Tuesday, December 31, 2002
Hey, did you know that my sister is going to Hawaii? And that she has a boyfriend who's a federal agent? And that she and her federal-agent boyfriend are going to Hawaii together?
Had you spent at least 5 minutes in the presence of my sister during the holiday season, you would know all of these things, as this is the approximate frequency with which she announced any and all of them. One night at dinner, the entire family was even treated to a play-by-play of her flight itinerary. ("And on January 3, we leave Lexington at 5:02 p.m. and arrive in Houston at 9:07 p.m., where we have an overnight layover at the Holiday Inn Intercontinental Hotel...")
The annoyance factor was exacerbated by my mother's frequent reminders that my sister helped pay for this trip by working two jobs this semester. Apparently, she has completely forgotten about the semester that I worked two jobs so that I could reward myself by barely making my rent payments so my parents could take my university-allotted living expense money and begin paying back my student loans. Of course, I did not even try this argument because I knew it would be met with, "Margaret doesn't have to have loans because she goes to an in-state school," and would probably devolve from there to include some sentiment about how my expensive college education was totally worthless because I am currently only employed by Pottery Barn. So I chose to keep my mouth shut and work on the angst-filled blog entry I would write on my return.
However, when the temptation became too much for me and I allowed myself an eye roll, my dad would remind me that I got to spend a semester in London. If he really thinks that living in London for three and a half months and getting to visit 10 European countries is equivalent to lying on the beach in Hawaii with your boyfriend for one week in January, I must say that my sister really got cheated. Hah! What a sucker!
Last night, I had the only dream I've ever had about working at the GAP that did not cause me to wake up in a cold sweat. This was because this dream involved Ryan Adams playing an acoustic concert specifically for the employees. He singled me out of the crowd to demonstrate something from a story he was telling, which involved him sticking his finger in my ear and yelling at me repeatedly. It was quite unpleasant, as you might imagine, but it was OK in the end because I got to make out with him after the concert.
Tonight's New Year's Eve plans include a very nice bottle of French red wine that I really don't want to move to another apartment, leftover Christmas chocolate, and taking full advantage of digital cable (including a Sex and the City marathon) and Internet before I have to give them up in 5 days. Call me pathetic if you want, but keep in mind that in 5 days I will have no Internet and no digital cable and will be really pathetic.
Had you spent at least 5 minutes in the presence of my sister during the holiday season, you would know all of these things, as this is the approximate frequency with which she announced any and all of them. One night at dinner, the entire family was even treated to a play-by-play of her flight itinerary. ("And on January 3, we leave Lexington at 5:02 p.m. and arrive in Houston at 9:07 p.m., where we have an overnight layover at the Holiday Inn Intercontinental Hotel...")
The annoyance factor was exacerbated by my mother's frequent reminders that my sister helped pay for this trip by working two jobs this semester. Apparently, she has completely forgotten about the semester that I worked two jobs so that I could reward myself by barely making my rent payments so my parents could take my university-allotted living expense money and begin paying back my student loans. Of course, I did not even try this argument because I knew it would be met with, "Margaret doesn't have to have loans because she goes to an in-state school," and would probably devolve from there to include some sentiment about how my expensive college education was totally worthless because I am currently only employed by Pottery Barn. So I chose to keep my mouth shut and work on the angst-filled blog entry I would write on my return.
However, when the temptation became too much for me and I allowed myself an eye roll, my dad would remind me that I got to spend a semester in London. If he really thinks that living in London for three and a half months and getting to visit 10 European countries is equivalent to lying on the beach in Hawaii with your boyfriend for one week in January, I must say that my sister really got cheated. Hah! What a sucker!
Last night, I had the only dream I've ever had about working at the GAP that did not cause me to wake up in a cold sweat. This was because this dream involved Ryan Adams playing an acoustic concert specifically for the employees. He singled me out of the crowd to demonstrate something from a story he was telling, which involved him sticking his finger in my ear and yelling at me repeatedly. It was quite unpleasant, as you might imagine, but it was OK in the end because I got to make out with him after the concert.
Tonight's New Year's Eve plans include a very nice bottle of French red wine that I really don't want to move to another apartment, leftover Christmas chocolate, and taking full advantage of digital cable (including a Sex and the City marathon) and Internet before I have to give them up in 5 days. Call me pathetic if you want, but keep in mind that in 5 days I will have no Internet and no digital cable and will be really pathetic.
Sunday, December 22, 2002
A VERY SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT (in case anyone is still reading this over the holidays)
And no, this is not about Felicity. This is about one of my actual friends, Kristen Hendricks, who just got engaged to Jason Miller, aka the best guy in the whole wide world. (He earned this distinction by telling Kristen to buy me a purse for Christmas that I had seen when he and I went thrift shopping this summer. Is that sweet or what?)
I wish I could relate all the happy details, but unfortunately, Kristen called to tell me about it shortly after it happened, which was about 1:00 in the morning, and I was already asleep. I do think I heard the word "solitaire." Anyway, what I do know is that he popped the question at the Berg (naturally, I perked up at any mention of the Berg). Considering that they also first exchanged "I love you"'s at the Berg, I really think it's only appropriate for them to get married there. As long as the bridesmaids don't have to knock back another Black & Gold shot first.
And no, this is not about Felicity. This is about one of my actual friends, Kristen Hendricks, who just got engaged to Jason Miller, aka the best guy in the whole wide world. (He earned this distinction by telling Kristen to buy me a purse for Christmas that I had seen when he and I went thrift shopping this summer. Is that sweet or what?)
