Operation Pink Herring

Casual Day, my one true love (sorry, Joel!)

From time to time, my office has Casual Day.  Casual Day used to be every Friday between Memorial Day and Labor Day.  Then it changed to being on random Fridays throughout the year.  Now it's no longer on Fridays exclusively.  Any day of the week can be Casual Day.  Today is Casual Day, for instance.  Last Monday was Casual Day.  Some months, there is a Casual Day every week.  Some months, there are no Casual Days.  If there is a method behind the Casual Day schedule, I have yet to discover it.  And trust me, I've spent a lot of time analyzing this. 

I LOVE Casual Day.  In fact, I don't think that ALL CAPS LOVE is a strong enough term.  I live for Casual Day?  Casual Day is the center of my life?  I want to marry Casual Day and have lots of Casual Babies with it?  Yes, I think that adequately sums up my feelings about Casual Day.  I just feel more comfortable in jeans than I do in biznass pants.  I honestly feel like I do my job better when it's Casual Day.  I am a better, happier person on Casual Day.

RA and I have had many a GChat discussion about my love for Casual Day, and our sadness that jeans are so discriminated against in the workplace.  We both think that a nice pair of jeans paired with a cute top and decent shoes looks better than the polyester jogging suits that half of my office wears on a daily basis.  But polyester jogging suits fit within our dress code, just because they're not jeans.   And so, most days, I must suffer through the working hours in pants I bought at Target while my Seven for All Mankind Jeans sit at home in the drawer, wondering why I don't love them.  It's a cruel, cruel world.

But, such is life.  And refusing to brush my hair or wear matching clothes in protest on non-Casual Days really isn't hurting anyone but me.  I want to look like a responsible, attractive adult.  But I don't want to spend a lot of money on clothes that I'm only going to wear 9-5, Monday-Friday.  What to do?

Well, RA and I got to talking (cue Sex and the City theme song).  I always take note of people whose style I admire.  We've determined that it's not necessarily expensive or designer clothes that make a look work, but how all the pieces form a polished, cohesive unit.  The people I admire in the grocery store or in the elevator don't look like they rolled out of bed four minutes before they need to leave the house, threw on a shirt from the clean laundry basket their ferret-cat had been using as a bed, paired it with a pair of wrinkled khakis from the floor, and rushed out of the house.  Ahem.  They look like they spent a few minutes picking out a basic outfit, and then adding accessories and shoes that really pulled it all together.

I want to be more like these people.  I want to look half-decent, at least most of the time.  I'm not looking for a complete wardrobe overhaul or a visit from the What Not To Wear crew.  I just want to put a little bit more effort into my appearance.  And I want someone to give me credit for trying, damnit.

And that's where the Mission: Put Together photo pool that RA and I have created comes in(translation: RA did all the work, I provided encouragement via GChat).  For the month of May, we will be posting our efforts at creating put-together, cohesive looks for the world to see.

I know what you're thinking!  But what about me?  Can I play too?

Yes!  Please join our group and post your own photos! (Translation: DON'T LEAVE US HANGIN', INTERWEB FRIENDS)! 

But how do I know if my outfit is good enough to post?   

Mission: Put Together is for any outfit you are proud of.  It doesn't have to be a new outfit, an expensive outfit, or an outfit you've never worn before.  You just have to think you rocked it.

But what if I look put-together and fabulous every day?

Then I hate you.  That's great!  Post a picture every day and teach us all your secrets!

What if I can hardly muster the energy to change out of my pajamas most days?

Post a picture whenever you feel inspired.  I am going to aim for two post-worthy outfits a week during May. 

What if I wear the same three pairs of pants every week?  Are you all going to laugh at me?

Welcome to my world, my friend.   I will DEFINITELY  be repeating items.  I often wear the same pants two days in a row.  Or three days in a row.  I tell myself no notices.

But I work from home/my office has a casual dress code!  I wear jeans and flip flops every day!

Mission: Put Together is an equal opportunity Flickr Group.  We do not practice jeans discrimination.  In fact, we love jeans.  And also, I want your job.  Please send me an application.

What if I have a crappy camera?  Or I have a nice camera that I don't know how to operate?  WHAT THEN, I ASK?

Dude, we don't care.  I plan on taking pictures with my cell phone half the time.  And it's not even a fancy iPhone.

What if I don't have a Flickr account? 

Just email your picture to me or RA and we will post it for you.

But what if I don't even have my own blog?

That's fine!  Just email one of us your pictures and we'll post them in the group for you.

OK, I'll send that over as soon as I clean up the laundry piles in the background.  And paint the walls.  And buy new furniture.  And lose 10 pounds.

Don't stress about any of that stuff.  This is just for fun.  And I can promise you that my laundry pile is bigger than yours.

Oh, no!  I couldn't possibly let anyone see this horrific laundry pile.

OK, then I suggest that you just stand squarely in front of your giant laundry pile when you take the picture, thereby blocking it from the interwebs view. Like this, for example:

Um, why are you holding your shoes up like that?

Because I don't have a full-length, mirror.  I KNOW!  The horror!

OK.  This sounds like fun!  I can't wait to pick out my outfit for tomorrow and wow the whole office with my great look!

See, now that's the idea!

Can we stop pretending that this is an actual conversation between two people and just end this entry now?

Oh, fine.  Party pooper.

Or! It could be nothing.

Reason #7893 your fluffy ferret-cat might be wasting away (OR, Things Dr. Google, DVM won't tell you):

Hey, idiot.  Your cat might just be really, really stubborn.  Toss the fancy organic*, not-tested-on-animals, all-natural kibble in the closet next to the organic*, environmentally friendly, all-natural cat litter and buy some goddamn Fancy Feast already.

Madison: 53,897

Me: -6

*Neither the food or litter are actually organic.  Which is a real shame. 

I can has medicare?

Hey, guess what I bought this week?   PET INSURANCE.   Crazy Cat Lady bridge, officially crossed! 

