattle my brain back into working order.

could dr. phil and i be in agreement on something?!

I've checked for other signs of coming apocalypse, but so far, i think this might have just been an eerie fluke. plus, at the end of the show, dr. phil did put up her super-creepy website and asked people to "search their hearts, for the good of these precious children." dr. phil will shill anything -- he's like a modern day travelling side show.

luckily, 30 rock was able to shake my dr. phil-funk with its usual amazingness. i almost want to write the best lines down as i watch, but then that would raise me to such a high level of sad-dorkiness, i think even liz lemon herself would say, "nords!" here's one of tonite's many gems:

"how dare you say that in front of the statue of st. lucia! patron saint of judgmental statues!"

phil mcgraw, that one's for you.

hot topic

2009-02-11T08:39:00.000-08:00

I often wish I had a time machine. Not so I could go back in time and alter the course of history or anything. I wouldn’t attempt to meddle in anyone’s fate except my own.

This week, I would travel back to 1997 and give my 13 year old self a copy of the riot grrrl mix CD that Miss A gave me for my birthday.

“Whooooa!” my 13 year old self would say, “How did you make your own CD? With cover art and everything! Are you a witch?”

“No, little Tea . . . in the future there will be a thing called itunes, and every computer will have a CD burner built in. You, of course, will still have trouble operating this basic technology – so don’t worry about that now . . . just shut up and listen to the music!”

And then, I would introduce my tender, Alanis-Morrissette-loving ears to the likes of Bratmobile and Sleater-Kinney. I would pull my awkward 13 year old ass out of her chair and force her to rock out to Bikini Kill.

“These girls have something to say!” I would shout at myself. “They’re doin’ their own thing and they’re proud of it! They are bad-ass with a purpose! Now, roll up your uniform skirt and go make a ‘zine, goddamn you!”

At 26, I have found riot grrrl. Better late than never, of course . . . but part of me is pissed that I missed out on its birth and its heyday. DIY-punk-feminist-girl-revolution. I love all of those words. I love girls who can’t really sing and can’t really play – but don’t give a shit as long as people listen.

This is what I was trying to stumble towards last month with my “rockstar” theme. Amanda Palmer was my icon, but riot grrrl is the real, original movement. Those chicks blazed the trail so that my AFP could one day put on stripey socks and play the piano and sing about date rape and abortion.

I just wish I’d been in on it from the start. Back before the days of blogging and internet message boards . . . when grrrls made ‘zines out of necessity, in order to connect with like-minded ladies. When DIY music really meant teaching yourself 4 chords on a guitar, not plugging shit into Garageband software. But hey – these are the times we live in, yo. And there’s time yet to start my own riot-movement-girl- revolution.

I just better kick my ass into gear and get busy, before my 40 year old self climbs into her time machine and travels back here to kick it for me.

someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection . . .

2009-02-10T15:35:00.001-08:00

i'm feelin' lazy tonite, folks. too lazy to even punctuate my sentences correctly. so instead of my usual blathering on about life / liberty / pursuit of happiness / etc -- i've gifting you all with this gem:

origins of the muppets

i feel like every one of these should start with "so, jim henson was stoned out of his mind and . . . "

i love muppets. and that is just about all the love i can muster for today.

my body is a cage

2009-02-09T11:35:00.000-08:00

Two days post-birthday, and I am still nursing a serious booze / food hangover. My body is totally pissed.

"What the eff was that all about? Why the sudden carb overload?? Ok, your birthday was one thing . . . we can overlook the lobster roll / mac n' cheese / chocolate bread pudding onslaught . . . but yesterday -- did you really need to consume a huge-ass chicken and mozzarella wrap and a pint of froyo as a "hangover cure? Seriously - what did we ever do to you?!" -- direct quotage from my liver, digestive system and solid Italian birthing hips.

Hi, my name is Tea, and I have food issues.

Like so many other women in America, I obsess about my body and the shit I put in it. Even as I rail against the madness of stick-figure-models and the ridiculous emphasis placed on women's appearances . . . I am also budgeting my calories for the day and beating myself up over that extra ½ cup of grapes. That's right, grapes. I have also been known to feel remorse over having too many pieces of gum throughout the day.

I am not very kind to my body.

Now, there was a time when I had some legitimate chub-issues. The first two years of college found me drowning my sorrows in all-you-can-eat benders at the Dining Hall. A chocolate-chocolate chip muffin with a giant smoothie was a "healthy" breakfast choice, in my opinion. I had a "Membership" card at TGI Friday's. Those were dark times, people. Dark times.