I wish I could relate all the happy details, but unfortunately, Kristen called to tell me about it shortly after it happened, which was about 1:00 in the morning, and I was already asleep. I do think I heard the word "solitaire." Anyway, what I do know is that he popped the question at the Berg (naturally, I perked up at any mention of the Berg). Considering that they also first exchanged "I love you"'s at the Berg, I really think it's only appropriate for them to get married there. As long as the bridesmaids don't have to knock back another Black & Gold shot first.
Saturday, December 21, 2002
I'm about to get all Stacey McGill here
So I figured there's no better way to get through the current quarter-life crisis than to make An Official Stacey McGill Pros and Cons List. The question: To stay in Birmingham or not?
Pros of staying in Birmingham:
-My wonderful friends
-I could get a small but cute apartment downtown
-More job opportunities
-The great library
-All of my radio buttons in my car are already set
-Might suffer nervous breakdown if forced to move home
-My parents have offered support for this plan
-Could probably get a subleaser if I get a job somewhere else
Cons of staying in Birmingham:
-Might be limiting my job search by locking myself into a lease
-Would have to work all the time just to make ends meet
-I could save more money by going home
-Might be hard to find a temporary job in January
-Would have to deal with expense of moving into a new apartment
-Almost all the apartments I could actually afford are complete crap
-Friends all have jobs and might want to go out more than I can afford/have time to
As usual, this pros and cons list has established absolutely nothing. As I write out the pros, I think, "I have to stay here!" As I write out the cons, I think, "Hmm...maybe I shouldn't stay here." I guess the point of this excercise is to weigh the pros and cons against one another. Yeah, I'll get back to you once I do that.
So I figured there's no better way to get through the current quarter-life crisis than to make An Official Stacey McGill Pros and Cons List. The question: To stay in Birmingham or not?
Pros of staying in Birmingham:
-My wonderful friends
-I could get a small but cute apartment downtown
-More job opportunities
-The great library
-All of my radio buttons in my car are already set
-Might suffer nervous breakdown if forced to move home
-My parents have offered support for this plan
-Could probably get a subleaser if I get a job somewhere else
Cons of staying in Birmingham:
-Might be limiting my job search by locking myself into a lease
-Would have to work all the time just to make ends meet
-I could save more money by going home
-Might be hard to find a temporary job in January
-Would have to deal with expense of moving into a new apartment
-Almost all the apartments I could actually afford are complete crap
-Friends all have jobs and might want to go out more than I can afford/have time to
As usual, this pros and cons list has established absolutely nothing. As I write out the pros, I think, "I have to stay here!" As I write out the cons, I think, "Hmm...maybe I shouldn't stay here." I guess the point of this excercise is to weigh the pros and cons against one another. Yeah, I'll get back to you once I do that.
Friday, December 20, 2002
Let's blow this pop stand
My friend Cassidi used to say that all the time. Nobody, not even her, knew why.
Anyway, today was my last day at work, and I must say that it was pretty good as far as last days go. They had a surprise party for me around lunch with chips and dip and cookies. This afternoon, Lydia brought in a bottle of Jack Daniel's, a carton of eggnog, and some fresh nutmeg for a little holiday festivity. She also had her kids there for some reason. I love Lydia. She is the only person I know who would stand in her office mixing drinks and grating nutmeg in a very Martha Stewart fashion while her kids are playing video games in the background.
Also, I had another encounter with the infamous pound-cake-offering night watchman. I decided to actually take the elevator and go out the front entrance, which I haven't done in about a month, because I wanted to check my mailbox one last time. So anyway, on my way out, I said good-night to him, and he was all, "I haven't seen you in a long time. Where have you been?" Of course I couldn't think of I good lie, so I said, "Oh...um...I've been going out the other way...for excercise!" God, I am so lame. Why couldn't I have just said I was on vacation?
My fairly good last day was definitely over when it took me an hour to make the 5 mile drive home because there was bumper to bumper traffic all the way. Eric and I are going out to dinner since it's his last night in Birmingham, but we're waiting a while for the rush-hour traffic to subside. Actually, we should go pretty soon because Eric has the windows open because he's running around packing, and I am absolutely freezing.
Here's something to ponder: Why do triangle-shaped Triscuits taste better than the square ones? Why do big Cheez-Its taste better than regular-sized Cheez-Its? There are some things we may never know.
My friend Cassidi used to say that all the time. Nobody, not even her, knew why.
Anyway, today was my last day at work, and I must say that it was pretty good as far as last days go. They had a surprise party for me around lunch with chips and dip and cookies. This afternoon, Lydia brought in a bottle of Jack Daniel's, a carton of eggnog, and some fresh nutmeg for a little holiday festivity. She also had her kids there for some reason. I love Lydia. She is the only person I know who would stand in her office mixing drinks and grating nutmeg in a very Martha Stewart fashion while her kids are playing video games in the background.
Also, I had another encounter with the infamous pound-cake-offering night watchman. I decided to actually take the elevator and go out the front entrance, which I haven't done in about a month, because I wanted to check my mailbox one last time. So anyway, on my way out, I said good-night to him, and he was all, "I haven't seen you in a long time. Where have you been?" Of course I couldn't think of I good lie, so I said, "Oh...um...I've been going out the other way...for excercise!" God, I am so lame. Why couldn't I have just said I was on vacation?
My fairly good last day was definitely over when it took me an hour to make the 5 mile drive home because there was bumper to bumper traffic all the way. Eric and I are going out to dinner since it's his last night in Birmingham, but we're waiting a while for the rush-hour traffic to subside. Actually, we should go pretty soon because Eric has the windows open because he's running around packing, and I am absolutely freezing.
Here's something to ponder: Why do triangle-shaped Triscuits taste better than the square ones? Why do big Cheez-Its taste better than regular-sized Cheez-Its? There are some things we may never know.
You know you've hit rock bottom when...
