priorities, because I want to eat whatever I want to eat today

You can only truly be best friends with someone when they share your biggest priorities in life. Like not talking the whole time on long car rides and prioritizing food above convenience, or anything else. Yeah, mostly the food thing.

Kass and I had a labor-day-weekend trip to the Delaware beach this weekend. Together, we are not very savvy travelers. At least we discovered, repeatedly, that we don’t understand the concept of stopping for food “on the way” to anywhere.

“Ok, we’ve got snacks and coffee, so we just need to stop and get sandwiches or something on the way there.”

Kass was more enthusiastic about this idea than would seem appropriate to any person other than me. “Oh my god, yes! Oh can we please stop and get hoagies at Wawa? I’m dying for one of those.”

As we got closer and closer to the end of our two-hour drive, I was starting to worry that we might somehow have chosen the only possible route from my house to Delaware that did not take us past one single Wawa. I was not going to be able to handle my life if we got to the beach and had no lunch to eat. I pointed this out to Kass with the additional notation that we had passed about 58 similar Wawa-equivalent sandwich stores.

“Oh no, we can’t go to Royal Farms.” I was told as we zoomed past one such stop, “Wawa is way better. Actually, I’ve never been to a Royal Farms, but Wawa must be better. That doesn’t make sense, but I don’t know, brand loyalty or something.”

Finally, we had to resort to googling store locations near our destination and programming a detour into the gps. So we could get exactly the right kind of sandwich that we had been looking forward to for half the morning. Which was probably exactly the same kind of sandwich we could have gotten anywhere else.

But you can’t know that for sure.

Don’t start shaking your head and rolling your eyes at us yet though, at least wait until I tell you that we had to do pretty much the same thing all over again on the way home. It was a quest for Chipotle this time: an adventure that involved 20 minutes on Google, driving a half hour out of the way, getting stuck behind the slowest 18-wheeler in history, a spontaneous and useless detour in attempt to not be stuck any longer behind said 18-wheeler, and a fair amount of road rage on my part (I wasn’t even driving).

“God, what the fuck?? He’s just making a right turn! He can keep moving. There’s no need to stop and THEN turn right. What the heck is is problem?!”

“Don’t get hangry on me dear.”

“I’m not hangry! I’m just hungry. And angry. Cause this dude can’t drive! But I’m not hangry.”


it’s not okay to splash me right now

Sometimes, I wonder if I’m missing the portion of my brain that is supposed to differentiate between fun activity and stupid idea. But then I think back and realize that it has simply been shrunk to an inconsequential size by me repeatedly disregarding any warnings I DO get.

Brain: “You shouldn’t eat fourth helpings. You’re already full, and it’ll probably make you sick.”

Some other part of my brain: “Shut it brain. This is delicious and everyone knows that delicious things can’t possibly make you sick. I’m going to eat some more.”

 So that’s pretty much what I did when my friends and I decided to go tubing on Sunday. It was just about the coldest day that the month of August is capable of producing, and by the time we had gotten ourselves down to the river with tubes in tow the sun had vanished behind some rainy looking clouds that were starting to sprinkle on us.

I had suspicions that this wasn’t going to go well. In fact, my suspicions were so strong that, at one point, I may have even said the words, “I’m not going to go. Once we leave, we’re stuck on the river for three hours. I will get hypothermia.”


We managed to delude ourselves for about 20 minutes.

It took another 20 before my teeth started chattering. Certain people less endowed with surplus body fat than I am also started turning purple around now.

At one point, my friend Maddie got so fed up with the way her tube kept slowly deflating into the icy water that I convinced her to get in my tube with me. “Get in with me. Please. I want to cuddle with you. Please!” I didn’t sound desperate at all. Unfortunately, we were both pretty chilly at this point and didn’t have enough body heat to really warm the other person up much. Eventually, Maddie decided this was just too uncomfortable and that she would ride the floating cooler full of snacks and drinks instead.

“Guys, you’d better not let go of the rope or I’ll be alone on a cooler!” 

Never again in my life do I expect to hear the phrase “alone on a cooler” in any context that makes the least bit of sense.

