My Favorite Halloween Story

OK, so if you know me personally (as most of you do) and were around me last Halloween, you may have already heard this tale. If so, too bad; it is a festive story and I’m telling it again. If not, good for you; it still cracks me up.

So last Halloween, I decided that the best way to overcome my awkwardness over large groups/social situations would be to attend an older crowd party in Woodstock hosted by an acquaintance. Typing this now, all my mental naysayery about how it “would only be weird” sounds more like reasonable decision-making at work, but alas, I often ignore my own good advice.

ANYWAY, so it was the costume party of a 40-something man I know through community theater. A lady friend (Heather) and I were going together, so we decided to attend as “double rainbow”, a viral video from earlier that year. We each wore a shirt blazoned with a felt rainbow that read “All the Way” across the front and “What does this Mean?” across the back. Looking back, this was a poor choice.

The guy/all his friends were older, thus unfamiliar with the “viral video” we spoke of. Nobody “got” what we were supposed to be, so in their eyes, we were just a couple of wacky ladies wearing matching rainbow shirts. I should now note (and here’s where I really should have thought this through), that the host’s sister is a lesbian and approximately 80% of the female guests were as well. And there Heather and I were, rocking our rainbow shirts, a concept costume, which we (at first) didn’t know that nobody got.

About an hour in, we realized people assumed we were a couple. This was fine with me; Heather’s a cute lady. But as we really got talking to people, though, we started hearing some unusual things.  One woman was like “All the way! Exactly! I’m so proud you can be who you are.” And: “You’re right. What DOES this mean?” At first we were confused, but then we realized what she must have thought and just laughed. But then this other woman (who I believe had had a few too many cocktails) stormed over to us and started hassling us pretty aggressively.

“What are you trying to say with those shirts?” she said. “I mean, are you lesbians?”

“Oh, no! We’re not, but our shirts aren’t about Pride. They’re from that viral video—double rainbow?” I explained.

“Are you trying to tell me the two of your came here in matching rainbow shirts and that has ‘nothing to do with Pride?’ I think you thought you were being real funny. Well, guess what? I don’t think that’s funny at all.”

“No! We didn’t think it would be funny like that, we just thought it would be funny because—well, because it—”

“Because, because, because! I keep here you saying ‘because,’ but you haven’t explained to me what you’re trying to say!”

It was definitely a yikes situation. She was pretty drunk/country and would have been up for a brawl if another lady hadn’t stepped in at that point.

Anyway, when I went home that night, I immediately sent that guy and his sister the link to the video. I didn’t want their friends running around saying what a hater I was! I’m not a hater—of ladies who love ladies OR Halloween! 

Do you have any wacky Halloween tales?

Blogging and Surprises

I follow a number of blogs. I read blogs about books/movies, fitness, cooking, and several on weddings (until just a few weeks ago when I got married myself and realized I never wanted to look at wedding porn ever again). And, occasionally, one will post something enigmatic like "sorry I haven't been writing that much lately, but I've got a few exciting things in store for the blog that I can't talk about just yet"—well, today that enigmatic speaker is me! Exciting things are going on around here, and I look forward to telling you guys about it soon! Sorry I can't be more specific just yet.

But this brings up another thing: it's weird how when you read people's blog all the time, you start to feel like you really know them, even if you've never met in real life. One blogger I particularly like, Allie over at Hyperbole and a Half, writes hilarious stories about her goings on and illustrates them using what appears to be Microsoft paint. (You can find my favorite post of hers here.) That's why it seemed really weird when she fell off the face of the Earth—until yesterday. I had missed laughing at her posts, but yesterday she popped back up with a seriously funny post about what she's been up to: "Adventures in Depression." Apparently she's been dealing with a bout of depression, but the way she wrote about it managed to be moving and neat at the same time. It is great, and says a lot about what the experience of depression is actually like. Even though I don't actually know her, she seems like such a funny and neat person; I hope this is something she's able to overcome STAT.