You're lying in bed at night, and the following thought process goes through your head: Man, I wish I was Doogie Howser. That kid had it made. A rewarding, well-paying career at the age of 16. But then again, he did still have to live with his parents. And the name "Doogie Howser" is pretty unfortunate. What television network idiot came up with that? And I guess Doogie never really had a childhood. I mean, remember that time he was on his first date with Wanda (seriously, who came up with these names?) and she got appendicitis and he had to operate on her and she was all embarassed because he'd seen her naked and oh my God, this must be what rock bottom feels like.
You're lying in bed at night, and the following thought process goes through your head: Man, I wish I was Doogie Howser. That kid had it made. A rewarding, well-paying career at the age of 16. But then again, he did still have to live with his parents. And the name "Doogie Howser" is pretty unfortunate. What television network idiot came up with that? And I guess Doogie never really had a childhood. I mean, remember that time he was on his first date with Wanda (seriously, who came up with these names?) and she got appendicitis and he had to operate on her and she was all embarassed because he'd seen her naked and oh my God, this must be what rock bottom feels like.
Thursday, December 19, 2002
"I feel kinda bad, can't you make the music easy and sad"
Tonight's soundtrack, very fitting with both my mood and the weather, is my unofficial Rainy Day Mix, featuring
David Gray, "Gutters Full of Rain"
Catie Curtis, "Troubled Mind"
Ani DiFranco, "Grey"
Ryan Adams, "Oh My Sweet Carolina"
Ella Fitzgerald, "Stormy Weather"
Tori Amos, "Famous Blue Raincoat"
Counting Crows, "Raining in Baltimore"
Jack Johnson, "F-Stop Blues"
Frank Sinatra, "One For My Baby"
Last night I had a dream that I was just hanging out in an airport with my parents and I found this flight to London for $100, so I hopped right on it and called my friend Jeff from my cell phone and told him to get his ass to the airport so he could go with me. Jeff is making me something for Christmas that involved him posing the following question to me last night: "Out of the 90s, what was your favorite year in music?" Immediately and inexplicably, I said, "1996," to which he responded, "I know you so well!" How did we both just know this right off the bat? I have no idea. I am buying Jeff this for Christmas. It's a long story. Don't ask.
My friend Mary Beth tells me that the spectacle I witnessed last night on public television is actually part of a regular series starring this family, and the episode I happened to see was their Christmas special. "Special" does not even begin to describe it.
Tonight's soundtrack, very fitting with both my mood and the weather, is my unofficial Rainy Day Mix, featuring
David Gray, "Gutters Full of Rain"
Catie Curtis, "Troubled Mind"
Ani DiFranco, "Grey"
Ryan Adams, "Oh My Sweet Carolina"
Ella Fitzgerald, "Stormy Weather"
Tori Amos, "Famous Blue Raincoat"
Counting Crows, "Raining in Baltimore"
Jack Johnson, "F-Stop Blues"
Frank Sinatra, "One For My Baby"
Last night I had a dream that I was just hanging out in an airport with my parents and I found this flight to London for $100, so I hopped right on it and called my friend Jeff from my cell phone and told him to get his ass to the airport so he could go with me. Jeff is making me something for Christmas that involved him posing the following question to me last night: "Out of the 90s, what was your favorite year in music?" Immediately and inexplicably, I said, "1996," to which he responded, "I know you so well!" How did we both just know this right off the bat? I have no idea. I am buying Jeff this for Christmas. It's a long story. Don't ask.
My friend Mary Beth tells me that the spectacle I witnessed last night on public television is actually part of a regular series starring this family, and the episode I happened to see was their Christmas special. "Special" does not even begin to describe it.
Wednesday, December 18, 2002
No, I really did just see this on public television
"This" would be a girl in a cocktail dress, holding a black and white rabbit in a tux, standing in the middle of a field with a red Corvette and bubbles blowing all around, singing "Stepping Out With My Bunny." I swear I am not on drugs.
"This" would be a girl in a cocktail dress, holding a black and white rabbit in a tux, standing in the middle of a field with a red Corvette and bubbles blowing all around, singing "Stepping Out With My Bunny." I swear I am not on drugs.
I am bothered by:
-The fact that I just put a colon after a preposition
-The fact that I am bothered by the fact that I just put a colon after a preposition
-Seeing a bus last night that said it was bound for "Wall-Mart"
-The "gilt" collection at Pottery Barn, which comes in the colors red, green, and silver, in addition to the more appropriate gold
-The fact that Paul refuses to be user-friendly by making vague references on his blog that can only be understood by linking to articles on The New York Times, which I cannot read because I'm not a subscriber
-The fact that I can get so worked up about things that really matter so little
-The fact that I just put a colon after a preposition
-The fact that I am bothered by the fact that I just put a colon after a preposition
-Seeing a bus last night that said it was bound for "Wall-Mart"
-The "gilt" collection at Pottery Barn, which comes in the colors red, green, and silver, in addition to the more appropriate gold
-The fact that Paul refuses to be user-friendly by making vague references on his blog that can only be understood by linking to articles on The New York Times, which I cannot read because I'm not a subscriber
-The fact that I can get so worked up about things that really matter so little
Tuesday, December 17, 2002
I just spent 5 minutes editing that post to fix a widow. Jen Moeller, why must you haunt me like this?
It's a wonderful (in that horrible, sucky kind of way) life
It's official. Absolutely no one wants to hire me. Is this a sign I should start my own magazine? If people don't want to hire me, will they really want to give me large amounts of money to start a magazine, a business venture which already doesn't have a high success rate, in a faltering economy? Will you give me money? Please?
In other news, I am apparently pretty good at arranging china on shelves. Perhaps I have a future there...
