Suck it vagrancy!

Kmart and I got an apartment!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It is beautiful. And in a great location. And close to a grocery store. And buses. And nightlife. And my boyfriend. And coffee shops. And clothing stores. And SO far from my work but I don't even care! WAAAAH!!!!

One of my greatest fears.

Mrs. Hannigan

Even though mom blocked that part off
I still remember the dazzling orange hair
The decaying, exasperated face
of a rotten woman who lived a crooked life
She had pastimes, of course
for hot money and making young girls squeal
often interjecting sinister tunes
between malicious looks and exchanges
The name alone is said high in the nose
where nasal tones make perfect sense
Her screams delight abandoned children
their playful tricks her demise

2/05

The gift that keeps on giving (to you).

Want to know how to present yourself with an endless amount of FREE presents that you are guaranteed to enjoy when you need them most? Here's exactly what you do. Listen closely.

Load your ipod or music player of choice with random, sometimes terrible, yet incredible songs. We're talking one-hit wonders, chart toppers, stuff you listened to (on the radio) when you were 13. These are the files that are in your itunes library, but you always make an excuse when someone scrolls over them, such as "oh yeah my little sister downloaded that." And don't just dump the entire artist's career onto your 'pod, but rather pick one single song, a guilty pleasure perhaps, that will make your face break out into a huge smile when the shuffle gods grant you this little slice of musical heaven.

These should be songs you think you're over, but you're totally not. For example:

• All Saints "Never ever"
• Hootie and the Blowfish "Let her cry"
• Ace of Base "The sign"
• TLC "Don't go chasin' waterfalls"

i.e. songs you shouldn't have and shouldn't enjoy, but you do...and you do.

Use me, use me, go on and use me.

The thing about being a professional intern is that you have to be prepared to be heavily underutilized.

Sometimes entire days will go by where I am not given even one task, such as a brief to write up, a meeting to attend, a staff member to observe, or even some edits to go through. A good intern will use this freedom to pitch story ideas, make up assignments for themselves, spend an entire day scouring the news, reading poynter.org and learning everything she can about journalism. But that situation isn't always applicable.

For example, you work for an organization that edits its publication a week before it gets printed, and it's almost time for the holiday break. Well you can't pitch story ideas because all the publication schedules are sewn up for the rest of the year, and the paper is tight for space as it is. The Web site editors are so busy and overwhelmed that they can't add anything else to their editing schedule. You've been reading the news for the past four hours, and frankly, that's enough.

So where does that leave me? Well, here. I think I'll start with Wuthering Heights.

I love this.

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 12, 2006

Catholics protest "immaculately transmitted rash" comic strip

Cavalier Daily
The Catholic League for Religious and Civil Rights and others are complaining about two "Quirksmith" comic strips that recently ran in the University of Virginia's Cavalier Daily. One has the Virgin Mary and Joseph talking about an "immaculately transmitted" rash. The second, titled "Christ on a Cartesian Plane," depicts the Crucifixion with a parabolic graph superimposed on the figure of Christ. The newspaper and university have received 2,000 letters about the cartoons.

Friday, December 07, 2007

Drawing a line

The Internet makes everything move faster. A comics controversy that began not long ago on a few blogs quickly spread to thousands of people and ended up in over a thousand complaining e-mails and phone calls by the time it made Fox News on Thursday evening.

It is unfortunate that so many people took offense to Grant Woolard's "Quirksmith" comics from Aug. 23 and 24, but we are operating under our comic censorship policy articulated in April, and will not be apologizing for the comics. We decide about censorship and apologies based on those standards, and not based on how many e-mails and phone calls we get.

Some critics have pointed out what they claim is a double-standard in our comic apologies. First of all, the apology referenced by most of the complaints -- an apology for a Nov. 29 "Schizophrenic Bosnian" comic -- was made by different editors, and thus we cannot speak to the motives for it. Secondly, earlier this year, we recognized the possibility for a double-standard in comic apologies, and developed a clear, specific standard delineating what content warrants censorship and apologies and what does not.

Another important thing to remember is that The Cavalier Daily is a college newspaper intended mostly for an 18 to 30-year-old audience. The vast majority of complaints we have gotten, however, are from people outside Charlottesville and that intended audience. The Internet changes our audience greatly, but it should surprise no one if our writers and artists would be more irreverent than those for mainstream newspapers.