Between Max, The Cat With A Thousand And One Problems (Food allergies?  Check!  Obesity?  Check! Sensitive stomach?  Check!  Crippling anxiety?  check!  Cancer?  DOUBLE CHECK!) and Henry, The Cat Who Ran Away And Then Came Back With Three Parasites And A Mangled Paw, I've wondered from time to time if I should have considered pet insurance.   But in general, I dislike insurance - surely a mindset I inherited from my mother, who describes insurance as "betting against yourself".   I've had terrible experiences with my own bastardly insurance company, and I just don't trust that paying for insurance will actually guarantee that I won't be slammed with bills because of some loophole or fine print. 

Plus, PET INSURANCE?  Do you want to know how much fun I made of my former coworker for having health insurance for her Teacup Yorkie?  A LOT.  But she also considered her dog "an investment", so she totally deserved it.  Also, her dog was seriously annoying. 

BUT.  Lately, Madison has been looking a bit thin.  We had sort of noticed it, but weren't at all concerned until the fourth or fifth person to visit our house in the past few weeks remarked on how gaunt he looked.  It's not like I hold him up in front of visitors and ask HEY TAKE A LOOK AT THIS CAT,   WHAT DO YOU THINK, TOO SKINNY?  It's more like our guests are a tad surprised that when they go to pet him and get stabbed by his protruding hip bones.  His fluffy fur hides his weight very well, but now that I've started paying attention... he's way too thin.  Our questionable bathroom scale says he's lost twenty percent of his body weight since he got weighed at the vet's office in January.   My bank account started to panic when Dr. Google, DVM considered this symptom and returned diagnoses like "object lodged in stomach: surgery required" and "hyperthyroidism: say hello to expensive bloodwork and lifetime medication". 

My first instinct is to ignore, ignore, ignore.  So he's lost a pound or four?   Whatever, he's getting older.   He seems fine.  He's still capable of pushing me off my pillow at night and chasing Henry around the house. 

My second instinct, which is growing stronger by the minute, is that something is really wrong.  Worry has been building up all week, until on Wednesday night I found myself on the computer at 1am signing him up for pet insurance.   The next morning, I decided I was crazy and called to cancel the policy.  By the time I hung up with the friendly customer service guy half an hour later, I'd bought a policy for Henry as well.   

I cringe at the thought of telling people that my freaking cats have health insurance, but I honestly feel SO MUCH BETTER now that I'm paying $13 per month for accident and illness coverage.  I do realize that whatever is wrong with Madison technically pre-dates his policy and is therefore not covered, but I'm hoping that I can find some sneaky way around that by holding off a few more weeks before taking him to the vet and pretending like whatever's going on is a brand new problem.  (Dear insurance company:  Just kidding!  This is all lies!  I would never commit insurance fraud!)  And hey, if it turns out that nothing is wrong with him and I really am just a crazy, over-protective worrywart, well... I'd be very happy with that.   

I haven't bought any insurance for Max because I sort of feel like that ship has sailed.   Really, who is going to insure his chronically allergic, neurotic, obese, cancer-filled ass?   He's a seinor citizen (66 and a half, if one human year = seven cat years), so shouldn't there at least be some crappy government-sponsored insurance to get him his kitty viagra?   Do I sense a future Michael Moore film?

Do any of you have pet insurance?  Have you used it?  Is it a total scam?   I would love to hear about any experiences or recommendations you have.  Except for advice to chill the fuck out.  Trust me, I've spend 27 years trying to do that.  No dice.

I'll keep you posted, don't you worry.  Keeping the interweb updated on my cat's health issues is priority numero uno here at OPH Headquarters.   Whether you like it or not.

Dear USPS

Dear United States Postal Service,

What did I ever do to you?

I'm pretty used to getting the neighbor's mail by now, and I don't even mind.  It's not too much trouble for me to shove it in between their glass door and real door, I just have to do so silently so that they don't think I'm leaving a bag of flaming poop on their doorstep.  It's a little bit difficult since their screen door squeaks like crazy, but really - it's no trouble.  Please don't worry about delivering the mail to the correct house.   I'm on it.  Plus, when you accidentally deliver their Netflix to us, and I accidentally rip them open and then accidentally watch the movie before turning it over... well, no one has to know about that.  Although, maybe you could have a word with them about their taste in film.  I mean, Elizabethtown?  Seriously? 

And the whole throwing packages in the alley/leaving them on the doorstep in the pouring rain/shoving them into our poor, mistreated shrubbery thing?  Whatever.  That time you stamped my mom's birthday package "return to sender" and shipped it back to NJ because I didn't pick it up the same day it was delivered?  No big deal.  The time you took 26 days to deliver a box of chocolates and then refused to put it through the mailslot?  I'm over it.

But when Janet told me that she got me a Crazy Cat Lady present during her thrift store extravaganza weekend, I was pretty excited to see what she'd found.   Even though she warned me that it was sort of weird and it only cost 5 cents, I was looking forward to to seeing what it was.  My life is pretty boring, I'm not going to lie.   Getting something in the mail is grounds for celebration in our household. 

That's why I'm so crushed that I'll never see this particular bit of vintage awesomeness, handpicked for me by one of the coolest bloggers on the internet.   

I do appreciate that you were thoughtful enough to put the mangled envelope in a plastic bag that said "We Care!" and deliver it, sans contents, to our house.  That does mean a lot.  And, hey, these things happen.  It's a whole 40 miles between Janet's house and mine, you can't be expected to deliver an envelope all that way without accidentally dropping it into a shredder.  No biggie.

But can I ask a favor?  The next time you're looking through my mail trying to find something for your rabid pet donkey to chew on, could you grab one of those Jury Duty notices instead?  Because, really, do I need to be called for Jury Duty FOUR TIMES?  I mean, I guess it's up to you.  You're the government agency, I'm just a lowly citizen who is apparently REALLY GOOD AT JURY DUTY. 

Hey, and could you maybe explain to my fiance that when I bought those cute superhero stamps for him, they were intended TO BE USED.  Not to be saved.  Maybe you could have a word with him about our Netflix queue while you're at it.    