The bright spot on my horizon: I have friends who give me gifts that not only bring me back to my 5th-grade Harriet-the-Spy phase but also raise such questions as "Where exactly does one find a tiny plastic suitcase filled with milk chocolate Euros?" Kate, you are the coolest person I know.
I am going to dinner tonight at a restaurant that my friend Sarah says has "bohemian food, good wine, and gay waiters." Obviously, this is the other bright spot on the horizon.
I have realized recently that my blog is searchable by Google. This is a fact that both fascinates me and scares the hell out of me. For some reason, I thought because I had a private blog, Google couldn't find it. But of course, that Google is craftier than I!
It's official. Absolutely no one wants to hire me. Is this a sign I should start my own magazine? If people don't want to hire me, will they really want to give me large amounts of money to start a magazine, a business venture which already doesn't have a high success rate, in a faltering economy? Will you give me money? Please?
In other news, I am apparently pretty good at arranging china on shelves. Perhaps I have a future there...
The bright spot on my horizon: I have friends who give me gifts that not only bring me back to my 5th-grade Harriet-the-Spy phase but also raise such questions as "Where exactly does one find a tiny plastic suitcase filled with milk chocolate Euros?" Kate, you are the coolest person I know.
I am going to dinner tonight at a restaurant that my friend Sarah says has "bohemian food, good wine, and gay waiters." Obviously, this is the other bright spot on the horizon.
I have realized recently that my blog is searchable by Google. This is a fact that both fascinates me and scares the hell out of me. For some reason, I thought because I had a private blog, Google couldn't find it. But of course, that Google is craftier than I!
Saturday, December 14, 2002
The Apartment Nazi
I cannot believe Doug is renting an apartment from Dan Hagan, aka the Apartment Nazi, aka the guy who threatened to sue Vox last year if we ran a picture of two kids who were apparently trespassing at one of his "lakes." Of course, Kristen's apartment was owned by Hagan, but she moved in way before the whole Vox debacle. (We did have an inkling of how crazy this guy was when she found out that to live in Forest Village, you could not own a car that was more than 5 years old. Seriously.) Doug, good luck. All I can say is, you should have lived at Dumas, where they let you paint your walls a color that you thought was called "Yellow Fucker."
I can't believe the sun is about to set and I have just changed out of my pjs and into normal clothes. God, it feels like freshman year. In other news, I have decided that I want David Sedaris to be my gay husband. So if you know him, please pass the word along.
I cannot believe Doug is renting an apartment from Dan Hagan, aka the Apartment Nazi, aka the guy who threatened to sue Vox last year if we ran a picture of two kids who were apparently trespassing at one of his "lakes." Of course, Kristen's apartment was owned by Hagan, but she moved in way before the whole Vox debacle. (We did have an inkling of how crazy this guy was when she found out that to live in Forest Village, you could not own a car that was more than 5 years old. Seriously.) Doug, good luck. All I can say is, you should have lived at Dumas, where they let you paint your walls a color that you thought was called "Yellow Fucker."
I can't believe the sun is about to set and I have just changed out of my pjs and into normal clothes. God, it feels like freshman year. In other news, I have decided that I want David Sedaris to be my gay husband. So if you know him, please pass the word along.
Friday, December 13, 2002
Yes, Virginia, there is a Lenox Square Mall
But far be it for me to actually find it. OK, so I did finally find the mall, but only after an hour and a half of driving around Atlanta in the manner of last year's Easter egg. And for what? To go to Anthropologie, where, as usual, I wanted everything in the store but could afford none of it. Oh, and to have a Tuscan chicken sandwich at Panera.
Then I drove back to Birmingham, where I bought almost all of my Christmas presents in just a half hour. It helps that I already had them picked out and was just waiting for my next paycheck to actually purchase them. Now I am dyeing my hair while eating Sara Lee cheesecake bites. Wouldn't it be funny if Eric were here and I started singing "You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman" at the top of my lungs while dyeing my hair and he looked at me like I was crazy? Except that Eric is in Huntsville with his dad, and I...well OK, I do have a tendency to sing "You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman" at the top of my lungs. But that's beside the point. Plus, I am using Casting Color Spa, not Natural Instincts. Color Spa gives you these instructions on how to make your hair dyeing experience more spa-like, such as lighting candles and listening to relaxing music. I am listening to Jack Johnson and Norah Jones, which I hope will suffice. Ooh, time to rinse!
But far be it for me to actually find it. OK, so I did finally find the mall, but only after an hour and a half of driving around Atlanta in the manner of last year's Easter egg. And for what? To go to Anthropologie, where, as usual, I wanted everything in the store but could afford none of it. Oh, and to have a Tuscan chicken sandwich at Panera.
Then I drove back to Birmingham, where I bought almost all of my Christmas presents in just a half hour. It helps that I already had them picked out and was just waiting for my next paycheck to actually purchase them. Now I am dyeing my hair while eating Sara Lee cheesecake bites. Wouldn't it be funny if Eric were here and I started singing "You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman" at the top of my lungs while dyeing my hair and he looked at me like I was crazy? Except that Eric is in Huntsville with his dad, and I...well OK, I do have a tendency to sing "You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman" at the top of my lungs. But that's beside the point. Plus, I am using Casting Color Spa, not Natural Instincts. Color Spa gives you these instructions on how to make your hair dyeing experience more spa-like, such as lighting candles and listening to relaxing music. I am listening to Jack Johnson and Norah Jones, which I hope will suffice. Ooh, time to rinse!
Thursday, December 12, 2002
MORE IMPORTANT INFORMATION ABOUT FELICITY'S PHONE
Because at least one other person cares. It was back to red last night. Oh, that crazy color-changing phone! I wonder what color it will be tonight! But I must add that Tyra Banks (who seems to me a little old to be playing a college student considering that she played a college student on Fresh Prince about 10 years ago) had a blue one of those phones on last night's episode. So they appear to be product-placing the phones, only they're doing it very badly because Lyndsay and I are the only ones who noticed. I think I've exhausted this subject, and so I will try to move on to more interesting ones tomorrow.