Many of the people who have written us from around the country have said that they were hurt and saddened by the comics. If so, they were hurt needlessly. Our intent in letting those comics be published was never to rouse every congregation in the western hemisphere, as some other organizations have managed to do with our comics. While it may have served those groups' political purpose to work people into a frenzy over our comics, we regret being thrust into the culture war in this way. It's not a conflict we mean to take sides in, and few left-wing groups on Grounds would agree that we are biased in their favor. Just because a comic appears in our pages does not mean that the editors agree with the point or even find it in good taste. It only means that the comic fails to meet specific criteria that warrant censorship. We purposefully designed those criteria as loosely as possible to allow artists and writers the most latitude in expressing themselves. It's a level of freedom that few other types of publication are able to offer, and it's something we're proud of.

One of the most unfortunate parts of this whole saga is that University President John T. Casteen, III and other administrators have been subject to a barrage of e-mails and complaints about a matter over which they have no control. Those upset who complain Casteen may as well be writing to the Sultan of Brunei. The Cavalier Daily is completely independent of University funding and oversight -- which is the only way we can guarantee the freedom of our staff from censorship. Either those contacting him don't realize this, or they hope to entice the administration to clamp down. Fortunately, we value our freedom too much to allow non-journalists to censor our writers and artists. We will distribute The Cavalier Daily by hand on pieces of notebook paper before we ever allow that to change.

I hate goodbyes.

Most people that hate goodbyes as much as I do have trouble bidding those they love farewell because they find it depressing and emotionally difficult and they feel some sort of great loss.

I, however, just find them awkward. What do you say when you can't tack a "see you in two weeks!" on the end of it, or a "I'll catch you Saturday night, right?" I mean it's weird! I've been moving around a lot lately and I've found that it's especially difficult to say goodbye to coworkers as an intern. So not only are you leaving their organization, but you're probably never going to come back, and you're even moving of the state, so you're really not going to see them again.

Usually I regress to the classic "good luck." You say thanks so much for everything they've taught you, you thank them for their friendship, then you say "good luck with [whatever they're doing]" or "best of luck, you."

If it were up to me I would have lots of little gatherings with one or two people each and just hang out with them one last time, where you actually do something like mini golf, or dinner, or, you know, scaling a mountain. Then you have an activity to focus on, and don't have to worry that there might be someone at your gathering who doesn't know anyone else. And the best part of my small gathering plan? At the very last second, you turn around, start running away from your friend(s) as fast as you can, and scream over your shoulder "bye I'll miss you!"

Then you're done! Life would be so much easier if goodbyes could just be like bandaids.

you know you're really loved when...

A Saturday night conversation between myself and the cook that works at my dorm. Scene: I am walking through the food line.

Cook: You're new here!
Me: Nope, actually I've been here four months.
Cook: One month? That's not too long.
Me: No. Four months.
Cook: Really? Well I've never seen you.
Me [stammering]: Um, well, I guess I'm not that memorable?

You've got to love the Christian ladies dorm for really making you feel at home.

you'd think they'd let me go to the bathroom.

So we all know how much my dorm LOVES construction.

Nevermind the fact that I was woken each day this morning by deafening scraping outside of my door (a man was redoing the entire wall in the stairwell, thus preventing anyone from using the stairs for multiple days), but now, we can't even go to the bathroom without going to a different floor. And this is why:











Please observe: random bags of whatever all over the floor and mysterious canvas sacks covering each toilet. How am I supposed to go to the bathroom on top of a sac? And furthermore, why on the baby jesus's beautiful earth would they do this construction in the MORNING when people are getting ready for the day?!

I shake my fist at you, metro.

For someone that loves public transportation, I can honestly say that I am mad at it today.

First of all, the D.C. metro blasts heat out of side vents, located on each seat, even though the trains are already sweltering from the multitudes of bodies filling every crevice.

Secondly, today at least 150 of us piled onto the escalator up to Dupont Circle, standing two-by-two, only to be shocked when it stopped, mid-escalate! So our sweating bodies, about to faint from the heat of the metro, the weight of our bags, and the snug fit of our coats, hats, mittens, and scarves had to lumber up the entirety of the escalator (about 160 steps) behind a barely moving, extremely exhausted, cane-carrying senior citizen.

Metro! Please do not make an elderly man trudge up an escalator at the rate of 3 steps per minute! And while you're at it, please do not turn us into bumbling, torrid monsters with your freakish heating practices!