I spent the summer of 2003 doing the LA Weight Loss Supervised Anorexia Diet and lost 40 pounds, which I have more or less kept off since. My attitude towards food went from: "Don't think, just eat!" to "This is War, Bread Is My Enemy!" I keep food diaries. I diet. I eat the same basic meals day after day after day. And I have managed to keep the bulge at bay, mostly. But I am certainly not a "skinny" sistah, either. I'm average. I'm probably the size of girls I used to look at back at my heaviest and think, "What must it be like to be a normal size and like your body?"

It's been a long time comin' . . . but I think I've finally concluded that the size of one's pants does not equate directly to one's personal happiness. Or at least, it shouldn't. And when it does . . . there might be a problem.

I can't tell you the hours I've spent in the past 5 years agonizing over food. Depriving myself, bargaining with myself, consumed with guilt over what I have consumed. I think about food more now than I ever did when I was fat. And it's exhausting. One can only ration out slices of 35 calorie diet bread for so long before willpower dissolves into a binge of epic proportions. As a result, when "special occasions" like my birthday come around, I use it as an excuse to cram in all the crap I don't allow myself to eat the rest of the time. Instead of indulging in an occasional, sensible half of a sandwich, or a serving of ice cream on a regular Saturday night . . . I say, "no, no, no, you can't!" for weeks until I finally break down and eat my body weight in crap.

I know that isn't right. Hell, half the time I'm not even really hungry!

So, why am I like this? What is it I'm looking for . . . and why do I think some magic number on the scale or the tag of my jeans is going to solve it? I'm 26 years old, for fuck's sake - too old to be afraid of a slice of bread.

My Month of Love needs to extend to my own body, too. I need to accept and appreciate it for what it is and stop letting the numbers on the scale dictate how I feel about myself and my life. That's just craziness - I realize this.

So -- #1, no beating myself up over my delicious, over-the-top food orgy of the weekend. No starving, no hatin'.

#2, No more War on Food. If I really want something, I am allowed to eat it. In sensible amounts. Listening to what my body actually wants, and whether or not I'm actually hungry, is ultimately more healthy than this starving-binging roller coaster.

#3, Appreciate the bod. Really, I should be grateful for this sack o' guts and bones. It is pretty resilient - it gets me all over the city without need for a vehicle. It works well - I have no weird-ass syndromes of chronic diseases. My brain is tumor-free. My boobs are pretty hot. Really . . . what's not to love?

#4, Learn to be full. Just because the food is there doesn't mean you have to eat it. There will be other opportunities for bagels and birthday cake. If I let myself eat things whenever I really want them, I won't need to resort to the "Oh my god, you suck! You broke down and you're eating ice cream - so you might as well eat the entire carton and make it a worthwhile sin!!" mindset. Which is the mindset of insane people. I know this.

#5, Move the eff on, already! It's true, maybe my body tends to hold on to carbohydrates more than some other people's . . . but I've come leaps and bounds in my dietary outlook on life. I crave salads now. I enjoy grilled chicken and broccoli and apples. Never again will I be a card carrying member of the TGI Friday's Appetizer Fan Club. And when I do put on a few extra holiday pounds, I know I have the ability to amp up my work outs and bulk up on salad to trim the fat.

I just need to trust myself, love myself and focus my time and attention on other things. My body and my brain will thank me for it.

it is written

2009-02-08T18:08:00.001-08:00

I spent my first full day as a 26 year old eating, sleeping, and going to Target. Last night I had a kickass time partying like a rockstar . . . but I think my liver and digestive system will be glad when I return to "office monkey" life tomorrow.

I would like to share my birthday horoscope from British Glamour:

Your Month:
A lunar eclipse on the 9th means and end of a chapter in your life in the five days on either side of that date, or in the coming weeks after. But if one thing is coming to an end (it could mean curtains for an annoying problem), something else is beginning. After the 5th you have energy plant Mars in your sign, so get proactive about eliminating anything that's past its sell-by date -- or starting something afresh.

Your Year:
The coming year has the potential to be incredibly healing as you get a major chance to lay ghosts to rest. Whether you were bullied at school, grew up with body issues or have insecurities about live, you can end that pattern for good. And it's a relationship that helps you do it. Arguments flare up in December, but keep your cool and they'll be sorted in time for the party season.

Ch-ch-ch-changes! I've already been feeling like this is a total "power" year for me, and its nice to have the goofy astrology page of a fashion mag confirm it! Apparently in the next 5 days . . . or weeks . . . I'll be having some sort of major change. Layoff? Lottery win? Will this blog be picked up for national sydication? I guess we'll all just have to stay tuned to find out . . .

i want to be the girl with the most cake

2009-02-07T16:12:00.000-08:00

On this Day in History:

Charles Dickens is 197.
Eddie Izzard is 47.
Chris Rock is 44.
Tea Guarie is 26.

Cheers to living thru another year!