Of course, we all eventually survived and got to the end. Or at least I was so distractedly miserable thinking about how cold I was, that I was not likely to notice or go back for anybody who may not have survived. I spent the last 40 minutes or so telling off anybody who was paddling a little too vigorously in my general vicinity: “Um, you are splashing me right now, and it’s not ok.”

Now that it’s over and I’ve had a couple of days to forget the more vivid details, it actually seems like a grand adventure, and I’m quite keen to go again. Although there’s an almost inaudible voice in my head muttering something that sounds vaguely like, “bad idea.”

I told the voice to shut it.

the new job, and I nearly manage to act normal for an entire week

I don’t have strep throat! Hallelujah. I thought I did. Kate did. And I have some sort of upper respiratory fun that has produced, among other things, a horrible sore throat. But, as the nurse at the clinic informed me when I showed up and demanded that I also be tested for strep, “You’d be really sick, like can’t-go-to-work sick.” I insisted that this might not be true because Kate had still been going to work and because I would be going to work no matter how sick I was; I couldn’t very well call out of my brand new job on only the second week. What kind of impression would that make? They may have hired a fully qualified invalid, but they certainly didn’t need to KNOW that. Not yet.

Well, as it turns out, Kate and I have both managed to become quite ill independently from one another.

Anyhoo, moving on. I promised you all stories about the new job, but so far, it’s been void of much action. This is partly because I haven’t been able to work on the actual team I was hired for until they process my background, security info, and lots of fun stuff like that. Oh the joys of government work. So I’ve just been working on odds-and-ends editing tasks and palling around with a terribly nice admin lady (who seems to be temporarily in charge of me) and some other random new guy who is also in the process of being processed.

Last Friday, however, my admin friend was not in the office and, of course, it was the day that my badge wouldn’t work. One must use such a badge to get through pretty much every door in the building, but since I was new and didn’t have one yet, I had been issued a temporary badge. On Friday, the temporary badges weren’t working. None of them. And not only was my nice admin friend out of the office, but everybody else from our section seemed to be too. I mean, who wants to work on a Friday? Besides the new kids that is.

I basically could not get through any doors by myself and could not even lurk around said doors waiting to pounce on the coattails of other employees, because there WERE NO OTHER EMPLOYEES. Well, hardly any.

So every time I had to leave and pee, and if you know much about me you know this is about every 20 minutes, I had to take the elevator down seven stories and bother the security guard at the front desk. He, in turn, had to get some other person to come and man his post while he came all the way back upstairs with me to let me back into my section of the office.

Needless to say, I made a valiant effort to make it at least an hour between trips to the bathroom. This was accomplished through numerous texts to Kass (I need a new nickname for her since she’s no longer Roomei; Bestie, maybe? I’ll think on that.) complaining about my awkward circumstances and tiny bladder. I should have picked a more sympathetic audience. After the third or fourth such complaint, I received a response that read simply, “Drip…drip…drip…waterfalls. Ocean. Lake. Rain…”

Finally, hours later, my friend, the other new kid, arrived in the office (he is not a morning person, apparently). I thought he might be able to help me out, since he sat quite close to the door. I didn’t want to explain about having to pee, since I really didn’t know him all THAT well, so I explained about the badge problem, said I was going down the hall to the kitchen (clever substitution on my part – much less awkward to mention than the bathroom), and asked if he would mind letting me back in when I knocked on the door.

Friends, catastrophe of epic proportions: HE OFFERED TO GO WITH ME. “Oh, I was just thinking I needed some coffee, I’ll walk over with you.” He really is very nice, but seriously?

I couldn’t sneak off to the bathroom with him in tow. And I couldn’t just leave again in a couple of minutes, because he would wonder why I hadn’t just said I needed to visit the bathroom the first time around. And I couldn’t sneak back out and get the security guard to let me in again, because my friend sat right by the door and would notice exactly what was going on.

I don’t know why I was so oddly incapable of just admitting that I had to pee, which, in other company, is something I will yell across a crowded room.

Somehow, I survived another EXTREMELY UNPLEASANT hour or so. This time, I did not announce where I was going at all, but just left with the hope that he would remember my original request about letting me back in when I knocked. Either way, it was a much more awkward and uncomfortable work day than I had been planning to have or, possibly, had ever experienced.