Thanks a bunch! 

O. Pink Herring, bedraggled postal customer extraodinaire

PS - Those boring flag stamps are so 2006.  Maybe we could get a design with a cool eagle, or something? 

What, you didn't know that Max speaks with British accent?

Greetings, kind citizens of the internet.  Maxwell Maximillian Maximus here, wishing to extend my sincere thanks for your kind words regarding my recent diagnosis. 

I'll not make light of my condition -- things have been difficult this past week.  Oh, not because of the cancer!  No, my fine chaps, that's not yet bothering me much, I'm happy to report.  It was the full day at the health asylum that truly turned my mood black - and to tell you the truth, friends, I'm still not fully over the trauma.   Now, the veterinary doctor is a lovely lass, but when someone comes at me with a pair of clippers, I don't know about you, but I feel compelled to react.  How could a fellow know that she just intended to give me a haircut?  For all I know, they had me confused with a poodle who was due for an appendectomy, and I'll tell you - I was having none of that.  But once we all had a glass of bourbon and laughed about the whole mess, I started to feel a bit drowsy, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up with a headache and an orange tabby in the next cage over.  Lovely old gal, she was.  A bitty chatty for my tastes, though.

In any case, while I was - shall we say, sleeping it off - the doctor took the liberty of scanning my internal organs and showing the films to my human caretaker.  It seems everything is in tip-top shape, except for a spot of lymphosarcoma in the old digestive tract.  Certainly not the best news I've heard, but let us not dwell on the negatives; I'm told that a positive attitude is of paramount importance and I intend to keep my spirits high.  Apparently my only symptom is that I've lost two pounds since January, and I tell you, these doctors can never make up their minds.  All my life they've been telling me diet this, limited portions that, and now that I've finally dropped a few inches from the old waistline everyone's got their knickers in a knot about my health. 

There's been some talk of a surgery to get a biopsy of my intestines, but I must admit that I don't much like the sound of that.   I've discussed it with my family, although, to tell you the truth, I sort of stopped listening when they started in about dollars dollars, blah blah blah; I had appointments to get to later in the evening and I don't have time for their constant blathering.  In any case, we seem to have agreed that I will get a special diet and some medication for now, and if I haven't gained any weight back within a month's time we'll reconsider that dreadful biopsy.  I was sort of hoping that my therapy would call for the eviction of that pesky ferret and his kitten-friend, but I suppose I can continue ignoring their antics a bit longer. 

So that's all for now.  I am late for my 3:00 nap, and I really must be going.  Please do accept my deepest, heartfelt thanks for your kind thoughts and words.  Ta-ta, mates! 

Cheerio, 

Max

Weekend bullet points, Jersey shore wedding edition

Things I learned this weekend while attending my first wedding of the season:

• Just because I grew up in New Jersey does not mean my horrible sense of direction gets any better once we cross into the Garden State.
• Compared to the NJ Turnpike, the thirty-five cent tolls on the Parkway are so cheap they're cute. 
• The four-dollar Delaware toll is a tad pricey, yes.  But that's not reason to stop your cars in the middle of 95.  Move along, people.  And if you don't have EZPass, get out of the freaking EZPass lane. 
• Don't cut off a car that's worth far, far less than yours.  If I hit you because you weave in front of me to jump in the EZ Pass lane EVEN THOUGH YOU DON'T HAVE AN EZPASS, I promise, you'll be sorrier than I am.  My Jetta is going on 11 years old.  Your fancy SUV looks new.
• Who doesn't have EZPass?  Seriously?  I mean, I still don't have in iPod and I use dial-up internet at home.  Even I have an EZPass.
• The Parkway and the Turnpike do not, in fact, run parallel to each other.  They get farther apart the further south you drive.   Thus, you cannot just take the Parkway south for 35 miles and then hop over to the Turnpike. 
• If I had a dollar for every time I found myself hopelessly lost and wishing for a GPS system for the car, well... I'd have enough for a GPS system.   
• It's very possible to turn a 2.5 hour drive into a 6 hour drive if you just try.
• Hey, the Pine Barrens are kind of pretty.
• There's a beautiful irony in the fact that 14-year olds can work at a gas station, but they can't drive a car for another 4 years.  Conversely, most adults in NJ have no idea how to pump gas.
• People who aren't from NJ will mock the "Jersey Fresh" produce signs along country roads and refuse to believe that we really do have great corn and tomatoes in the Garden State. 

Tivo update

A few weeks ago Laurie commented about the fact that my little "In my Tivo" sidebar item was still proclaiming that I had an "impossible backlog" of shows to watch.  Yeah, that's a lie.  So I figured it might be time for an In my Tivo update.

For the time being (until all the writers catch up and start putting new shows back on NOW PLEASE), this is our paltry TV lineup:

Monday: One Tree Hill (I'm not even ashamed to admit that I CANNOT GET ENOUGH OF MAH PRIMETIME SOAPS); New Amsterdam (Joel likes it, I love the concept but find the show sort of meh)

Tuesday: NCIS (I still don't understand how the whole world thinks CSI is soooo awesome and this show gets ignored!)

Wednesday: Girlicious.  Enough said.

Thursday: Lost (although we are currently three episodes behind, because I forgot to record it the week that Joel was away on Spring break, and uh... watching it on the internet is hard when you have dial up.  Halp!); Smallville (for the record, I am so over Lana that I almost can't watch this anymore, and if the CW cancels Supernatural (LOVE) and keeps Smallville for a billionth season...well, I am going to be pissed.  And I know the CW doesn't want that.  RIGHT?)

Friday: BATTLESTAR GALLACTICA.

I feel that this last item deserves a whole entry of its own, because OMG.  Did you know that BSG is like, the best show ever?   I can't believe I just typed that either, but there it is.  I am officially and completely converted.  I still find "frack" annoying, but I'm willing to look past it because OMG STARBUCK IS BACK.   Or is she really a Cylon?   THE SUSPENSE.