25

2009-02-06T19:16:00.000-08:00

If you don't have facebook / live under a bridge, you might have missed out on this whole "25 Things" craze. People have taken to posting lists of 25 random facts about themselves and then tag their friends to do the same. For a while, I thought it was just my peeps that were into this, but apparently everyone's into it now -- even the snark-nerds at Time magazine.

I've been avoiding the 25 Things. I'm not even sure I can come up with 25 Things to say about myself (although the examples from that Time magazine article give me hope). But since I'm only going to be 25 for a few more hours, I figured I'd cave to peer pressure and give it a try.

Some of these things may be lies.

Here we go.

Tea's 25 Things (At 25 Years of Age)

1. Hi, I'm Tea, and I'm a coffee addict. Irony!
2. When I was a kid, I used to tell people I wanted to be a waitress when I grew up. Many years and a college diploma later . . . and I still kinda wanna quit my job and become a waitress.
3. I love drag queens. In a previous life, I might have been a drag queen.
4. I'm afraid of being pushed in front of an oncoming subway train.
5. I've hugged Tori Amos.
6. I want to learn to surf. Or snowboard.
7. My life goals have changed very little since I was 13. This either shows great dedication to my dreams, or extreme immaturity.
8. I was 23 years old before I realized that the scarecrow, tinman and lion in The Wizard of Oz are the 3 farm hands from the beginning of the movie.
9. I have a really, really hard time remembering people's names. I think this is because no one ever gets my name right, so I tend to just answer to anything and assume everyone else will do likewise.
10. I was once escorted off the premises of my job (not my current job) in a police car.
11. I would like to be a burlesque dancer.
12. I actually really like old people. Way more than I like babies.
13. I once sprained my foot getting out of bed.
14. I don't have a brain tumor.
15. I get really angry when I make popcorn in the office kitchen and other people come in and say, "Oooo . . . someone made popcorn!"
16. I live in the same building that my grandmother was born in.
17. I would like to go to India someday.
18. I don't like following recipes or playing games with complicated rules.
19. I still count on my fingers to do basic addition and subtraction.
20. I will do *anything* to avoid taking left turns while driving. Consequently . . . I rarely drive.
21. I would like to own a boat someday. I will name it the "Extemporanea".
22. When I die, I want to come back as a ghost and scare the shit out of people.
23. I played the viola for 8 years. I pretended to play the piano for 3 years. Now I want to play the drums.
24. My favorite muppet is Rizzo the rat . . . or maybe Gonzo . . . or those two old guys who sit in the corner and heckle . . . oh, who can only pick *one* favorite muppet?!
25. I used to be afraid of Amish people. And the State of Maine. Now I am only afraid of being pushed in front of an oncoming subway train. And left turns. I think that must mean I'm becoming an adult.

excuse me, Sister

2009-02-05T16:29:00.000-08:00

They're trying to close down my high school. Enrollment at Our Lady of Nazareth Academy is down. Apparently, being a "Catholic school girl" has gone out of style since Britney got knocked up and went crazy.

The school is costing nuns money. That is never good.

The news of the school's demise was surprisingly upsetting. I haven't been back to Nazareth in years, but the sudden thought of it no longer existing was like a stab to my bitter little heart. It's like hearing that your best friend from 4th grade is dead . . . or in a coma. Why didn't I try harder to stay in touch? How did all this time slip away? And, in this case, Why did I just toss out all those Alumni Newsletters asking for money?

I am proud of my former classmates, though. Upon hearing about the immenent death of our alma mater, alumni have come out of the woodwork in droves. There was a big meeting last night to rally the troops and save the school -- Naz won't go down without a fight!

And that is why today, I wrote a letter to a nun.

Even at the height of my Catholic-schoolgirl glory, I was not too familiar with nuns. All of our teachers were regular people with spouses and kids . . . a couple were even dudes. I was a little uncomfortable penning my plea. Would the Sisters be sticklers for grammar? Would they ignore my message if I sent it from my gmail account? Do nuns really know how to access email?

I decided to take an ass-kissing approach. This was not the time to point fingers and play the blame game. I suspect nuns are too wily to be manipulated by a "You're selling the time capsule of my young adulthood!!" guilt trip. I waxed poetic about how Nazareth Academy teaches their girls to lead a life of leadership and service (direct quote from the school's Mission Statement) . . . blah, blah . . . sisterhood . . . blah, blah . . . save our school . . . . blah, blah . . . Jesus is awesome . . . etc".

And suddenly . . . I felt like a total asshole. Was there a time when I believed all the things I was telling this nun? Did I ever live a life devoted to "leadership and service"? Do I even know what the eff that actually means?

Lying to nuns . . . that can't be good. Shit, shit, shit. This month of karma boosting is already a train-wreck and we're not even a week in!