So, moral of the story: White lies are entirely harmless 99.8 percent of the time. But that other 0.02 percent will bite you in the bum (or cause intense discomfort to certain other body parts) with a vengeance.

Sunday thoughts


  1. So I start the new job tomorrow. Nothing bad ever happens on your first day of work, because nothing is really expected of you on your first day of work. Right? I keep thinking about all the first days in my life: first day at various jobs, first day of college, first day of crossfit. I keep thinking about them and how awkward I managed to be on every occasion. But they all turned out to be quite good in the end.
  1. Who invented 5-hour energy? It tastes like cough syrup. Is it made of pure caffeine? Never again. Bleargh.
  1. I was standing in the living room just now trying to think what to do next and decided, out of the blue, to do 50 push-ups right then and there. Am I a compulsive exerciser? If so, is this a problem? I need some therapy.
  1. Had to take a cold shower because it’s about 84 degrees in here and I am too lazy to go around closing all the windows to turn on the AC. Yes, I just did 50 pushups for no reason but am unwilling to spend 5 minutes walking around the house closing windows.
  1. A friend told me that I looked like a body builder because I got so tan while I was at the beach last week. I was delighted with this complement at first, but upon further thought . . . have you seen those lady body builders??? They are terrifying.
  1. I ran six miles this morning and it felt like a long run. How times change. I remember when I used to use a six mile loop for my long runs. The first loop was like a warmup.
  1. I love cheerios and I want to eat some RIGHT NOW. But I ate such crap while I was at the beach, so I’m trying to resist. Ugh, willpower. It’s a little lacking. I’d say there’s a 60/40 chance cheerios will happen before the end of the night. Did I write that right? 60 percent chance that I WILL eat the cheerios that is.

Wish me luck tomorrow! I will have many embarrassing stories of my bumbling incompetence to share this week.




ode to Roomie

“Wow, I think Jesus put together your housing assignment.”  

Some comedian said this when Roomie and I went to see her show during our freshman year of college and admitted (in response to some sort of audience participation question, I’m sure) that we were randomly assigned freshmen roommates and also best friends.

So tomorrow, I am helping my best friend in the whole world move away from me again. I briefly considered the fact that I should not facilitate this process. But then she would just have replaced me and still left. So I’m helping Roomie move to DC tomorrow, and then we both start new jobs on Monday. Because she is actually my secret evil twin, and our lives seem to run oddly in parallel like this.

She has to be the evil twin because she swears a lot and hates people 90 of the time.

I also hate people about 80 percent of the time too, but I try to keep it a secret. Except when I’m around Roomie; then I’m allowed to be as antisocial as I want. One Saturday morning recently, we were both in the kitchen with each other for a good 15 minutes and didn’t say anything more than “good morning” to each other. Eventually Roomie asked whether I minded her turning on the TV while she did chores.

“No, that’s fine.  I thought we were being awfully quiet this morning, but I didn’t really have anything to say to you.”

“Good. I didn’t have anything to say to you either.”

End of interaction for the morning.

Roomie leaving is not really the end of the world, since she’s only moving an hour away. It’s much less traumatizing than when she moved out on me to transfer schools after freshman year, because I can still see her pretty much whenever I want. But who am I going to watch reruns of Property Brothers with on Friday nights? Who will feed me nachos during football season? I need somebody to remind me to text my Mom on her birthday and tell me what I meant to get at the grocery store when I’m too incompetent to write it down.

I also won’t be able to mask my continual lack of a boyfriend by bringing Roomie as my plus one at all of L’s grilling parties and other social functions. Probably that wasn’t a good cover. Probably it just made many of my friends suspected that I was a secret lesbian. Oh well, let them wonder.

Do I have to stop calling her Roomie in these blog posts? I never really stopped referring to her that way since the day we met, but it might be confusing to new blog readers.

last day

Yesterday was my last day at work. Weird. I guess I might miss my crew of barely disguised hooligans. When I told my dad I was switching jobs, he responded with, “But you’ll never have as good of stories at another office.”

As excited as I am about the new job, I keep wondering what I’ll do without work Mom and Dad. Without Joshie, Snuggles, JohnnyG, and Other Joshie. A while back my best work buddy and I decided that we should be called Team A when we work on proposals together, for Team Awesome, obviously – and also because both of our names start A. This is what we do. Make up dump shit that only seems logical to people who spend that much time together.