And while we're on the topic of sidebar items, maybe you've noticed that I now have a big spankin' BlogHer Ads section.  I'm not really expecting to make any money off this here blog, but I figured that if someone is willing to pay me any amount for doing something I'm already doing for free... well, why not give it a try?  So, if you're philosophically and morally opposed to blog advertising... just pretend that's not there.  I switched to a three-column design to accommodate the adspace without pushing the rest of my sidebar down too far, but I've already gotten one complaint (from Joel) that the new format is "too skinny".   I am assuming that, like me, most of you use a feed reader and probably don't even notice when a blog's design changes.  But let me know what you think of the format or if you  have any suggestions.  I am wondering if any of you more savvy web people know if it's possible to modify the template so that there's not so much unused space on both sides of the page -- and if so, can you tell me how?    Do you just not care at all, since you never leave your feed reader (again, like me)?  Speak now or forever hold your peace.

(Except, not really, because forever = until whenever I next change the template)

I survived.

If you are wondering why I was so stressed out about this reunion weekend, let me explain:  I am crazy.  I have problems.  And have I mentioned that I'm crazy?

In general, I just hate these sorts of forced functions.  I got one email (among dozens regarding this reunion because I made the mistake of accepting the invitation to join Reunion Facebook group) last week about a networking event on Friday and the phrase "break out your business cards" was actually used.  I almost threw up reading that - do I need to explain, or have I sufficiently covered my hatred of networking in over the past two years of blogging? 

Because I still live in the same city as my alma mater, I've gone to Homecoming events every year.  It was never great, but never that bad.  The Young Alumni tent is an overpriced frat party, but it can be entertaining if you're drunk enough.  The homecoming lacrosse game is still a boring lacrosse game, but it can be entertaining if you're drunk enough.   

I've never panicked the way I did this year because there was always the possibility of just ignoring homecoming altogether.  If there were people I cared about coming back, I'd show up at a few events, pay my $20, collect my commemorative beer mug, and catch up with people.  But this year was The! Big! 5! Year! Reunion!  It was going to be So! Much! Fun!

For most people in our class, this was the first reunion they'd attended.  And I can see the excitement in that.  But this is my FIFTH.  And quite honestly, I'm over these reunions.  I feel like I need a disclaimer here, because I didn't hate college.  I LOVED college.  I had a minor life crisis when college came to and end and my life as I knew it ended with it.   Twenty-two was a not a good year for me.   I spent the majority of it feeling simultaneously lonely and overwhelmed as I struggled to adjust to working full time, cohabitating with Joel, and just becoming an adult.  I wished a million times that I could turn back the clock and just go back to school, where everything had a purpose and I knew what  my role in the world was.... even though I spent quite a lot of time senior year stressing out about tests and papers and thinking about how easy everything would be once I just graduated and started working, because then I'd have money and my weekends would be free from endless studying and staying up all night bullshitting papers.   Grass: greener, etc.

But then Joel and I bought a house, moved out of our craptastic apartment, got some cats.  I got a new job that sucked significantly less than my old one and paid significantly more.   At some point, I stopped feeling like a college student masquerading as an adult.  I moved on, for lack of a better phrase.  And I'm happy.  Though I may complain about trivial (and at times, not-so-trivial) things here, I am so content with my life it's ridiculous.  I love where we live, I love my friends, I love my family, I love my fiance.  I  love my three adorable cats.  This is the life I want. 

And yet, when I find myself forced to make small talk with people I don't know well, I inevitably feel a crushing sense of inadequacy.  I feel like a loser because discussing careers and networking opportunities makes me want to throw up.  I feel like I suck because I don't have a fancy job title or a posh city loft or crazy stories about my wild nightlife.  I feel kind of boring.  I don't WANT one of those fancy jobs, I don't want to be a single girl partying hard in NYC, I don't want to be in law/med/business school.  But I do feel bad for NOT wanting those things.  Sometimes I feel like I used my reserve of overachiever, reach-for-the-stars gasoline during high school and college, and now I'm just a slacker.  Honestly, that is probably a good thing.  The level of perfection that I used to demand from myself in every area of my life was unsustainable and I am so much happier and healthier now that I have let all (most) of that go.  But I still feel guilty about it.  If that makes no sense at all to you, that's because you're sane. 

In a nutshell, that's why I was dreading this reunion.  I felt like I was supposed to be SO! EXCITED!, when I really just wished I could hole up in my house and ignore the whole thing.  But I couldn't do that, because that would be antisocial.  And so  my friends and I decided that we had an obligation to attend at least one official reunion event.  We decided on the lacrosse tailgate because 1. It was cheap, and 2. It was not the frat party Young Alumni Tent.   I was OK with this decision until we were sitting in a coffee shop across from the lacrosse field half an hour before the tailgate was scheduled to begin, and all of a sudden I started having a panic attack. Why are we going to this?, I asked my friend Sarah.  What the hell were we thinking?  Do you want to just cut our losses and run? I seriously would have PAID the $15 ticket price just to not have to go to that event.

What is my problem?  Well, let me try to explain the totally irrational roots of my social anxiety reunion disorder: 

1. I have totally sucked at keeping in touch with people from college who aren't either A) Joel B) My friend Liz , who doesn't really count as a "college" friend because before we were college friends, we were high school friends, C) From my track/XC team.  Over the past few weeks, I've spent a lot of time thinking about why and how this managed to happen, and I think it's partly because I overscheduled myself SO much during college that I missed out on a lot of just hanging out time, and partly because I hate talking on the phone so much, and partly because I just suck.  Remember my New Year's Resolution to keep in better touch with my friends?   I made that resolution because I KNOW I suck at this and I want to get better.

I was afraid I'd come back and see how everyone is still BFF with all their college friends except for me, and then I'd feel like a giant loser.

2.  I really hate making small talk/bullshitting about "what I'm doing now".   I feel like I have nothing to report on my life.  Still living in Baltimore, still working at a job, same old same old same old.