On my way home tonight, I was struck with a sudden need to rack up some quick Good Deed Points. Along the T concourse, I spotted Guitar Playing Man Who Is Actually Kinda Good. Normally, I breeze right by him with my ipod cranked. But tonight . . . tonight, I'm trying to save my high school. My high school that supposedly made me a kind and loving person . . .

I barely even stopped to put the money in his case -- I just kinda stooped and dropped a dollar in while still walking. I don't even think Guitar Man saw me do it. Did anyone else notice? Did Jesus? He better have . . . I was gonna use that dollar to buy a Diet Coke at lunch tomorrow.

Now here's the part where I love karma. When the train finally pulled into Lechmere, there was the usual mad-dash for the door . . . business men stomping on babies, blind people and crazy people scratching and biting their way off the train. Still riding my "good deed high", I decided to hang back and give my fellow passengers the right of way. And then . . . something happened that has never happened to me on the T before.

This old, knarly looking rasta man suddenly jumps back, holds his arm out, and says, "No, no! Ladies first! The ladies, they always gotta go first!"

He was probably hoping to cop a feel of my ass or something, I realize now. But in that moment, when a random stranger suddenly singled me out as a worthy target of his kindness . . . I smiled. A genuine smile. This is what humanity is supposed to do -- look out for each other, watch each other's back. Pass on a spare dollar, make sure everyone makes it down the stairs.

Just when you think your school days are over . . . life teaches you shit.

live and let die

2009-02-04T17:45:00.000-08:00

I'd almost forgotten about some great eavesdropping I did in the dentist's waiting room yesterday.

I was huddled in a chair close to the door, imagining the gruesome, festering horror that might be lurking deep in my mouth. Damn those graphic Listerene commercials.

As I sat whispering my goodbyes to my beloved molars, a twenty-something, average-looking girl came out of the exam room and stepped up to the reception desk to make a follow-up appointment.

"So," said the receptionist, "Dr. McToothington (not really the name of the dentist -- although, it should be) gave you a prescription for penicillin. Now, I'm going to schedule an appointment for you with the oral surgeon in the next week or so -- he'll want to see you while you're still on the antibiotics --"

Here the girl interrupted.

"What happens if I don't take the penicillin?"

"Well . . . you run the risk of the infection getting worse," the receptionist replied.

I began to literally quake in my seat. What kind of indescribable nastiness could be going on in this girl's mouth that required actual prescription drugs? Was she harboring some sort of rare and insidious mouth parasite? Did her teeth explode? Why was she not writhing on the floor in agony?

"I really don't want to take the penicillin. I've never taken an antibiotic before," the girl said.

I was now openly staring at her. Never taken an antibiotic?? To my mind, she might as well have told the receptionist that she'd never used toilet paper before, or could only make out her check with a quill and ink.

Please understand, antibiotics and I go way back. I spent pretty much my entire childhood on a maintenance dose of heavy duty drugs, in order to keep from going deaf due to chronic ear infections. My favorite was Ammoxicillin - a sweet, pink, syrupy liquid clearly designed with children in mind. I remember thinking it would go great on ice cream -- I would literally cheer as the doctor wrote out the prescription.

Sadly, my body grew immune to the kiddie stuff pretty quickly, and I was bumped up the scale to some nasty, nauseating "orange"-flavored tablets that tasted like an orangutan's asshole. These bad boys came with all the much-heralded "side effects" of hardcore antibiotics . . . I will let your imagination fill in the details.

But . . .to have never experienced the stomach-churning, wonder-delirium of some serious anti-bacterials coursing through your system . . . what's that like? Where the hell was this girl raised? In a bubble? In the middle of the Australian outback? In a magical world of witchcraft and wizardry?

The receptionist, I was pleased to see, was as baffled as I was.

"You've seriously never taken antibiotics before?" she asked.

"Maybe once, when I was, like 3," the girl scoffed.

I fought the urge to chime in -- Aren't there antibiotics in milk? But as I get a lot of my "scientific information" from The Daily Show, I thought it best to keep quiet. And anyway, I think I might be confusing antibiotics with growth hormones. Milk is the reason girls get their periods at age 6 now, yes? I think Oprah told me that . . .

At this point, the hygienist wandered into the waiting room looking for me, and I was distracted from the end of the antibiotics debate by sudden panic and fear for my teeth (needless panic! teeth and i will be together forevah!). But now I am left wondering about Anti-Antibiotics Girl.

Is she gonna take 'em? Or will she remain steadfast in her boycott of modern medicine? Will her mouth become a cesspool of bacterial decay? Can't an infection like that travel from your tooth to your jaw . . . and from your jaw, why -- its just a quick hop to your brain!