Bride and Prejudice

I will do a lot of things just for the experience a/o story. I feel like this makes me more adventurous than I otherwise would be because if given a choice based on my real preference, I would always choose to stay in my comfort zone. To not do/experience whatever is being offered because I’m lazy. BUT, in the interest of living a more interesting life, I make a concerted effort to say yes to experiences that seem unusual, typically trying to say yes early so I’m unable to back out later. This has led to a number of awkward meals and random excursions—I love the line in 30 Rock in which a guest star warns Liz to “never follow a hippie to a second location”—but for the most part, things usually turn out fine and I have a richer life because of it.

That’s how I ended up in a Bollywood-style dancing class last Saturday at my local library. I was just there to drop off some books, when I noticed a flier announcing some upcoming events. Typically, these advertised events are ESL classes or volunteer tax help—nothing I’m too interested in. But then I saw that they were starting to offer Bollywood dancing classes “for fitness”, and it would be starting that very Saturday at 11 a.m. I looked at the clock; it was 10:58. It was fate.

The class was hilarious. The teacher was 4’10” and between 16 and 26 years old. (There was no way to know.) I was the youngest participant there by 30 years, which was extra awesome because there was a lot of hip thrusting and shoulder shimmying. The teacher shouted encouragements with a heavy accent and some unusual phrasings, i.e. “make around” for turn around. “Come on! You are sexy! Shake your butt!” It was what I imagine a Bollywood-themed Zumba class might be—a lot of jumping around mixed in with some generalized culturally-based dance moves. There were also several musical theatre-style elements thrown in, e.g. jazz hands, which you guys know I love. Seriously, if I didn’t have all this wedding/honeymoon nonsense coming up, I would definitely go back.

What about you? Do you ever do things just for the story?

There’s No Time. There’s Never Any Time!

Where are my manners? I can’t believe it’s been more than a week since I last posted. I will blame it on all the wedding-related stuff I’m trying to knock out every night when I get home. I don’t have that much to do, but ideally, I’d like to have almost nothing left to still be stressing over by the time it actually gets here. Like performing in one of my shows, I want to have learned all my lines and where I need to stand, so that all I have to do opening night is throw on my outfit, put on my makeup, and do it. So far, I have not succumbed to craziness (specifically related to weddings), which I think is a very good sign—particularly with fewer than three weeks to go [minor ACK].

Related to this, I baked approximately one million cookies this weekend, vacuum-sealed them, and put them in the freezer for possible favors. I say possible, because if I sample one the day before, and it tastes like I vacuum-sealed then froze it, they will not be given as favors. I would say that at that point they would all go in the trash, but JP will probably eat them either way.

I also had a MAC artist do my makeup on Friday so I could see if I needed any additional products (I’m doing it myself the big day because let’s just say LaGrange is not overrun with makeup artists). I thought it looked pretty good when I left, albeit a little dramatic. JP confirmed this when he said, “Oh my gosh. You look nuts. Umm…Lady Gaga called and she wants her eyelashes back.” Obviously, the fake lashes the girl at the store put on me were too much, and they have since been removed to my theater makeup kit (where I feel they will be more appropriate). He also compared me to a drag queen. No good.

What I wanted to look like.

What John Paul said I looked like.

ALSO, here is the blog post our photographers did on our engagement shoot. Some of them are weird, but mostly they are cute.

Sorry for all the wedding stuff, though! It’s all just hanging out in my head and making it hard for me to think about other things. Not too long now!

Thoughts? Words of wisdom?

Photos and Before

Hey yoooooouuuuu guys!!!

The photo shoot went well. I know you were all biting your nails in anticipation, wondering how that would turn out. Several people have asked me about my extensions, though, so I will briefly describe them now: they are clip-in type and made of real (human [haha]) hair. The tops are like a combination of a very short-toothed comb and the type of clip that if you bend it out, it’s open and if you bend it in, it’s closed (what is this kind of clip called!?). It was very convenient for the photos because normally at 95°F and 50% humidity, my hair acts like a real jerk, but since the majority of it wasn’t really mine, but instead someone else’s, more accommodating, hair, it continued to look normal/curled the entire time. Overall, the look was more Miranda Lambert than Botticelli’s Venus, but what are you going to do?

Also, fun story: while at Probate Court getting our marriage license, JP and I overheard a woman discussing the following with a probate officer:

Woman: So let’s say a woman marries a Mexican. Does he automatically become a citizen?