3. Sure, I have the big engagement news, but the next logical question is "so, when's the wedding?" and I'm not positive on this one, but I don't think that durrrrrr? is a socially appropriate response.

4. Did I mention that Joel was out of town all weekend?  I usually have no problem being on my own while he's coaching or traveling for work, but at these kind of extremely stressful social events it would be really, really nice to have him to lean on, instead of calling him from a bathroom stall and begging him to come home right now PLLLLEEEASE.   

5.  We found out last week that Max has cancer, and that is not related to any of this at all except for that it isn't exactly making my mood any better, you know?

So those are all the reasons that I am crazy.  Now for the good news: this weekend was not nearly as bad as I was expecting it to be.  Actually, it was kind of awesome.   After having a joint anxiety attack, Sarah and I agreed that we would go to the tailgate for half an hour fifteen  minutes seven minutes.  We'd grab some snacks to get our $15 worth, and then we would book out of there and we would be able to say that we went to the stupid reunion.  Our two friends who abandoned us "forgot to register" agreed that they'd go for a walk around campus and that if we hadn't re-emerged within fifteen minutes, they'd call us so that we could pretend there was some emergency and extricate ourselves.  And just as we were about to get up and go in, I spilled coffee all over myself.  Oh, yes.  I did.  I am THAT awesome.

We purposely went at the very beginning of the tailgate to avoid the crowd, and it was beyond awkward.  There was ONE other person there, and she was weird.  She chatted us up.  It was bad.  And we still had five of our seven minutes to go.

And then something amazing happened.  Other people showed up.   People that I love and haven't talked to in years.  People who are now married to other awesome people, people that I actually wanted to talk to.  People whose numbers I obtained so that we could meet up later and hang out.   People who just laughed and helped me and Sarah exit gracefully when the tent actually started to fill up with ex-sorority sisters and a dude who actually refers to himself as HK03 (Homecoming King) (I'm not joking) and the whole thing started to go downhill very, very quickly. We lasted thirty-three minutes in an Official Reunion Event, and it was actually sort of fun! 

And then we went to Holy Frijoles, which now has a liquor license.  I pounded a pomegranate margarita and ate every bite of my burrito and everything was alright.  Because sometimes alcohol really DOES make things better.

The rest of the weekend was actually wonderful - I got to see my friends, my cats didn't cause anyone to go into an allergic fit (although they came close), people actually called me and came over to my house and we all hung out and it was so lovely.  Best of all, since I didn't know that that People I Haven't Seen in Five Years would be coming to my house, I didn't even have time to freak out and obsessively clean beforehand.  (But things were still generally in a VERY clean state, thanks to my mom's visit a few weeks ago, don't worry).  We spent time watching TV in our pajamas, I stayed up until 2am catching up with people I truly love, laughing so hard that my abs hurt on Sunday. 

Sunday was a laid back day, filled with a long lunch, and a lot of chilling out.   I didn't even have to call Joel once to beg him to come home early from his race. 

Even though the weekend as a whole turned out extremely well, I've never been so happy to return to normalcy.  Joel came home soon after my last friend departed, and we quickly settled into our normal Sunday night routine of making dinner, watching TV and getting ready for the week ahead.  God, I never knew normal could feel so good.

Because if we dont' talk about the stupid reunion, maybe it will just be over

A - ADVOCATE FOR: Animal rights, environmentalism, and other hippie liberal causes.

B - BEST FEATURE: Empathy

C - COULD DO WITHOUT: The term "business casual"

D - DREAMS & DESIRES: That the stupid reunion that I have absolutely no reason to dread so much will be rained out?

E - ESSENTIAL ITEMS: Coffee.  Hand lotion.  Chapstick.  Cell phone.

F - FAVORITE PAST TIME: Watching Law and Order reruns.

G - GOOD AT: Organizing things.  Folding Laundry.

H - HAVE NEVER TRIED: Ordering groceries online.

I - IF I HAD A MILLION DOLLARS: I would quit my job, sell my house, buy a bigger house and a new car. 

J - JUNKIE FOR: Cinnamon PopTarts. 

K - KINDRED SPIRIT: My sister-wife.

L - LITTLE KNOWN FACT: I chose my own middle name.

M - MEMORABLE MOMENT: The day that I went to pick Madison up from the SPCA, January 10th 2004, is still so clear in my mind.  When Joel asked me what I wanted for my birthday that year, I told him I wanted a kitten or a diamond.  At that time, a diamond was completely out of the question; it was my way of saying I wanted a kitten OR ELSE.  I went to the SPCA in Hampden on January 9th, the day after my birthday, and put a "hold" on a tiny, adorable brown tabby kitten named Mouse.  But by the time Joel and I made it back to the SPCA the next morning, my conscience had gotten the better of me, and I released the hold on Mouse.  There were at least a dozen kids with their parents in tow, pointing at the different kittens in the SPCA's nursery, and one in particular had her eye on Mouse and one of his siblings.  We went over to the adult cat enclosure, and I pointed to Madison, who had caught my eye the day before.  We went into the "meeting room" while the SPCA volunteer tried to get Madison out of his cage.  A few minutes later, she brought him into the room, still wedged into the cardboard box he was using as a bed.  "He doesn't want to get out of the box.  I've never seen a cat do this before," she told us. 

On the way out, the other cats in their cages broke my heart.  No one wants an adult cat.  I looked around the room and picked out the one whose index card said he's been there the longest: since October.  The volunteer assured us that Max wasn't overweight, he was just an extra-large cat, and that's the line I've been using ever since, even though Max is now at least two pounds heavier thanks to my inability to deny him the treats he loves so much.  When the volunteer tried to take him out of his cage to "meet" us, Max scurried under the row of cages.  It took two SPCA employees and with a broom to get him out.  When we got him home, he stayed in his box for a week, and then under the bed for at least another week.

N - NEVER AGAIN WILL I: Adopt two cats so that "they can play together" without first checking if said cats actually enjoy playing with other animals. 