Take the drugs! I should have shouted to her. You are young, and apparently healthy aside from whatever hideous situation is currently going on in your mouth! You have your whole life ahead of you . . . if not for your teeth, do it for your brain! Your beautiful, beautiful brain!

Maybe I am misguided. Maybe that girl and her pure, undiluted immune system will survive some coming Space Plague, while my sullied and much-abused body will be thrown into a mass grave after the first 3 days of pandemic. No matter. All I know is, antibiotics saved my hearing and blessed me with a keen ability to rudely listen in on other people's conversations. And for that, they will always hold a special place in my heart.

just another fantastically effed up tuesday tv nite

2009-02-03T16:31:00.000-08:00

Dear Mom -- thank you for never subjecting me to this:

Also, thank you for not having 18 children. I suspect your womb thanks you, too.

Tuesday night tv on "The Learning Channel" is a lesson on what not to do when you're a parent. These are pretty basic lessons:

1. Do not spray tan your 5 year old.

2. Spending upwards of $10k a year on pageant related expenses so your kid can win a cheap-ass tiara and maybe a couple hundred bucks is not a solid financial strategy.

3. If a 12 pack of generic brand soda will not serve your entire brood . . . you have a problem.

And yet, I need to send some love to the Duggar family and all the whack-job pageant moms of the deep south. They are just 2 examples of the many wonderful pockets of insane sub-culture that thrive here in the Land of the Free. I'm sure in some burkah-filled nation, there is a legion of little girls who wish they could be made up to look like an effing 20 year old prostitute . . . or, at the very least, show a little ankle. And in those population-controlling societies of Asia, I bet people would love to pop out as many babies as their uterus can hold. So kudos, Duggars and tiara-moms! Keep doin' your thang!

Giving props to the deranged -- does that count as love?

I would like to note that 3 days into February, I find myself chatting more with strangers. Not necessarily in an overtly "kind" way, but it's a start. Today I had a very nice discussion with a cab driver about how much this weather effing blows, and how I was totally afraid of the dentist.

Soon after, I told the dental hygienist my entire life story while she attempted to scrape 3 years worth of crap from my teeth. My friendliness paid off, however -- she and the dentist were very kind when informing me that my gums are receding and may require some sort of "graft".

Later, in the checkout line at Shaw's, the lady behind me asked my opinion of the salad dressing I was buying.

"So you like that dressing, huh?" she said. For a moment, I thought she was gonna tell me that it was laced with rat urine or something. But when I replied, "Uh . . .yeh . . . ?" she said, "I've been wanting to try it." Then we had a nice little exchange about the superior flavors of Newman's Spritzer salad dressings. It was almost like living in California . . . or some other place where people don't hate each other.

Then I walked back outside into the driving sleet. Ah, yes. New England.

But yeh -- Chatty McChatterson, that's me! I don't know if this is a coincidence, or if I'm giving off slightly less hostile vibes . . . but I'll take it!

Before I go, I would like to direct your attention to the recently revived Nutrigourmet blog (see right). What was once my chronicle of scary Nutrisystem meals is now my chronicle of equally scary experiments in the kitchen! Please to enjoy.

no love for groundhogs

2009-02-02T15:26:00.001-08:00

PETA, please take notice.

Apparently, that furry little bastard saw his shadow, so I guess its 6 more weeks of ass-freezing for the rest of us. Someday, I wanna meet someone from Punxsutawney, PA and get the lowdown on "Gobblers Knob".

On the lovin' front -- not so great. I was actually a bit bitchier than usual today . . . work deadlines, nagging sinus / ear pains . . . it's hard to be kind when you wanna pull off your own head and throw it at people.

A nagging little voice in the back of my mind kept saying, "Be nice! Smile! What would Amelie do?" But then that little voice of conscience got fucking annoying and became one more thing to make me tired and cranky.

I believe Amelie would have had le crepes with Nutella and called today a loss.

God bless the french.

february is for lovers

2009-02-01T16:14:00.000-08:00

All hail, the shortest month of the year! And, perhaps, what might prove to be my most challenging undertaking . . .

For the next 28 days, I will try to be a more loving person.

Don't think I'm buyin' in to all the Valentine's Day, hearts n' flowers, woe is me -- where is my soulmate? crap. My use of the term "love" is pretty loose here. Not glaring down old / crazy / rude people on the train . . . taking the initiative to converse with the whack-jobs in my office kitchen . . . actually giving my change to a homeless person occasionally -- or the dude who plays the guitar in the subway station who is actually kinda good . . . that's the type of lovin' I'm down for.

Does this make me sound like I go around kicking puppies on a regular basis? Because I don't. I mean . . . I don't go out of my way to scare babies -- but I don't go out of my way to smile at them either. I have never pushed anyone on the train, or called them an asshole (which I've seen happen) -- but sometimes I'll pretend to be studying my ipod so as "not to notice" the dude on crutches who probably wants my seat.