Confessions of an overeater.

I love my mom.

One of my favorite stories about her is that she was once invited to two Thanksgiving dinners, one at her grandmother's house and one that was to occur shortly after at her future in-laws' house. Being the sweet, adorable lady that she is, she resolved to eat two feasts, in their entirety, right in a row (so as to not offend either host). Then she did.

Let me give you the dimensions of my mother:

She's about 5'4, weighs around 125. So basically, she's a teensy little pipsqueak.



So what does this have to do with my overeating? Well my mom has always been able to pack it away. She can basically eat on command, and because she lifts weights and bikes all the time she's in great shape. Clearly, some traits I inherited from my mom and some I didn't. For example, I got her insatiable ability to eat lots and lots of food without getting full, but her devotion to exercise seemed to get left by the wayside for me.

I'm pretty much always hungry! And on the rare occasion that I get full, give it about half an hour then I'm ready to go again. I know people who get full after small portions of food, then they put their fork down and - bam - they're done with what they're eating even if it isn't gone. Then they're satisfied for hours. What the frick is up with that?

home.

"Intimacy is a luxury when you're young, and as you get older, it becomes a necessity without which life is unbearable." —GK

I totally agree. When I'm around people that I don't feel close to, it is such a different experience than when I'm around good friends.

What I'm most excited about, on the topic of my future move, is surrounding myself with people that really like being around me. I miss my friends. And trust me, I fully get that anyone can have friends like that wherever they go, but I just haven't been in a place long enough since college to be able to make that happen. I had a great friend in SF and a great friend or two in DC, which was wonderful, but honestly, it's not enough. I want to feel like I'm a part of something, of a unit. I want to feel like I belong.

I guess it's the same thing as having a home. It's convenient, it's familiar, it's comfortable. You can let your guard down in your house, or your apartment. It's the same with friends. When you're with really great friends, you should feel home.

Don't worry. I'm not going to join a gang or rush a sorority. I just want Teeth shows back. And Kristin. And Dave and Nick. And Metro transit. And Uptown. And freezing cold weather. And my beloved cloud bed. I want you back Minneapolis! C'mere!

101.