O - OCCASIONAL INDULGENCE: Mani/pedi

P - PROFESSION: See: Papers, pushing of

Q - QUOTE: You boys like Meeeexicooo?

R - REASON TO SMILE: High School Musical 2.  Zac Efron's solo desert dance of self-discovery.   WATCH IT.

S - SORRY ABOUT: The fact that weekends are only two days long.

T - TAG SOME FRIENDS: Anyone else who loves Disney Original movies.

U - UNINTERESTED IN: Anything that involves the word "networking"

V - VERY SCARED OF: Snakes, heights

W - WORST HABIT: picking my fingers

X - X MARKS MY IDEAL VACATION SPOT: Hawaii/Europe/Iceland/South America/Ireland/Asia

Y - YUMMIEST DESSERT: the extremely rare Coffee Oreo ice cream

Z - ZODIAC SIGN: Capricorn

One can dream

Coupon Cheerleader

My friend Jenny was visiting over the weekend, and I even took Monday off to hang out with her while she is on Spring Break this week from grad school.  Hey, I'll do anything to support my friends.  Especially if it involves taking a random three day weekend. 

We had a Weekend of Healthy Living, which means that we still spent an ungodly number of hours watching chick flicks (High School Musical 2, The Breakup, Little Black Book, Something Like Love... need I go on?) and lolling around unshowered in our pajamas - BUT!  We also exercised every day and made healthy meals.  You know, instead of binging on pretzels and peanut butter and then washing it down with ten gallons of Franzia. 

We also ran some errands on Monday - I finally dropped off a package I've been holding on to for weeks at the post office and we made a much needed run to the grocery store.  I warned Jenny that, clad in our sweatpants and greasy hair, we would woefully underdressed for a trip to the Canton Safeway, but that I didn't care if she didn't.   She was a little confused.  Isn't Safeway the ghetto grocery store?   I mean, you dress up to go to Ukrop's or Wegman's, but Safeway?   Yup.  Welcome to Baltimore, where the Canton Safeway is the place to be seen in your cute biznass pants after work.

I also warned Jenny that she couldn't judge me for shopping like I was feeding a family of seventeen starving orphans.  I have a problem when I grocery shop -- I cannot leave without filling the cart.   If something is on sale, I don't buy two -- I buy ten.  I also enjoy going to the grocery store when I'm starving, because then my hunger inspires me to buy things that normally would not look appealing at all.  And I hate going to the store if I don't have at least an hour, because then I don't have time to wander up and down every aisle.  Problems: I have them. 

When I saw that Family Value Packs of ground beef were on sale for 99 cents a pound, I looked at Jenny and said "Don't judge me. I'm getting two."  You know, since my meat-eating "family" consists of me (a wannabe vegetarian), Max, and Joel, so CLEARLY I needed TWO supersized packages of 80% lean ground beef.  Without blinking, she responded that she'd judge me if I ripped open the pack and shoved a handful of raw meat into my mouth - otherwise, me and my ten pounds of ground beef we were all good in her book.

(Have I mentioned that I have the best friends in the world?  And that after our long weekend of grocery shopping, power walking, and preparing balanced meals that are on the table when Joel gets home from work, we've taken to calling each other sister-wife?  Because we have.  I would gladly enter into a polygamous relationship if it meant I had a live-in BFF like Jenny.  We decided that for it to work, we'd just have to have one husband that neither of us were romantically interested in to support us, and our real husbands on the side.  And no creepy compounds.) 

We pushed my overloaded cart into the checkout line, clutching our matching coffees (from the in-store Starbucks, of course.  FANCY!) and I commented that I knew I was really getting old because the cover stories on Oprah's O! Magazine looked more interesting to me than than Cosmo did.  And then I sealed my geriatric status by whipping out a coupon from my giant wallet and handing it over to the cashier. 

It must have been a slow day at the Canton Safeway, because that coupon made the the cashier's day.  It was, admittedly, an awesome coupon - $10 off my entire purchase - but I wasn't expecting her to cheer "WOOHOO!  YOU GO GIRL!" as she scanned it.   She was so excited about my coupon that she didn't even notice that it hadn't properly gone through.  But don't worry - I noticed.  After all, we old ladies read our receipts to make sure we got that ground beef for 99cents a pound, and not a sixpence more.

How was your weekend, internet?

Awkward moments at the gym, take two

One of the front desk monitors at my gym (yup, THIS ONE) has taken to calling me “Pinky”.  I find it vaguely annoying, partly because the pink hat I sometimes wear in the winter (the one in the About Me Photo up on the top left) really isn’t extraordinary enough to warrant an nickname and partly because, well, I don’t really want to be called “Pinky”. 

Last night, I arrived just in time for my 5:30 date with the elliptical.  As I swiped my card (which I now pay for with perfectly good money!), he looked up and said “Hey there, Pinky.”

“You’re going to need to come up with a new nickname, I’ve officially retired that hat for the season”, I told him.   (And let me just add that my name pops up on the screen he’s looking at when I swipe my card, so it’s not like he doesn’t know my real name.)

“Pinky’s a good name, though,” he replied.  And I would have just left it there, except I decided last week that I need to be better about actually talking to the people I see daily – the people who work in the coffee shop, the woman who collects my trash every afternoon, the security guard who checks my badge every morning and afternoon.  Here’s my opportunity, I thought.  Time to start being a better person!

“I don’t think I want to be Pinky.  It reminds me of Pinky from Pinky and the Brain,” I said.

“Pinky and the Brain is a great show!”

“Um, yeah, but Pinky is RETARDED.”

“He’s not retarded, he’s funny”

“He’s funny because he’s retarded.”

All the same, I’d rather not share a nickname with a retarded mouse.  Anyway, I’d better get going…

Yeah, you better get to it!  You’re always working hard.   We were just talking about how hard you work here.

(?!?)

You and who? 

Oh, you know, me and one of the other guys here.

(?!?!?!!)