Oh, jesus. Maybe I am a bad person.

Well, whatever. This is my opportunity to make some positive change -- and maybe boost my karma points while I'm at it! Like everyone's favorite French ingenue, Amelie. An elfin fairy godmother who does secret good deeds and is in love with a mysterious photo-booth repairman . . . perhaps if I start doing good deeds for others, the Universe will throw me a frickin' bone.

I want to be more loving towards other people. Snarkiness has it's place, of course. Nothing short of a lobotomy could rob this girl of her cynical take on the world. But maybe if I stopped approaching everyone I meet like a plague sent from Above to ruin my life . . . life would be a little more cheery. And who knows -- maybe I'd make a new friend . . . or at least, not make an enemy?

It's a start, people!

So tomorrow, I vow to go out of my way to have one deliberately kind interaction with a stranger . . . which shouldn't be hard, since I only know the names of about 12 people in my office even though I've worked there for 3 years. Just because they're all a bunch of humorless robot freaks (i mean, "perfectly nice human beings like myself") doesn't mean they aren't worth a smile and some "how bout this crazy coffeemaker?" chitchat.

I am exaggerating my meanness here, of course. But bottom line -- my goal for this month is to romance the world with goodness! Take a positive attitude -- embrace what the Universe throws at me with grace and love.

And maybe, just maybe, the Universe will love me back.

out of the blue

2009-01-31T07:07:00.000-08:00

Last day of the month.

I wish I'd found this article sooner:
Amanda on Creating & Meditating . . .

I'm taking that with me as I go forth. That, and this:

Off to bask in the sweet glow of Bollywood!

better things are coming

2009-01-29T07:55:00.000-08:00

So, January is almost over. Was it good for you, baby?

No, actually . . . January kinda sucked. As it often does.

There were a few highlights . .. we got a new president who is not intent on destroying mankind. The new series Toddlers and Tiaras premiered on TLC. I managed not to break a limb on the icy sidewalks of death.

I am learning to appreciate the little things.

I have not become a rockstar.

Maybe I have started to adopt an attitude of “I don’t care, world! I’m doin’ my own thing!” . . . but have I really started doing my own thing? This month, I spent a lot of time huddled in my apartment, hiding from the cold.

If I am so easily defeated by the weather . . . how will I ever take on The Man?

This was probably not a good theme for the first month of the year. Too vague. Too easily shrugged off. Maybe I should have stuck with the rest of America and vowed to lose 10 pounds.

Except I haven’t done that either.

I have been reading a lot of blogs lately -- mostly at work. In an effort to improve the quality of this venture, I’ve made some notes on what makes for compelling blog-reading:

1. Daily (or near-daily) updates. This seems to be the crucial ingredient for building a regular blog readership. If people can depend on a new post every day, reading your blog will become part of their daily routine. Never mind if your posts are mostly, “Hi world – today I made oatmeal and washed my kitchen floor!” . . . if you are consistent in recording the banalities of your day to day existence, people like myself (with equally boring lives) will read it. The Circle of Boredom has no end!

2. Be someone people either love to hate, or want to befriend. I enjoy reading the blogs of people I believe are dorks / tards / a-holes almost as much as I like reading the blogs of people I think are super-cool. I guess the key is to be a real person. Even if your real personality happens to suck.

3. Get a gimmick. Even if it’s as basic as: “I’m gonna document all my meals/ outfits / craft projects.” Or, “Every Tuesday, I’m gonna write about fashion, and every Thursday I”ll write about world politics.” Having guidelines makes it easier to come up with crap to say on a daily basis (see #1).

So . . . I guess my gimmick is that I’m attempting to revamp one tiny area of my life each month . . . in a very non-commital, abstract-y kinda way.

Step #2 – I need to post more. Even when I have nothing to say.

Step #3 – You can love me or hate me, bitches! I don’t care! (my attitude adjustment goal for January might be working after all.)

Since February is a short month, it’ll be the perfect time to up the posting ante to once daily. Even if the post is a giant photo of me weeping -- it counts.

I have also picked my theme for February. It is both predictable, and . . . not. It will require more definite action on my part, at any rate. Let’s see if it’s more successful than my half-hearted attempts at throwing off the shackles of my down-trodden, worker-bee lifestyle.

I can’t wait for Groundhog Day.

red-headed stepchild

2009-01-23T05:38:00.000-08:00

As I think I've mentioned (several times) . . .my day-to-day life is not very exciting. Get up. Sit in cube. Go home. Do errands. Watch tv. Sleep. Repeat.

I thought maybe a new hairstyle would jumpstart my "rockstar" vibe.