1. This summer is the fist time I have felt totally independent.
2. I don’t wear a lot of makeup but I LOVE blush.
3. I recently discovered the joys of 2 percent milk.
4. I have always wanted to date someone in a band.
5. As luck would have it, my boyfriend is a drummer!
6. I was a very, very loud child.
7. I seem to have almost no memory of some of the most seemingly formative events of my life.
8. I have tendencies to only list things about myself that involve food, possibly because I’m eating lunch.
9. I have really high standards for people that I love.
10. I really enjoy reading books, yet my heart leaps for joy when I finish one (probably because I love accomplishment).
11. My motivation level at my past two internships has been close to zero.
12. I often focus on what’s next so much that I forget about what’s happening now.
13. I really don’t like any sort of Asian cuisine or fish.
14. At any given time I’m usually worried about something catastrophic that really isn’t a big deal.
15. Even though I have a degree in journalism I really don’t enjoy reporting.
16. I always told myself if I were to have a career change it would be to become a nurse, like my mom.
17. The sucker I’m eating tastes like soap because there was soap in that drawer.
18. I love scary movies but I can never find anyone that doesn’t mind them enough to watch with me.
19. My greatest fear in my life is my mom dying. Live forever, Jeannie!
20. I sometimes wonder how I could ever find a husband that would live up to how much my family loves my brother-in-law, but then I remember I don’t really care.
21. I have always wanted to live in NYC.
22. I truly do believe that I am not as smart as the average person I talk to from day to day.
23. But I think I make up for it in other ways.
24. I have a really difficult time sharing things sometimes, mostly with food and mostly if I don’t have a lot left.
25. I generally don’t like to take a twosie without sufficient reading material to accompany me.
26. Nothing satisfies me more than finishing a journal.
27. I’m a little apprehensive about the next one though, because it doesn’t lie flat.
28. My boyfriend is in better shape than me and I’m totally ok with that.
29. I really do believe that I can be funny sometimes.
30. I plan on writing a screenplay in the year 2008.
31. I have never traveled beyond the U.S. and one Canadian state.
32. I plan to remedy that soon-ish.
33. I am very quick to forgive people and try to never hold grudges.
34. I am pretty much hungry all the time and rarely get full.
35. If I do get full, give it 30 minutes then I’m ready to go again.
36. I absolutely love making lists.
37. I recently got a free shirt out of a free stuff bin at my dorm and I love it.
38. My heart pounds out of excitement at the thought of purchasing a new notebook.
39. Sometimes I stick things in my journal to fill up the pages so I can get to the next journal faster.
40. I love straws.
41. My heroes are my sister and brother-in-law. I wish I were married to them too.
42. I have really high standards for bosses, and am quick to find faults in even the good ones.
43. Money is not a factor in my job choices.
44. I sometimes have a temper but I’m working on it.
45. On Wed. afternoons I can barely even concentrate because I get so excited for the Chron’s weekly free dinner.
46. I am absolutely addicted to g-chat and have no shame g-chatting at work.
47. I think the time to go cold turkey should be when I start at mpr.
48. I’m secretly scared I won’t get to start at mpr.
49. I was recently forced to endure a 12 hour job interview, 6 of which I had to witness the interviewer get wasted in a bar.
50. I have a deep, deep love and admiration for Saturday Night Live.
51. Please don’t tell my boyfriend, but I think that there is one man that was put on this earth for me and his name is Shia Laboeuf.
52. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I would have swam one more year.
53. I want to write and film shorts.
54. I don’t know the first thing about writing a screenplay but I’m starting to learn.
55. I love letting noodles hang out of my mouth until I’m completely ready to suck them in.
56. I have a hard time wrapping my head around how people can work for 8 hours straight, minus one hour for lunch.
57. I really really love my new shoes but they make my feet smell atrocious.
58. I love tv, but only good tv.
59. Back there when I said I only love good tv that really wasn’t true.
60. I’m on a football team and I’m the worst one but I’m totally ok with that.
61. Some people might think I’m absent-minded but I’m actually hyper-responsible.
62. I love public transportation and have never owned a car.
63. I used to feel really uncomfortable hanging out alone for long periods of time.
64. I want cute, black, artsy glasses.
65. I don’t have a favorite type of flower.
66. My favorite store (for everything) is Target.
67. I’m really disappointed in the way my older brother treats my younger brother.
68. I have no idea what to do about it.
69. One time I surfed and didn’t even fall down.
70. The most relaxed I am is when I’m watching tv and writing.
71. I do not understand how people like the taste of sparkling water.
72. I cannot wait to have a baby because I’ve been looking forward to wearing maternity clothes and having cravings for as long as I can remember.
73. But don’t worry I don’t want to be preggers for at least 8 years.
74. I don’t like coffee or anything that tastes like hot, dirty water.
75. It makes me sad to think I might have to own/use a car someday.
76. I would never, ever have an affair!
77. Sometimes I think about my old friends and wonder how they are doing. Then I look at facebook.
78. I think, if I have a daughter, that I shall name her Allie because I’ve never met an Allie that isn’t a tough nut.
79. I don’t want to live with a boy until I marry him because it seems like that’s going to be one of the best parts. Or one of the hardest parts.
80. I love pool but I’m really bad at it.
81. The feeling of buyer’s remorse often looms over me after purchasing clothing.
82. I like my rooms and office spaces to be very clean and organized.
83. Seems like one of the best parts about being a doctor is the scrubs. I’ve always wanted to wear those puppies to work.
84. I freaking love a good romantic comedy.
85. I really wish I had long hair but it absolutely will not grow.
86. I can’t remember the last time I dressed up for Halloween.
87. I have terribly high expectations for my next job. I really hope it’s fulfilling.
88. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, toot, then get really scared that I’m not the only person in the room and that someone might hear me.
89. Every day I think about my cloud bed and our glorious reunion.
90. If I could pick any movie to live in it would be Newsies.
91. I don’t believe in soul mates.
92. One really important aspect to my happiness in San Francisco was “Felicity”.
93. I wish, wish, wish that I could have sweeping bangs but my cowlick is such a cock block.
94. I like my freckles, though some might say they look like mini face poop stains.
95. I have to wear high heels to a company Christmas party in two weeks and we’re just really going to have to see how that goes.
96. I miss being a host!
97. Garrison Keillor loves washing the dishes so I have decided to love it too.
98. I got on the Phish bandwagon really, really late.
99. I now have a full weekend off every week for the first time in years and it’s so nice!
100. I am moving in 11 days and this excites me greatly.
101. Sometimes I just have to run really fast, even if I’m just walking down the hall at work.