Probate Officer: No, there are a lot of other factors involved, and even then, it’s a lengthy process to citizenship.

W: What if she’s pregnant with his baby? After the baby’s born, do they both automatically become citizens?

PO: No, ma’am. They baby would be a citizen because the mother is American, but the father would still not be a citizen.

W: What if both the mother and the father are 17?

PO: Did your daughter come in here earlier this week to talk to me about this?

W: Yes, she said that you said the baby’s father still wouldn’t become an American citizen, I just wanted to double-check.

PO: Well, that’s true. And I also told her that both sets of parents had to come in and sign all the paperwork if they intended to get married.

W: Well, his dad won’t come over here. He’s in Mexico, and he won’t come here. They were thinking about doing it over there, in Mexico. Like, she would meet his dad, and then they would get married down there. Do you know how she would go about going down there?

PO: Does she have a passport? She could just get it cleared through the passport office.

W: No, she doesn’t have one.

PO: Well, she’d have to get a passport, unless you know some other illegal means to get her down there…

Let’s just say it digressed from there. As soon as the woman left, the probate officer just walked back to her desk, slowly shaking her head and kind of looking over at me. I could tell she wanted to talk about this wacky situation, but discussing probate court business with unrelated parties may be even worse than suggesting a woman sneak her pregnant 17-year-old daughter into Mexico.

Boy Stuff vs. Girl Stuff

Growing up, I felt like there was stuff that boys knew how to do, and stuff that girls knew how to do. I’m not sure why I thought this (TV?). My own parents broke the very model I was thinking of; my mom is not really a cooker or a cleaner and my dad doesn’t give a crap about technology. (I would say “Sorry, Mom and Dad!” but I am 99% sure they don’t read this.) Regardless of their example, I thought that when I found the man I planned to marry, he would be the in-house expert on cars, tools, and all computer-type devices. Wrong. Dead wrong. The last time I had a car issue, JP told me to take a picture of it with my phone and send it to his friend with the message: “What should I do about this?” Also, despite the fact he works in tech support, I’m pretty sure we have the exact same level of computer-y knowledge, i.e., we’ll try to restart and if that doesn’t work, our next step is the Genius Bar.

It’s cool, though. Other than his proclivity for ladders, John Paul is actually kind of a neat freak. And while I do all the in-house cooking, he’s the only one who can work the grill (although I think part of why he won’t teach me is so I’ll keep him around). This all came up, though, because I think it’s really neat when people can do basic carpentry projects for their homes (too many eps of Trading Spaces, I’m sure), and I’d really like John Paul to get into carpentry so he can build us some bookshelves or something. I kept hassling him to add tools to our wedding registry, thinking that if he had the tools, maybe he would just be able to teach himself. But I finally realized that if I want some homemade book shelves, I’m just going to have to figure out how to build them myself.  Let’s be honest, I’m going to look like a BAMF when I finally manage to properly wield a power saw. It will be more BA, of course, if I manage to properly maintain my fingers in the process.

This is (hopefully) me in the future. Haha. I am still leery of using said saw.

Anyone else misled by this gender dichotomy?

Office Space

Here is a question for you, blog readers: How close are you and your coworkers? For example, I am friendly with people in my department. We get lunch sometimes during the week and occasionally will get together for a movie sometimes after work. We have fun, and then we go to our respective places of residence.

John Paul, however, is way too close to his coworkers. Actually, I don’t know if he’s way too close to them or they’re just way too pushy. On Friday night, for example, JP and four of his coworkers all rode together down to Sweetwater for the beer tour. Fun times. Then they all came back to our area and got dinner at a local Mexican restaurant. Still okay. Afterwards, JP is all like, “See you guys later!” and they’re all, “No way. Now we’re hanging out at your house.” And that’s where I found them three hours later, getting ridiculously drunk because they’d decided they were all spending the night (except the guy who doesn’t drink/ironically lives within walking distance). It probably wouldn’t have even been that bad except this one guy is pretty much perpetually ornery and is weirdly always ready to fight. He told me he “had a lot of stuff he could say to me,” but wouldn’t, he said, because he wanted to be invited back. Additionally, on a previous visit, he and JP were in a disagreement and the guy tackled him in our kitchen. What the crap?! I feel like adults should not fight (physically or otherwise) in one another’s homes, but maybe that’s just me.