Behold!

(Note: hair actually much redder than it may appear)

I've been going to Liquid Hair Studios for awhile now -- and its everything you could ever want in a "hair studio". Check it:

My stylist, Sara, is like a punk rock fairy-godmother. I love her. I walked in the door and was basically like, "please give me something bright and badass for this long, miserable winter!" and she was all, "Aye, aye capt'n!" And then I sat in a chair and ate Truffle Hershey Kisses and read Spin while she worked her magic.

Right now, hair has been blow-dried into this flippy bob situation, which I enjoy for its retro-ness. But it will work just as well in its usual bed-headed glory. Tres chic.

It's amazing what a new 'do can do. I am definitely feelin' more sass-tastic and exciting today. Maybe because its Friday. Or maybe because I'm a redhead again.

Redheads get away with so much shit. I discovered this when I first started coloring my hair. At the height of my distingusihed barista-ing career, I found I could pretty much make fun of customers to their faces -- and somehow, I got away with it. I think the firey locks helped. Or maybe it was the fact that I'd call everyone "Honey," even as I was messing with their latte.

Be kind to your barista. She has the power to give you decaf.

Ah, well. At least my hair has been rocked out this month . . . even if the rest of me has been too busy hibernating.

Happy Friday, people!

go-bama!

2009-01-21T05:21:00.000-08:00

So long, muthafuckahs!

It it me, or is the sun shining a little brighter today?

It's a new day, people! A new day, a new world, a new President.

I no longer feel the need to pretend to be Canadian.

This is a new feeling, this "i heart USA!" vibe I'm currently rocking. I'm not quite sure what to do with it. Tiny American flags and country music still don't have much appeal. But this morning, I woke up believing that we have the power to make the world a better place. That I, a selfish, cynical 20-something, can actually make a difference.

I got up and did yoga, that's how good I'm feelin!

Of course, that feeling was pretty much gone after my morning train ride.

Still . . . there's something special about today. Like we've all collectively turned over a new leaf. Possibilities are endless. Can we do it? Yes we can!

Thanks, Mr. President, for Barack-ing my world. And for not revoking my civil liberties because I've made lame puns with your name.

Happiness.

on the wave of mutilation . . .

2009-01-14T12:58:00.000-08:00

It’s hard to live like a badass, punk-cabaret rockstar when you have a 9 to 5 job. Also, when you live in a place where the average temperature in January hovers between 25 degrees and death.

The cold weather brings me down, people.

I think this is why people are happier, healthier and hotter in California. The winters in New England do to people what they do to cars – rust ‘em up and make ‘em old before their time. If I lived in LA, I would have spent my lunch break doing yoga in a park or eating some sort of organic wrap on a sunny pier. Instead, I spent it sitting in a tiny grey cubicle, frowning at the 5 day forecast.

Suffering is good for the soul, though, right? The cold builds character.

I received an email about this today:

New Kids on the Block Cruise!

So many awesome elements of this to ponder:

Will the New Kids on the Block be on the boat the entire time? Will they actually be mingling with other cruisers poolside /at the midnight buffet? Will there been NKOTB related activities? “Attention passengers – Danny Wood will be giving break-dance lessons on Deck Five in a half an hour!”

What will they be doing to prevent a crazed-fan-threatens-to-jump-overboard-in-order-to-get-the-attention-of-Donnie-Wahlberg-incident? Will passengers need some sort of signed release from a therapist before boarding?

Is this a fan base that is ready for a charter cruise? When I think “Die Hard New Kids Fan” – I think gum poppin’, fake-tannin’ 30-somethings who are still completely entrenched the early ‘90s . . . from the excessive use of hairspray, to nights spent hanging out in random mall parking lots getting high on Robitussin. They’ve been there, and they’ve got the unfortunate tattoos and the high-school aged children to prove it. Should we be putting a group of these women on a boat together? I feel like it’s a recipe for a Rock of Love style blow-out, but on a much grander scale . . . and on the open sea.

Is there such a thing as *too much* New Kids on the Block?

I seriously hope someone makes a documentary film about this cruise. Or, at the very least, sets up a live webcam / blogfeed.I’d give anything to be a fly on the wall of that boat . . . well, anything besides the $1299 cruise ticket!!! You’ve gotta be shitting me.

It's a crazy world, people. And I kinda effing love it.

I might just make it to spring after all . . .

and now, some thoughts on the golden globes . . .

2009-01-13T09:32:00.000-08:00

I love celebrities. I love to watch them, love to hate them, love to pretend that I’m actually best friends with them. Maybe I have problems . . . or maybe I’m just Hollywood’s dream demographic – the girl who will buy the perfume she’s never smelled because she’s a little obsessed with the actress / model / singer / celebrity tattoo artist in the ad campaign.