Woman Denied Hot Dog, Suspects Race is Factor

Ok so there is this perfectly lovely woman that operates a hot dog stand outside our work. She is a very nice woman and mans her stand even on the coldest/rainiest of days. There's just one problem. She loves my friend Mary. They share a bond over a common language spoken that makes this woman feel very close to my friend. One of the ways she shows this admiration is by preparing Mary's food first, regardless of whether she orders it first. Another is by supplying the occasional unspoken discount to my friend.

Mind you, the food is very cheap so it is not by any means a big deal but c'mon! Is this my first hate crime? I guess there was that one time when I was walking with my friend down the street who is of Indian descent and people kept smiling and pointing at us and I had no idea why until he told me it's because we were in Minnesota and people thought we were an interracial couple. But that's not really a crime.

Now using your hot dog supplying powers to play favorites...that's something to think about.

How awfully disappointing.

So my pear tastes distinctly like a branch.

Everyone should probably have one.

I want to talk to you about something today that I really think is going to change your life.

Alias. No, not the show thank you very much. We're talking "alias", as in a name that has been temporarily assumed. Do you have one?

I guess I got to thinking about this for two reasons. One, I'm on a Friends kick right now and both Joey and Phoebe have one (Ken Adams and Regina Phalange, respectively). Two, my friend Tim called me last night and introduced himself as some sort of secretarial bank teller person who wanted to check up on a recent $500,000 donation I made to a local charity. And my other friend Jake frequently likes to refer to himself in return addresses and phone messages as "The New York Times."

So I have one. I made it this summer (complete with fake email address) because I had to email a public figure that I had never met and express disappointment about something she did. Trust me it was for a good reason, and I was very respectable in my approach. I hope she thought long and hard about it.

But there are many other advantages to having an alias, especially when it gets to the point where you don't even have to try to remember what your alias is - it just spills out of your mouth whenever your heart feels it's necessary to provide false identification. This can be useful while ordering pizza, when you are approached in a bar, when you have to give your name at a coffee shop, when taking surveys, etc. Or, if you choose to go the email route as well, this can be useful for when you need to provide an email address but aren't sure if a spam attack will follow.

It's simple, it's useful, it's perf. Get yours today.

Bling.

Thursday, November 15, 2007

I recently told my boyfriend that when he is ready, I would like him to purchase me this two-karat engagement ring.

Thank the baby jesus he has a sense of humor.

Nature's Candy.

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Today, I did something I haven't done in over a decade. Coke. Straight up coke.

No, not this kind:


This kind:


You're probably asking yourself a few questions. A. Why did she do this today? B. How can anyone not have drank straight up Coke in over a decade? Well. Let me tell you, friends.

A. I found a free Coke at work.

B. It all started with an impromptu run. I was young, I felt a little, you know, out of it. So I decided to take a quick jaunt up and down the block a few times. Back then, on the off-chance that I would actually take the initiative to run (and I do mean off-chance), I would always sprint the last half-mile or so, just for good measure.

On this particular time, I sprinted home ultra fast and was then ravenously thirsty. We're talking the kind of thirsty where you think to yourself "if I don't slide a cool liquid down my throat in the next 30 seconds I literally might die." So I burst through the doors, kicked off my shoes, ran to the fridge, and grabbed the nearest thing to my hand, which was an icy cold Dr. Pepper.

I chugged half, stood there for a moment, them promptly threw up.

Moral of the story: Please don't drink Dr. Pepper after a run. It may just cost you the next regular-soda-less decade of your life.

I can't hold this in any longer.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Listen. I've been meaning to talk to you about something for some time now. It's just that it's been festering over the past two months and by the time I get to work each day I'm so upset by it that I try as hard as I can not to think about it until it happens again. But it's just not fair to withhold my biggest problem in life with you, is it?

Ok here we go. Deeeeeeeep breath, wink. You can do this.