Is this tale weird to anyone else? Or do your coworkers often sleep over and/or battle it out in your home? Any 'my coworker is weirder than your coworker' tales would be welcome. It's a Monday.

Read It and Weep

It was only a matter of time. Sales of e-books have surpassed sales of their print counterparts. Some say this is a travesty for the written word, while others champion the advance of technology; I choose to remain undecided.

I don’t have an e-reader (or a smartphone—I gotta save my dollars, people!), but I am not 100% against them. I can see their benefit regarding the environment and might even want one were I in the kind of job that caused me to travel a lot or that involved me taking mass transit to work.

However, as an editor, I probably spend 8–9 hours every day reading from a computer screen, so when I choose to read for pleasure, I’d rather not increase that accumulated screen time. And I know that people say that the way the e-reader screens are backlit, they are much easier on the eyes than reading from the computer. But I say, “They may not be as bad as a computer, but they are not yet as good as paper,” so I may just have to wait it out.

Additionally, I’m a big library fan, so I still get the majority of the books I read for free at my local branch. Not being able to get books for free was a huge con on my mental pro/con list of getting an e-reader, BUT THEN, when searching for the new book recently put out by one of my all-time favorite crime writers, I saw that it was ONLY available for checkout in electronic form. OMG! The library is more ahead of the times than I am. It is sad when you are outpaced by something widely suspected to be an anachronism.

Where do you come in on this issue? Am I secretly the only person with hang-ups about this?

In Honor of Mother's Day...

Are you familiar with the TLC show, I Didn't Know I was Pregnant? It's just like what you would think: Ladies are going about their business when they begin having sudden, intense pain, and seek medical assistance only to find out that they are, in fact, giving birth. After seeing the show, this became a major fear of mine, and whenever I got even mild indigestion, I immediately thought, "Oh my gosh. I didn't know I was pregnant." These fears could only be assuaged by the fact that this was a highly unlikely state of affairs and almost no one actually does not know that she is pregnant. Well, that all changed this week, when I heard that one of my friends was taken to the emergency room where she delivered a baby, and SHE HAD NOT KNOWN SHE WAS PREGNANT!!!

This friend ("Ladyfriend") had moved out West with her boyfriend ("Guyfriend") but was at her parents' house for a few weeks, packing up the rest of her things. Well, she woke up in the middle of the night with the worst pain in her life, saw that there was blood, and began screaming for her parents. They raced her to the hospital where the doctor told her she was delivering a baby, to which she said, "?!?"

So then, they had to call Guyfriend to fly in from out West, and he had to purchase one of those last-minute million dollar tickets (but it's totally worth it because he's about to be a surprise dad!). He's still en route while the baby was being delivered, so his mom sent him pix messages of his surprise baby girl from the delivery room (technology!).

Now, JP had seen Ladyfriend in March, and he said not only was she as skinny as ever, but they even had margaritas together! Apparently, she was on birth control the entire time and had only gained 5 lbs. over the past few months. (That baby also weighs 5 lbs., so I guess Ladyfriend doesn't have to worry about that.)

The thing that kills me the most about this tale is (surprisingly) not that she didn't know she was pregnant (apparently it happens often enough for them to make a show about it), but that giving birth is supposed to be one of the most painful things you could ever go through in life, and she had to go through it by surprise. That would be the scariest/worst thing ever!!!

Anyway, Lady, Guy, and Babyfriend are all happy and healthy now, and soon they will be Mr., Mrs., and Baby Friend. So I guess it all worked out? 

Happy Mother's Day, Ladyfriend!

Snack Pack Weekend

So, I'm headed to my parent's lake cabin this weekend for Easter, but I feel like it's going to be weird.

(JK, robbers! I will be AT HOME with my hand on my .22 THAT I OWN.)