Because at least one other person cares. It was back to red last night. Oh, that crazy color-changing phone! I wonder what color it will be tonight! But I must add that Tyra Banks (who seems to me a little old to be playing a college student considering that she played a college student on Fresh Prince about 10 years ago) had a blue one of those phones on last night's episode. So they appear to be product-placing the phones, only they're doing it very badly because Lyndsay and I are the only ones who noticed. I think I've exhausted this subject, and so I will try to move on to more interesting ones tomorrow.
Tuesday, December 10, 2002
So I was perusing Amazon.com for Christmas gifts, and you know how under the thing that you're looking at, they recommend other items? Anyway, tonight that section said "Customers who wear clothes shop for these items."
I couldn't help but wonder what their naked customers shop for.
I couldn't help but wonder what their naked customers shop for.
A VERY IMPORTANT UPDATE
Felicity's phone is now purple. So apparently it possesses color-changing powers that mine did not.
Felicity's phone is now purple. So apparently it possesses color-changing powers that mine did not.
Of Felicity and fabric
Today was a trying day at work...you can tell by the fact that I put absolutely no thought into that title but instead went with the old title-writing standby of alliteration. Anyway, I managed to escape work unharmed and with three very lovely fabric samples. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with them yet. The green-and-white toile one is big enough that there are lots of possibilities. I am considering a) skirt (although I wonder if I would end up looking like one of the Von Trapp children) or b) quilt (although I have neither the time nor the energy to make a quilt). I'll probably end up going with c) fabric sits in my drawer for years and years until I finally get fed up and either throw it out or make a scrunchie.
Last night as I was feeding my Felicity addiction, I noticed that she and her roommates have the exact same red translucent crappy Target phone in their apartment that Diana and I had in ours! Hmm...I wonder if Felicity's phone will also go totally psycho when she's right in the middle of a very important call. I bet not.
Oh, also, the sight of Michael Jackson now makes me actually physically ill. That wasn't in the subject; I just felt like sharing.
Today was a trying day at work...you can tell by the fact that I put absolutely no thought into that title but instead went with the old title-writing standby of alliteration. Anyway, I managed to escape work unharmed and with three very lovely fabric samples. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with them yet. The green-and-white toile one is big enough that there are lots of possibilities. I am considering a) skirt (although I wonder if I would end up looking like one of the Von Trapp children) or b) quilt (although I have neither the time nor the energy to make a quilt). I'll probably end up going with c) fabric sits in my drawer for years and years until I finally get fed up and either throw it out or make a scrunchie.
Last night as I was feeding my Felicity addiction, I noticed that she and her roommates have the exact same red translucent crappy Target phone in their apartment that Diana and I had in ours! Hmm...I wonder if Felicity's phone will also go totally psycho when she's right in the middle of a very important call. I bet not.
Oh, also, the sight of Michael Jackson now makes me actually physically ill. That wasn't in the subject; I just felt like sharing.
Monday, December 09, 2002
I don't want to work, part 2
Great. I was on call tonight at Pottery Barn, and they actually want me to come in. On a Monday night. How busy can we possibly be? So now I don't get to go out to eat at Chez Lulu with all of my friends, some of whom are leaving at the end of the week. Damn you, Pottery Barn!
Great. I was on call tonight at Pottery Barn, and they actually want me to come in. On a Monday night. How busy can we possibly be? So now I don't get to go out to eat at Chez Lulu with all of my friends, some of whom are leaving at the end of the week. Damn you, Pottery Barn!
I don't want to work...
Actually, I do want to work, and I need to work, but I just can't. I have become just this big ball of anxiety regarding my future plans, and I have been reduced to being able to do nothing more than sitting here and fidgeting madly. I should just go home.
When I told my parents that I had applied for a job at Boating World magazine, they actually said, "Would you get a discount on boats?" Funnily enough, when I started working at Southern Accents, they did not say, "Do you get a discount on accents?"
Actually, I do want to work, and I need to work, but I just can't. I have become just this big ball of anxiety regarding my future plans, and I have been reduced to being able to do nothing more than sitting here and fidgeting madly. I should just go home.
When I told my parents that I had applied for a job at Boating World magazine, they actually said, "Would you get a discount on boats?" Funnily enough, when I started working at Southern Accents, they did not say, "Do you get a discount on accents?"
Sunday, December 08, 2002
P. for President
So I just read in Rolling Stone that Sean "P. Diddy" Combs is considering a run for the White House in 2004, once again raising the age old question that Bri and I once debated in a Florida hotel room back when he was still known as Puff Daddy: What do you call the man to his face? P? Mr. Diddy? Or, God forbid, President Diddy?
Nomenclature aside, I must say that I heartily endorse P. Diddy's candidacy, especially if he somehow ends up going up against Al Gore. I can just picture the debate:
Gore: I invented the Internet.
Diddy: Yeah? Well, we invented the remix.
So I just read in Rolling Stone that Sean "P. Diddy" Combs is considering a run for the White House in 2004, once again raising the age old question that Bri and I once debated in a Florida hotel room back when he was still known as Puff Daddy: What do you call the man to his face? P? Mr. Diddy? Or, God forbid, President Diddy?
Nomenclature aside, I must say that I heartily endorse P. Diddy's candidacy, especially if he somehow ends up going up against Al Gore. I can just picture the debate:
Gore: I invented the Internet.
Diddy: Yeah? Well, we invented the remix.