Yeah, not really.  I haven’t been here in like, two weeks.  I NEED to work out harder. (Awkward laugh)

No, you’re doing really great!  We were just talking about how big you’re getting.

(?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!)

What?!  How big I’m getting,  like (arm flex), or how big I’m getting, like (hands on hips)?

Oh, no no, like GOOD big! You’re definitely not getting big!  You’ve lost a lot of weight, haven’t you?

Uh… not really.

Yes you have! 

Uh…. Not really. 

How much?

Like…. Two pounds.

No way.

Um… yes way.  (Can you feel the awkwardness growing?  AND GROWING?)

You’ve lost more than that.   You’ve lost at least like 20-30 lbs!

UM.  WHAT?

Yeah, you’re doing great!

Aaaand that’s when I walked away and drowned myself in the public water fountain.

Important things to remember:

• This guy is a certified personal trainer, not some jackhole who knows nothing about weight or fitness.
• I am five foot one.  I am currently 10 pounds over my ideal weight.  Meaning this dude thinks that at one point I was FORTY pounds over my ideal weight.
• Forty pounds may not sound THAT bad, but let me reiterate: FIVE FOOT ONE.  Forty pounds on me is like sixty on a normal person.
• I have NEVER weighed TWENTY TO THIRTY POUNDS MORE THAN I DO NOW.
• PEOPLE AT THE GYM TALK ABOUT ME. 
• AND THEY THINK I’M FAT. 

Operation: Talk to People/Be A Better Person is officially canceled. 

My parking skillz. Let me show you them.

Parallel parking is hard.  There's a reason everyone fails it on the driver's test -- myself included.

When people come to visit us, they often say something like "I can't believe you have to parallel park!  I could never do it!"  Well, yes you could.  If you were faced with the choice to either 1. drive around indefinitely looking for a wide, open parking space or 2. manage somehow to parallel park in the space in front of your house, I guarantee that you'd start learning how to parallel park.  It's just like learning how to drive a stick shift:  it seems impossibly hard before you know how, you'll stall out a whole lot in the beginning, and after a few months (uh, maybe weeks for people who learn faster than I do) it will feel so natural that you won't be able to explain it to others.   Five years later, when your boyfriend asks you to teach him how to drive stick, you'll run through half a tank of gas in an empty parking lot, saying things like "no, you let of the clutch WHILE pressing down the gas -- no, not EXACTLY at the same time, but sort of, like... I don't know!  You just DO IT!" 

You (meaning, I) can't really learn how to parallel park unless you're forced to do it ALL THE DAMN TIME.  After four years of living in the hell that is overcrowded street parking, I have a black belt in parallel parking.   I'll admit that I suck at judging whether or not I can fit into a space -- sometimes, just for the hell of it, I'll try to get into a space that I'd swear wouldn't hold a SmartCar and what do you know?   I'm in it on the first try.  Other times I'll think I've got a spot nailed, and after trying ten times to get my rear bumper to fit into it, I'll realize that my Jetta cannot, in fact, fit into a space two and a half feet wide.   But give me a space that's actually wide enough and I can get my car into it, regardless of side of the street (I do favor parking on the right), whether the space is on a 45-degree incline, even if there's a screaming cat pissing on my backseat while I'm trying to cut the wheel.   My one weakness: An audience.   

If someone else is in the car, I invariably screw up the parking job.  I think that stage fright is a pretty universal phenomenon, and that leads me to my point here:  yesterday I saw a girl trying to park her sedan in a space that was plenty big.  She was having trouble, but she was making progress.  UNTIL, this dude walking by appointed himself her Official Parking Assistant.  He stopped walking and stood in front of her, making motions with his hands and yelling instructions.  "No, you've got plenty of room!  Keep coming, keep coming!  KEEP COMING, you've got space!  OK, stop, CUT THE WHEEL, CUT THE WHEEL!" 

People in Baltimore do this ALL THE TIME.   It's happened to me on more than one occasion, and I just don't get it.  Do these people actually think they're helping?   The girl last night was visibly annoyed and embarrassed, but she muttered a thank-you when she got out of her car because the helpful Samaritan was just standing there, waiting to be congratulated for his good deed.    Once I saw a girl abandon a perfectly good parking space because some creepy dude "helped" her parallel park and then hung around her door, waiting to be thanked.   

So here's my public service announcement for the week:  If you see someone trying to parallel park, LEAVE THEM ALONE.  No one wants an audience when the tap the bumper in front of them.  Uh,  not that I've ever tapped anyone's bumper. Those scratches were on my car when I got it. 

Everything you wanted to know about photography but were too lazy to learn

Have you ever found yourself frustrated when you upload a set of vacation pictures because all the outdoor picture are washed out and all the indoor picture are yellow?   Have you ever wished that you were better able to take advantage of your camera's settings, but found all the terminology in the manual confusing?  If so, today is your lucky day, because I have just completed a month-long Photography for Dummies (not the actual title) course!  And now that I have wasted spent the past four Monday evenings suffering through two-and-a-half hour classes learning how to skillfully operate my own camera, I am going to share my newfound knowledge with the internets!  Grab a pen and paper and get ready to take notes.

The first thing you need to learn is the basic photography terms, such as F-stop, aperture, White Balance and  ISO.  You don't need to actually  know what they mean, but be prepared to nod like you know what's going on when your instructor throws them around in class.  You should definitely avoid asking if aperture and F-stop are the same thing during the third class session so that the teacher doesn't think you are stupid (even if the answer is YES THEY ARE THE SAME THING!)  F-stops have numbers like F2.8 and F11 and those numbers mean something, but that's not important.  All you need to remember about F-stops is the following phrase: "small number, big opening!"  Even though handout says right there that a small F-stop corresponds to a shallow depth of field, it's important to remember "small number, big opening" because that's counterintuitive and that means it makes you sound smart.   It will also be the answer to every question the instructor asks, so don't forget: SMALL NUMBER, BIG OPENING.  Got it so far?