Firstly, it's Easter, which ranks third in the list of holidays in which food plays a central role, e.g., 1) Thanksgiving, 2) Christmas, 3) Easter. But preparing/eating food at the cabin is always kind of strange because despite going there approximately every other weekend, my parents don't really keep any food staples there. Although, I must say I'm not really surprised by this as the staples at their permanent residence consist of onions, Pam, and pimento cheese. 

The one food I can count on to be at the cabin, however, is LIttle Debbie snack cakes. Every time I go over there, I find like six boxes, all opened, of the ageless treats. The thing that kills me the most about this is that growing up, when I begged my dad to PLEASE provide me with name brand treats for my daily sack lunch, he not so politely declined. But now, you'd think an entire third grade class lived over there for all the holiday-themed cakes, peanut wafer bars, and swiss rolls you're likely to find. AND, I've never seen my parents eat them, either! Where are all these snack cakes coming from/going???

The other thing that I am preparing to be weirded out by is the Easter egg hunt my mom has planned for me to throw on Saturday. Will a number of my young relatives be stopping by, you may wonder. No, my friends. I purchased plastic eggs, gummy fruit, and cookies today all for Stella, my tiny second cousin, who, while adorable, is merely 18 months old and will be interested in this shenanigan for approximately as many seconds. I feel like I could just as easily "hide" said plastic eggs behind my back. Despite what the movies tell you, babies are no geniuses.

Oh, well. As long as I get some time in the sun to read, relax, and munch on a plethora of Little Debbie snack cakes, I guess I'm golden.

Have a festive Easter weekend, everybody! Hope you find the prize egg!

True Life: I’m Turning into My Mother

Sadly, I think this is unavoidable. (Sorry, mom! You’re not that bad.)

Here’s the tale:

So things have been pretty tragic in my life lately (not hyperbole). It has been brutal, but my adorable boyfriend is doing his best to keep me in good spirits. Specifically, he has been extra nice, but he also keeps offering to buy me “prizes,” aka gifts, to make me feel better. I haven’t really been in the mood for gifts, but last Tuesday, it struck me; I knew what I wanted my prize to be—Tina Fey’s new memoir, Bossypants.

For the record, I have a huge lady crush on Tina Fey and will always accept Fey-related paraphernalia as gifts.

Anyway, as soon as I realize this is what I want, I email JP my request and include very specific hyperlinks to where the book can be purchased…not like the time I sent him the link to the Amazon home page and he mistakenly thought I was requesting all the random baloney found there, but that’s another tale for another time.

So I go home very excited about the prospect of my new book and am wondering if he will take me to Barnes and Noble that very night to pick up a copy. When I get to my house, however, what should I see on the front hall table but a book-sized package from Amazon?!

“What’s this?” I ask him.

“I don’t know. It has your name on it,” he says. So coy.

I rip into the package only to find the thing I had requested that very morning—a shiny new copy of Bossypants!

“Oh my gosh, JP! You are magic!”

“What is it?”

“How did you know?! Did you secretly order it like a week ago?”

“Is that that book you wanted?”

Now, as JP’s picture is placed squarely next to guileless in the dictionary, at this point, I realize that the book really isn’t from him. But where could it have come from, I wonder. The receipt only has my name and shipping address on it. A QUANDRY! Could someone have sent it as a gift without their name showing up in the packing material?

After about five minutes of pondering this CONUNDRUM, a vague memory from a few months ago returns to me. I had just heard about the book—set to be released in April—and I immediately went to Amazon.com to check it out. At the time, the pre-order price was down to around $13, and I suddently remembered thinking; I will definitely want to read this book—especially for $13! Preordered!

I think the worst part is how I really thought JP had blown my mind on this one, but alas, I’m just losing my marbles and becoming my mother. Sigh. At least I have a great new book to entertain me!

“It’s so hard to believe it’s 2011 already. I’m still writing ‘Tina Fey, Grade 4, Room 207,’ on all my checks!”

UPDATE: I'm not insane! After reading my post, my friend emailed me to let me know that this book was Part II of a care package they had sent and let me know to be on the look out for. But, in classic sitcom style, the book arrived the day before the main package, thus the confusion. It's a good thing John Paul didn't slyly accept credit for the gift as several have suggested. True Life: I have the best friends!!!