Friday, December 06, 2002
Mmm...chocolat
I just finished making puppy chow to take to my friend Kristin's house for a holiday dinner/celebration. As I was stirring the melted chocolate, I felt very much like Juliette Binoche in Chocolat. Except I did not get to make out with Johnny Depp, obviously. This in turn reminded me of getting to see Chocolat for free at Forum 8 with Jen Groves and Dave as part of Jen's and my film class, and how our bitch-on-wheels film T.A. tried to say chocolat with her Brooklyn accent, and I thought she was saying "Sha-ka-la" and could not figure out what the hell movie she was giving us free passes to for several minutes.
Anyway, I would also like to state for the record that although I generally abhor butter with every fiber of my being, there is no better comfort food than warm chocolate melted with butter and peanut butter. Especially when you're standing over the stove and eating it right out of the pan.
I just finished making puppy chow to take to my friend Kristin's house for a holiday dinner/celebration. As I was stirring the melted chocolate, I felt very much like Juliette Binoche in Chocolat. Except I did not get to make out with Johnny Depp, obviously. This in turn reminded me of getting to see Chocolat for free at Forum 8 with Jen Groves and Dave as part of Jen's and my film class, and how our bitch-on-wheels film T.A. tried to say chocolat with her Brooklyn accent, and I thought she was saying "Sha-ka-la" and could not figure out what the hell movie she was giving us free passes to for several minutes.
Anyway, I would also like to state for the record that although I generally abhor butter with every fiber of my being, there is no better comfort food than warm chocolate melted with butter and peanut butter. Especially when you're standing over the stove and eating it right out of the pan.
Wednesday, December 04, 2002
Today only: Two days' worth of blogging for the price of one!
Last night while I was terminally bored at Pottery Barn, I came up with several clever, humorous segments for yesterday's blog entry. But then when I got home, I realized I was so completely exhausted that I didn't even have the strength to write an entry about how I was too exhausted to post anything. Since I don't have to work tonight and have a full 40 minutes before Felicity (my personal version of heroin) comes on, I will attempt to recreate this post in all its glory.
But first, let me just say that yes, I just flouted another Jen Moeller grammar rule, OK? And I am going to do it a lot more in the course of this blog, so disciples of The Divine Miss Jen/J. Mo, please do not e-mail me to point this out. (Chase, I'm talking to you.)
All right. On with last night's post. First of all, the CD player inexplicably got stuck on Tony Bennett's "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town," which it played over and over for two straight hours until I finally flagged down the manager and begged her to change it. I actually didn't notice it for a while, but once I did, I pretty much just wanted to scream, "OK, Tony, we get it! He's coming to town!" and also tear all of my hair out. Finally, some sort of delerium set in and I began to choreograph a dance to the song in my head. I contemplated performing it there in the front of the store, but because it involved lots of twirling, sliding, and jazz hands, I decided against it.
Last night I was assigned to be the greeter, which is a fairly easy job because you can get a good routine going. When someone comes in the store, I say, "Hi! How are you doing tonight?" and then follow whatever answer they give with "Good!", which is almost always appropriate. When someone leaves, I say, "Bye! Have a nice night!" The problem with the routine, of course, is that you become almost like a robot and are unable to function when someone says something other than what you're expecting. For example, if I said, "How are you doing?" and someone said, "I really feel like shit," I would obviously instinctively follow that with "Good!", or rather "Gooo-ahhh-ummm," because I would be likely to realize my mistake halfway through the word. Fortunately, this did not happen last night. I don't think.
The best thing about being the greeter, though, is getting to see everyone that comes in the store. Last night I fell in love with not one, but three guys who walked through the door. One of them was married, one appeared to be dating a lesbian, and the other came in five minutes before we closed but apparently was unaware of this fact, so I pretty much just wanted to kill him in spite of my love. Oh, and a really cute boy asked me where to get mosquito netting to hang over his bed.
I was actually not supposed to be the greeter. Georgie was supposed to be the greeter because, as she informed me several times, she always gets stuck being the greeter. At the risk of sounding catty, I cannot imagine why. Georgie has got to be the most '80s woman I have ever seen in my life. She has the frizzy, dried-out permed hair, the hot-pink lipstick, the way-too-dark tanning-bed tan, and the rhinestone-studded shirt that would look like '80s redux on anyone else but on her just looks like '80s the first time around. I'm not claiming to be a fashion goddess, but at least my look is current to the last 5 years or so.
Finally, I'd like to give a very special thanks to Lyndsay, who has never met me but wrote some very wonderful things about me on her blog. The admiration is mutual, as I can honestly say that her blog is one of the highlights of my day and often makes me laugh out loud. Lyndsay thinks I might look like Christina Ricci, which I don't, but I'll take that as a compliment. Except did you notice that after Christina Ricci got all anorexic, her head still stayed the same size so it was way out of proportion with the rest of her body? Anyway. I always imagined that Lyndsay would have a ponytail, probably because all of the other people I know by that name seem to wear their hair in ponytails. Except for our executive editor, Lindsay, who is a balding gay man with a fabulous sense of style. By looking at the pictures on Lyndsay's blog, I found out that she neither has a ponytail nor is a balding gay man with a fabulous sense of style. Except that she does have a fabulous sense of style because her wedding dress is gorgeous! But I really hope her first car was a piece of shit because I cannot even imagine how much she must have spent on that dress.
OK. I don't know why I felt the need to ramble on so much about Lyndsay when I do not even technically know her, but now it is time for Felicity, so I really must end this excessively long post.
Last night while I was terminally bored at Pottery Barn, I came up with several clever, humorous segments for yesterday's blog entry. But then when I got home, I realized I was so completely exhausted that I didn't even have the strength to write an entry about how I was too exhausted to post anything. Since I don't have to work tonight and have a full 40 minutes before Felicity (my personal version of heroin) comes on, I will attempt to recreate this post in all its glory.