There may be people I will miss less (like Cupcake, for instance), but what will do when there aren’t code names I can use to complain about the people who annoy me? What will I do if there ARE code names but I don’t know them because I’m not one of the cool kids anymore?

My pals seemed kind of down about me leaving yesterday. But we’re not the type of friends who tell each other stuff like, “I’ll miss you”; we’re the type of friends who make fun of each other for wearing too many stripes, eating fish, walking loudly, or pretty much just existing. So instead of saying something nice, the boys told me, “Didn’t you know, you’re required to buy everyone snacks on your last day?”

Of course, at our office, you’re required to supply snacks if you’ve been there less than 90 days, or if it’s your one-year anniversary, or your birthday, or if you mention food around someone who’s hungry, or if you get there late in the morning. And snacks never actually get bought. But this time I decided we would take a field trip to the grocery store for ice cream sandwiches.

After lunch, I was feeling a little sad (and bored), so for a pick me up, I rearranged JohnnyG’s things in a nice zigzag pattern on the floor next to his desk. I thought it was pretty surprising that he actually left me alone at his desk even though he’d seen me walking over there, but I realized a little too late that it was because he had raced over to my desk to dump out the entire contents of my purse.

What will I do if everyone at the new office is NORMAL and doesn’t want to behave like a child with me?

all the cool kids do front squats, eat hot dogs, and sing Disney songs on their birthdays

My birthday is the best birthday ever. No, seriously. Not just because it’s MY birthday either. July 3rd is a consistently fabulous day every year. First off, it’s in the summer, so no matter how bad the weather is (and it’s usually pretty good) I am so much better off than those poor souls born in, say, February. There is nothing redeeming about any day in February, as far as I’m concerned. Secondly, when your birthday is on July 3rd, you always have the day after your birthday off from work or school, BUT the Fourth of July is not one of those annoying and overshadowing holidays that make everyone else forget that it’s your birthday and should, therefore, be all about YOU. This is more like just having the coolest birthday buddy ever. The third reason it’s the best: there are usually fireworks on your birthday, and even if you don’t manage to go see some until the day after, you will remain thoroughly convinced throughout your entire life that the fireworks are being set off purely to celebrate your special day. This Independence Day rigmarole is entirely coincidental.

SO, my birthday was pretty fantastic, despite the fact that I had a cold/horrible allergies that day. These are some things that I did on my birthday (in no particular order):

1. Ate red, white, and blue cupcakes at work. Accidentally turned my mouth blue. Contrary to what the color scheme may lead you to believe, the cupcakes were brought in by a friend for MY birthday and had nothing to do with America.

2. Ate hotdogs wrapped in bacon. L had a little party for me over at her house (our house is not really big enough for parties), and made her husband grill a delicious variety of foods for us.

3. Ate red-velvet cake topped with oreos that Kate baked especially for me. Discovered that Kate is MUCH better at cake decorating than L and I were when we baked Kate’s birthday cake.

4. Did things other than eat food, I promise.

5. Got the unintentional birthday present of a crossfit WOD that I absolutely adored. Killed it, and had the fleeting glory of having the highest score on the board out of the entire day’s worth of scores. For fifteen minutes. Until L did it and squeaked out two more reps than I did. I was cheering for her our loud, but in my head I was shrieking, Nooooooo!

6. Sang karaoke with crossfit friends and L’s parents. The only songs I know the words well enough to do this with originate from either Disney or Broadway. Let it go, let it go, I am one with the wind and sky …

7. Got into a bit of a karaoke war with L’s husband who was not a fan of Disney OR Broadway (for some reason) and wanted to sing to rap songs that I had never heard of and was completely uninterested in.

8. Did part of a Shakespearian monologue for everyone. Not entirely sure why.

9. Wore a headband that made me look like I had multi-colored antennae for the entire evening. Got a horrible headache as a result, but it was totally worth it.

10. Could not leave the party and go to bed at 10 like I usually would have, because it was MY birthday party.

11. Ate second helpings of cake and hotdogs. Perked back up after that and did not go to bed until after midnight, which was technically not my birthday anymore anyway, and was also impressively late for me to be staying up at all. Because I behave like an old woman.