Music + Teens = TEARS

I found the results of this study, published earlier this week, really interesting. It seems that researchers have found a link between listening to music and depression in teens. Out of the 106 participants surveyed over five weeks, “those who listened to the most music were 8.3 times more likely to be depressed than those who listened to the least amount of music.”

I don’t think that music makes teens depressed. The authors of the study say as much. They suggest that music might be serving as a coping mechanism for teens already suffering from depression. Just from anecdotal experience, however, I’d say that the music I choose to listen to enhances whatever mood I’m already experiencing. For example, if I’m in an upbeat, peppy mood I select songs with a fun dance beat. Teens with depression, on the other hand, might choose to experience their feelings through the sounds of Radiohead, Bright Eyes, or Elliott Smith.

Bright Eyes, “No Lies, Just Love”

I’m no psychologist/psychiatrist, but it seems to me that the self-perpetuating cycle of feeling sad then reinforcing those feelings by listening to depressing music is both a symptom and a cause of depression. It’s a symptom in that dark, recurring, almost cyclical thoughts are a indicator of major depression; it’s a cause in that listening to Dashboard Confessional on repeat certainly isn’t going to make you feel any better.

Scientists don’t know everything there is to know about this illness, but continued research in this area will only help us learn more. Until then, keep taking your meds and stay positive by listening to more songs like this:

When Photos Find You

One thing that I love in a weird way is when photos find you. A photo that finds you is a picture of a person or persons that was clearly meant to be kept yet somehow manages to find its way into your possession. For example, I recently checked out a book from the library, and I was about halfway through, reading at my desk during my lunch break when a photo strip fell out. “How unusual,” I thought. But as I leaned over to pick up the strip where it had fallen, six more fell out.

First of all, don’t those things cost like $5 per strip now? Who was making so many of these? And why? It’s not like they were all of the same person, either. Ultimately, there ended up being something like five different faces in a variety of pairings and poses.

Above: Actual photos from library book.

I think I like finding these things because it sparks my imagination when I least expect it. It makes me think: “Who is that girl? Who are those ladies? How are they related? What else did they do that day? How did all these photos end up in this library book? Questions need to be destroyed by answers!”

It also reminds me of the movie Amelie (which, if you haven’t seen it, add it to your queue INSTANTLY) when the protagonist, Amelie, finds a scrapbook filled with photo strips—all of different people—which for her presents a fascinating mystery. I don’t find myself as caught up, but it’s still interesting to think about…

A photo may have found its way to you before that made you think, “Oh, that’s weird/interesting/random” like it did me. Or photos may forever be finding ways into your life, but you don’t give a crap, so you don’t even remember, and even now as you’re reading this, you’re thinking: “I have no idea what this wacky girl is even talking about. AS USUAL.”

So what say you, interesting or no? A source of questions or random trash?



Hibernating

This is kind of a weird one, so bear with me. I am a big hibernator. From about January 2 until the first warm day in Atlanta (anywhere from the middle of February to the end of March), I do what I have to do (work, errands, etc.) but choose to spend any and all remaining time hibernating in my house, specifically my bed, if at all possible. It seems like, however, that everyone I didn’t get to see during the holidays (because I was busy with family and random obligations) wants to see me now, usually to get dinner or partake in some other “fun” activity AT NIGHT! Don’t they know that I would prefer not to move for the next 6-8 weeks?! How can they ask me to leave the house when the temperature is below 50˚F and I can’t even pretend like the sun is doing its job.

As I continue my winter hibernation, I’m slowly whittling down my Netflix queue and reading through a never-ending stack of books I keep on my nightstand. If you want to join me in my journey to becoming a vegetable, a few choice titles are listed below:

Books (pronounced büks by my inner voice):

·         The Imperfectionists

·         Northanger Abbey

·         The Historian—Read it, the movie rights for this one have already been optioned.

·         Sleepwalk with Me: And Other Painfully True Stories

Movies (I’m going through a British period piece phase [BPPP?], so sorry):

·         Cranford

·         Lilies

·         Berkeley Square

·         The Town (“One of these things is not like the other/One of these things is not the same…”)

Or, to give me suggestions on books/movies to make my hibernation better, email me or comment below.