But first, let me just say that yes, I just flouted another Jen Moeller grammar rule, OK? And I am going to do it a lot more in the course of this blog, so disciples of The Divine Miss Jen/J. Mo, please do not e-mail me to point this out. (Chase, I'm talking to you.)
All right. On with last night's post. First of all, the CD player inexplicably got stuck on Tony Bennett's "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town," which it played over and over for two straight hours until I finally flagged down the manager and begged her to change it. I actually didn't notice it for a while, but once I did, I pretty much just wanted to scream, "OK, Tony, we get it! He's coming to town!" and also tear all of my hair out. Finally, some sort of delerium set in and I began to choreograph a dance to the song in my head. I contemplated performing it there in the front of the store, but because it involved lots of twirling, sliding, and jazz hands, I decided against it.
Last night I was assigned to be the greeter, which is a fairly easy job because you can get a good routine going. When someone comes in the store, I say, "Hi! How are you doing tonight?" and then follow whatever answer they give with "Good!", which is almost always appropriate. When someone leaves, I say, "Bye! Have a nice night!" The problem with the routine, of course, is that you become almost like a robot and are unable to function when someone says something other than what you're expecting. For example, if I said, "How are you doing?" and someone said, "I really feel like shit," I would obviously instinctively follow that with "Good!", or rather "Gooo-ahhh-ummm," because I would be likely to realize my mistake halfway through the word. Fortunately, this did not happen last night. I don't think.
The best thing about being the greeter, though, is getting to see everyone that comes in the store. Last night I fell in love with not one, but three guys who walked through the door. One of them was married, one appeared to be dating a lesbian, and the other came in five minutes before we closed but apparently was unaware of this fact, so I pretty much just wanted to kill him in spite of my love. Oh, and a really cute boy asked me where to get mosquito netting to hang over his bed.
I was actually not supposed to be the greeter. Georgie was supposed to be the greeter because, as she informed me several times, she always gets stuck being the greeter. At the risk of sounding catty, I cannot imagine why. Georgie has got to be the most '80s woman I have ever seen in my life. She has the frizzy, dried-out permed hair, the hot-pink lipstick, the way-too-dark tanning-bed tan, and the rhinestone-studded shirt that would look like '80s redux on anyone else but on her just looks like '80s the first time around. I'm not claiming to be a fashion goddess, but at least my look is current to the last 5 years or so.
Finally, I'd like to give a very special thanks to Lyndsay, who has never met me but wrote some very wonderful things about me on her blog. The admiration is mutual, as I can honestly say that her blog is one of the highlights of my day and often makes me laugh out loud. Lyndsay thinks I might look like Christina Ricci, which I don't, but I'll take that as a compliment. Except did you notice that after Christina Ricci got all anorexic, her head still stayed the same size so it was way out of proportion with the rest of her body? Anyway. I always imagined that Lyndsay would have a ponytail, probably because all of the other people I know by that name seem to wear their hair in ponytails. Except for our executive editor, Lindsay, who is a balding gay man with a fabulous sense of style. By looking at the pictures on Lyndsay's blog, I found out that she neither has a ponytail nor is a balding gay man with a fabulous sense of style. Except that she does have a fabulous sense of style because her wedding dress is gorgeous! But I really hope her first car was a piece of shit because I cannot even imagine how much she must have spent on that dress.
OK. I don't know why I felt the need to ramble on so much about Lyndsay when I do not even technically know her, but now it is time for Felicity, so I really must end this excessively long post.
Monday, December 02, 2002
How does it feel?
So the official end to the no-job mourning period got off to a rather rocky start today when I heard "Like a Rolling Stone" on the radio. I don't know about the rest of you, but this song always has me convinced that I'm going to end up a crack whore and have all of my earthly posessions stolen by a Siamese-toting diplomat. Of course, it also reminds me of the time I told Heather that, in the footsteps of Britney Spears's "Satisfaction," Christina Aguilera was going to cover "Like a Rolling Stone," and Heather totally bought it! Ha!
Anyway, the day progressed more smoothly after that, as I broke the news to my boss that I had been rejected from all of my potential jobs. She made a face and said, "Those idiots! How could they possibly reject the best intern we've ever had?" OK, actually she just said, "Those [somethings]!" (I did not catch the word, but I think it may have been "stinkers"), but I suspect she was probably thinking the rest. Then she gave me a list of people at SPC to talk to about potential jobs and told me she would help me "find something more permanent."
Meanwhile, I am still holding on to my resurrected dream of becoming a documentarian. "Intern" is by far my most promising project, but I have since thought of two more: "Quarter-Life Crisis," about this interesting and stressful time in all of our lives, although I fear that's pretty much ripping off Winona Ryder's documentary in Reality Bites...not to mention the movie itself, and "Bloggy Style," a film about the blogging revolution, which I think might make a better print story because computer screens are a) not visually compelling and b) tend to freak out when faced with a video camera. Anyway, I am trying to figure out how much it would cost me to get a video camera and some editing software for my PC. So far the total comes to way more than I currently have in my bank account.
Note: This post contains two words that flout the Jen Moeller/Don Ranly Rules of Grammar (otherwise known as The Bible According to Jen Moeller/Don Ranly). See if you can find them!
So the official end to the no-job mourning period got off to a rather rocky start today when I heard "Like a Rolling Stone" on the radio. I don't know about the rest of you, but this song always has me convinced that I'm going to end up a crack whore and have all of my earthly posessions stolen by a Siamese-toting diplomat. Of course, it also reminds me of the time I told Heather that, in the footsteps of Britney Spears's "Satisfaction," Christina Aguilera was going to cover "Like a Rolling Stone," and Heather totally bought it! Ha!