Next up: ISO.  ISOs have numbers like 200, 400, 800.  My camera goes up to 1000, which is apparently pretty good, especially since Joel bought our camera from a his credit card RewardPoints catalog.  A higher ISO setting enables you to take pictures in dark places.  I remember this because there was a cute boy in the class and he is a freelance food writer and he has to take his own photographs of the food he writes about. Often these restaurants have low lighting, and he asked the instructor how he could get the pictures to come out better, and she said he should use a higher ISO.  I asked the teacher why I shouldn't just leave my camera on 1000 all the time if that's so totally awesome, and she gave me a look sort of like my dad gave me when I asked him why I couldn't just hold the clutch down all the time in my new manual transmission car.  So, you know, don't do that.  I think.

(Oops, I just remembered that I was supposed to ask Cute Boy the name of the bar he works at in Federal Hill when he's not busy freelance writing so that I could set him up with my friend Liz.  Sorry, Liz!  I forgot because I was too busy going home early to watch Girlicious paying attention in class.)

ISO also stands for something, but don't worry about that.

So now we know all about F-stop and ISO.  The next thing you need to know about is White Balance.  White Balance has something to do with light, and by adjusting it you can take a perfectly nice picture like this:

and make it look like this:

When you look at the pictures on your computer, you should note which settings you used for the good pictures so that you can remember to use those settings again in similar circumstances.  This is called "using metadata".  In order to use metadata, you need to have some sort of photo editing program, such as Photoshop Elements.  Or, if you're too stupid to figure out how to download an illegal copy of Photoshop Elements using your without having your stolen wireless internet crap out on you cheap to pony up $99 for Photoshop Elements, you can just keep using MS Paint.  In that case, you might want to try writing down all the settings you used on each picture on an index card for reference later. Just don't accidentally throw the index card out with your empty Starbuck's cup.  Also, make sure you turn off the camera while you're carefully noting down all the "metadata" so that your battery doesn't run out an hour into the two-and-a-half hour field practice. 

Now, you may have noticed that all the good photographers like to make the backgrounds of their photos blurry.  This is called "making the background blurry" and it serves to keep the background from "competing" with the subject.  To make the background blurry, you need to use a small F-stop, which gives you a shallow depth of field.  And don't forget: small number, big opening, because to be a good photographer you need to be able to confuse people.  Of course, this is all assuming that you did not purchase your camera using credit card RewardPoints and thus YOUR CAMERA ALLOWS YOU TO ADJUST F-STOPS.  In that case, your camera probably also has a portrait setting, and why don't you just brag some more, asshole?

So the lesson here is: if you want to make your pictures look all artistic and professional with blurred out backgrounds and everything, you should probably do some research before you buy your camera.  And maybe you should not limit your choices to those available in your credit cards RewardsPoints catalog.

BUT!  If you are already screwed the proud owner of a camera that will not allow to adjust your F-stop, all is not lost!  You can still take artistic portraits, just like all the fancy photographers.  The secret is to change your settings to Black and White.   Witness:

Boring picture of my some crazy lady's cat:

This picture is bad because someone's finger was covering the bottom corner of the lens  the flash is set too high   it's a picture of a cat  it's in color.  Fortunately, this problem is easy to correct once you've taken a class on photography.  You simply move your finger off of the lens  turn the flash setting down  find something more interesting than a cat to photograph   go to bed already change your camera's setting from "Normal" to "Black and White".   Viola!

(This picture is my new desktop wallpaper.  It replaced a picture of Max in his Santa suit)

You are now a professional photographer.  But don't just go to bed because it's after midnight for the love of god, stop there!  Don't limit yourself!

For instance, you can try some action shots.  Here I've caught a my cat subject as he's eagerly awaiting the toss of his beloved toy prey.

See how interesting that is?   You're really starting to catch on now.

Below we have an example of a common problem with action shots: the shot has come out blurry because my cat the subject is whacking around that poor Aflac duck that Joel picked up at his last benefits fair devouring his prey.

To correct this, you need to use the stop-motion setting on your camera.  This is feature is often noted by a sports icon and increases the shutter speed.  Alternatively, you can increase the shot's ISO, which lets more light into the lens.   ISO and F-stop balance each other, so you can adjust either one to create the desired stop-motion effect.   And shutter speed relates to one of them.   Since my camera has an extremely poor setup lacks the ability to adjust f-stop, instead I increased the ISO by setting my camera to the little golf icon stop-motion setting. 

As you can see, the motion is perfectly frozen.

But don't stop there!  Get out and find a variety of subjects to practice on!  For instance, here is another one of my many cats subject I encountered in the wild:

See that glint in his eye?  That's really good, according to my instructor (who has actually taken pictures of real wild animals, and her pictures have been in National Geographic and OMG SOME OF THEM HAD PONIES IN THEM).  I accomplished this by accident getting down on the floor.  It's a really good idea to get on the same level as your cat subject.  Especially if you've just vacuumed really well because your mother was coming to visit.

While I was lying on the floor in my hallway at midnight-thirty down on my subject's level I was fortunate enough to catch another cat wild subject passing by on his way to drink out of the toilet the local watering hole.   In instances like this, you should do anything necessary to get a blurry great shot even if it means losing your slipper and jamming your elbow against the wall because you never know when the opportunity will come around again. 

Take as many shots as you can to ensure that you get at least one that's not blurry exactly what you want.  You can always use MS Paint photo editing software to black out touch up any slippers rough spots when you're back at home.

If you're limited to using a the same cat subject for all your shots, you can always experiment with different angles:

(I wanted to make this on my desktop wallpaper, but I was afraid people would think I'm weird or something)

But always put safety first.  Never antagonize a wild animal in order to get a shot. 

If the unthinkable happens and you find that your cat demands to be petted and won't sit still any longer yourself being charged by a wild animal, throw a toy mouse down the stairs create a distraction and immediately go to bed and shut the bedroom door retreat to safety.

Now that you've got the basics principles of photography down, get out there and PRACTICE, PRACTICE, PRACTICE.  And if all else fails, don't forget: small number, big opening!