So, it goes without saying that I love awards shows. Give me Ryan Seacrest on the red carpet, some uncomfortably long acceptance speeches, and a montage about the “Magic of Sound Editing” . . . and I’m happier than a pig in shit.

The Golden Globes is the official run up to the granddaddy of all Awards Extravaganzas – the Oscars – but they definitely hold their own in the Battle for Award Show Supremacy.

Things I love about the GG's:

1. TV.

Would it be wrong of me to start a religion based on the wisdom and teachings of Tina Fey? Seriously . . . if this lady ordered me to eat Sabor de Soledad chips laced with arsenic, I would. Be my cult leader, Tina!

Ok, that’s disturbing. Moving on . . .

2. Booze.

The Golden Globes differ from the Oscars in that the celebs are encouraged to drink throughout the ceremony, so odds are good that there will be incoherent, drunken awesomeness. Please -- starve yourself for two weeks to fit into a borrowed, couture gown, down an entire bottle of free champagne . . . and then get up on that stage and tell us your thoughts about endangered species / the President / Madonna. Yes! Your public loves you!

The Award for Most Drunken Acceptance Speech of 2009 goes to this cherub:

I’m not familiar with Sally Hawkins -- but she’s British, which means she must be a good time. The highlight of her speech was when she stopped in the middle of her slurred, teary rambling, and shouted, “Emma, where are you?” And the cameras cut to Emma Thompson, who was sitting in the audience, waving frantically and mouthing “Are you ok?!” Oh, Emma Thompson . . . you are mother to the world.

If you cannot hold the trophy and talk at the same time – you might be wasted.

If you decide to go off Tele-Prompter and make glib jokes about your former cocaine addiction – you might also be wasted.

If you get up on stage with a beer in hand and make Holocaust jokes – you are Ricky Gervais, the funniest man alive.

Basically, the Globes prove once again that booze can only make a situation better . . . when it’s not making a situation worse.

3. Foreigners.

The Hollywood Foreign Press reminds us all that there is world entertainment beyond New York and LA . . . and often, it is far superior. Kate Winslet? Slumdog Millionaire? That guy who plays Borat? . . . need I go on? If not for the Globes, I wouldn’t know that movies like this, or this great one about the mafia, even existed.

And now its time for a segment I like to call People I Love to Hate:

Look, Brangelina sent their Madame Tussaud’s wax likenesses to the Golden Globes . . . . oh, wait a minute . . .

Tom’s in a rush – the chloroform he used on Katie Holmes and his freakishly doll-like robot baby will be wearing off soon.

Something about this girl just makes me really angry.

Seriously, Hollywood? I don’t remember the New Kids on the Block ever showing up at A-List red carpet events. Why? Because their fan base was made up exclusively of pre-teen girls who would rather watch Full House than find out who won Best Foreign Film of the year. One would like to assume the same applies to these dudes . . . or has the line between tween culture and regular society really blurred that much? Do people actually take these kids seriously? Miley Cyrus is not a musician or an entertainer, people. She’s the exploited meal ticket of some washed up hillbillies. Sound familiar?:

And now – for the Best Globe-ages of the Golden Globes:

Nine Completely Achievable Goals for '09

2009-01-09T09:35:00.000-08:00

1. Wear eyeliner every day
2. Read a book
3. Gain 100 pounds and apply to be a contestant on The Biggest Loser . . or, just stop dieting
4. Do dishes with some semblance of regularity
5. Reach "Expert" level drumming for at least one Rock Band song
6. Stay up later
7. Shop more
8. Be unapologetically proud of my tv watching and pop-culture obsessions
9. Go to the beach

Every year at about this time, I am full of big plans. Gonna become an athlete, write a novel, travel the world . . .

And by February, I am curled up on the couch watching a Celebrity Rehab marathon while consuming an entire box of Valentine's candy I bought for myself.

This year, I'm not setting myself up for failure.

In addition to the completely do-able To Do List above, I've decided to just take it one month at a time this year. Life is overwhelming enough . . . no need to make it more stressful by trying to plan and predict beyond the next 30 days.

So . . . January. We're already 9 days in! That's ok, though. This January is all about Adjusting my Attitude . . . channeling some new mo-jo . . . gettin' back in touch with the sassy-ass, creative side of myself that spent 2008 slowly withering away in a poorly-lit cubicle.

I wanna be more like her.

I want my personality to be on display for the world to see, and I want to be unapologetic about it. I want to be passionate about my art again. I want to be one part punk-rocker, one part zen-goddess, a dash of intellectual and infused with overall sexiness.

Most importantly, though -- I wanna figure out who the hell I am. And if that means observing and emulating the things I love about other people . . . its a start man! It's a start.