Anyway, the day progressed more smoothly after that, as I broke the news to my boss that I had been rejected from all of my potential jobs. She made a face and said, "Those idiots! How could they possibly reject the best intern we've ever had?" OK, actually she just said, "Those [somethings]!" (I did not catch the word, but I think it may have been "stinkers"), but I suspect she was probably thinking the rest. Then she gave me a list of people at SPC to talk to about potential jobs and told me she would help me "find something more permanent."
Meanwhile, I am still holding on to my resurrected dream of becoming a documentarian. "Intern" is by far my most promising project, but I have since thought of two more: "Quarter-Life Crisis," about this interesting and stressful time in all of our lives, although I fear that's pretty much ripping off Winona Ryder's documentary in Reality Bites...not to mention the movie itself, and "Bloggy Style," a film about the blogging revolution, which I think might make a better print story because computer screens are a) not visually compelling and b) tend to freak out when faced with a video camera. Anyway, I am trying to figure out how much it would cost me to get a video camera and some editing software for my PC. So far the total comes to way more than I currently have in my bank account.
Note: This post contains two words that flout the Jen Moeller/Don Ranly Rules of Grammar (otherwise known as The Bible According to Jen Moeller/Don Ranly). See if you can find them!
Sunday, December 01, 2002
So apparently Febreeze's new slogan is "The more you use it, the more you love it." Is it just me, or is this a slogan that would be more appropriate for, say, cocaine?
Life at Pottery Barn
OK, I am not trying to copy Holly with her "Working at Old Navy Lessons," but I feel I must also state that certian retail truths are universal. Like taking your first retail job during the holidays is what the cliche-ridden would call "trial by fire." Or that wrapping presents in the stock room is always better than working the floor, and not just because you can sit down. Or that when your boss looks like Christian Bale but sounds like Jody Sowell, it is a very unfortunate coincidence. So maybe that last one's not quite universal.
In other news, Hannah had her baby last night, pretty much rendering the name of her blog irrelevant. She decided to go along with her previously selected name, Jordan Shiloh, and did not divert at the last minute to The Butter because, as she says, "Heather would probably kill me if I stole her baby name." Yes, that was pretty much the only reason I could think of not to name a defenseless child The Butter.
OK, I am not trying to copy Holly with her "Working at Old Navy Lessons," but I feel I must also state that certian retail truths are universal. Like taking your first retail job during the holidays is what the cliche-ridden would call "trial by fire." Or that wrapping presents in the stock room is always better than working the floor, and not just because you can sit down. Or that when your boss looks like Christian Bale but sounds like Jody Sowell, it is a very unfortunate coincidence. So maybe that last one's not quite universal.
In other news, Hannah had her baby last night, pretty much rendering the name of her blog irrelevant. She decided to go along with her previously selected name, Jordan Shiloh, and did not divert at the last minute to The Butter because, as she says, "Heather would probably kill me if I stole her baby name." Yes, that was pretty much the only reason I could think of not to name a defenseless child The Butter.
George and Alexandra, sitting in a tree
So tonight I finally got to watch the much-hyped yet never-actually-on-HBO documentary Journeys with George. I'm a big fan, and I really think you all should watch it, and then you all should tell me whether you think George W and Alexandra Pelosi have a thing for each other. Because I totally do. You can especially see it in that one scene where he's telling her why she should vote for him. You know how when you're talking to someone and there's an obvious attraction there, you're saying things but you don't even know what you're saying? Yeah. That's how it was with W and Alex in this scene. Although come to think of it, he doesn't seem to know what he's saying half the time. Hmmm. Still, he did have an unnatural interest in her attraction to that Newsweek reporter. All I'm saying is, if I were Laura, I'd be concerned.
Anyway, this film has renewed my interest in becoming a documentarian...and I've already thought of the perfect project. It's called "Intern." (I can already hear the buyers lining up.) Seriously, though, no more presedential hijinks, just a gritty (so to speak) expose on what it's really like to be an intern. It would be really great if I could get my friend Sallie on camera talking about how she's so bored with her internship at the photo studio, she sometimes breaks the handles off their prop coffee mugs for sport. (I would, of course, splice this with surveillance footage of Sallie actually breaking the mugs, if such a thing existed, which she's praying to God it doesn't.) However, because there are only a few weeks left in the internship, and because I do not own or have the money to buy a video camera, I'm thinking this is another one of my projects that will never get off the ground.
So tonight I finally got to watch the much-hyped yet never-actually-on-HBO documentary Journeys with George. I'm a big fan, and I really think you all should watch it, and then you all should tell me whether you think George W and Alexandra Pelosi have a thing for each other. Because I totally do. You can especially see it in that one scene where he's telling her why she should vote for him. You know how when you're talking to someone and there's an obvious attraction there, you're saying things but you don't even know what you're saying? Yeah. That's how it was with W and Alex in this scene. Although come to think of it, he doesn't seem to know what he's saying half the time. Hmmm. Still, he did have an unnatural interest in her attraction to that Newsweek reporter. All I'm saying is, if I were Laura, I'd be concerned.
Anyway, this film has renewed my interest in becoming a documentarian...and I've already thought of the perfect project. It's called "Intern." (I can already hear the buyers lining up.) Seriously, though, no more presedential hijinks, just a gritty (so to speak) expose on what it's really like to be an intern. It would be really great if I could get my friend Sallie on camera talking about how she's so bored with her internship at the photo studio, she sometimes breaks the handles off their prop coffee mugs for sport. (I would, of course, splice this with surveillance footage of Sallie actually breaking the mugs, if such a thing existed, which she's praying to God it doesn't.) However, because there are only a few weeks left in the internship, and because I do not own or have the money to buy a video camera, I'm thinking this is another one of my projects that will never get off the ground.
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