I'm in the middle of an emotional breakdown. Every day, it takes as much strength as I can muster to not let my rage slip out into a furious fit of mad. And it all started like this. I live in a dorm. A dorm that hundreds of girls live in. Because of this, I can't remember the last time I was allowed the luxury of actually being the one to decide when I wake up. Every morning, WITHOUT FAIL, I wake up to one of the following:

• Terrible, deafening clanking and clamoring inside of my vents or pipes whether my heat is on or not.
• My own pools of sweat, since the only thing that drowns out the clamoring is when the heat is on full-blast.
• Incessant and top-of-the-lung chirping from birds sitting in a tree directly outside my window, which has to be open because of said full-blasted heat.
• Someone chatting at yell-decibel-level on her cell as she walks by my room.
• Someone nearby slamming a door shut or clomping down the stairs, located directly outside my door.
• The cleaning lady vacuuming so loud at 7:45 a.m. that it absolutely has to be a small square of carpet right outside my door that she is vacuuming. In fact, sometimes I think she just leaves the vacuum on right outside my door, while she does God knows what.
• Random slamming on walls, on doors or the person above me dropping what has to be a sack full of bricks.
• The cleaning lady humming some freaky high-voice tune as loud as any one human has ever hummed.
• The f'ing next door neighbor's alarm going off [ehh-ehh-ehh-ehh] for over an hour because she left already without turning the snooze off. This happened three times in one week and subsequently caused me to slip two of the nastiest letters I have ever written under her door.

I hate the dorm. I hate it. I hate the dirty non-carpeted room floors, the '70s style cafeteria, the patchy walls with missing paint, the horse-tasting mini corn on the cob type things we're supposed to put in our salads, the ladies that work there, the shared bathrooms, and especially, ESPECIALLY, the fact that someone actually thinks it's prudent to start the daily cleaning process before 8 in the morning. WHY?

WWWWHHHHHHYYYYYYY?!?!? Get me out of here.

I want to be better at this.

Wednesday, November 7, 2007

A recipe for looking cool, from a very wise man:

"It seems to me, observing the young in coffee shops, that something is missing from their lives, the fine art of holding a newspaper...

... Whether you're sitting or standing, indoors or out, leaning against a hitching post or planting your brogans on a desk, a newspaper gives you a whole rich vocabulary of gesture. You open it with a flourish and a ripple of newsprint, your buoyant self-confidence evident in the way you turn the pages with a snap of the wrist, taking in the gray matter swiftly, your eyes dancing over the world's sorrows and moving on, crinkling the page, snapping it, rolling it, folding the paper in halves and quarters, tucking it under the arm or tapping it against the palm. Cary Grant, Spencer Tracy, Jimmy Stewart, all the greats, used the newspaper to demonstrate cool. Sitting and staring at the profile of Kerri ("Dreamer of dreams") Jodhpur, 18, of Muncie, Indiana, and her cat Snowball is not cool."

—G.K.

I want this outfit in my size for Christmas please.

IT KNOWS WHERE YOU ARE!

Thursday, November 1, 2007

Allow me to obsess about something for a moment.

Have you seen The New York Times' video of Tuesday's democratic debate? It's incredible. And it's not because of the content of the debate. It's because of the PLAYER.

The player. So beautiful, so simple, so user-friendly.

• First column: Two simple tabs. One plays the video, the other analyzes the transcript.
• Second column: The actual transcript of the entire debate. Questions in gray, candidate's answers in black. Best part? The text SCROLLS ALONG as you watch. Without you even picking up a mouse! If you pause, it stops, if you resume, it elegantly joins you.
• Third column: Simple tabs, so that you may jump to any section of the video/transcript you want, should you momentarily get distracted at work, or need to stretch your viewing over multiple days.

So, to Shan Carter, Gabriel Dance, Matt Ericson, Tom Jackson, Jonathan Ellis and Sarah Wheaton of The New York Times, I give you a swift yet gentle head pat and I say thank you, thank you for this wonderful piece of brilliancy.

holy quantoli am I out of shape!

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Ok so as you know I'm on a Minnesota alumni football team. We're really not that good. But I like to think that despite screams coming from the men-folk on our team aimed at refs, the other team, themselves, the girls on our team, and anyone on the sidelines, despite dropped pass after fumbled ball after terrible throw after outstretched arms after balls sailing by after interceptions after trips after missed flags and after pivots gone awry, that beneath all that terrible, low-morale-having, football-sucking nonsense, we still have a little fun.

Regardless, team members are dropping like flies. One girl moved away. Four guys are frequently gone. One girl travels a lot for her job. Another shows up halfway through the game, if at all. And what does this mean? The majority of people have to stay in the whole game, without breaks.

After one such game where I had the pleasure of playing offensive blocker on top of defensive rush, I retired to my dormitory to take a quick cat nap. Five hours of nap plus two hours of inadvertent facebooking later, I woke up and felt determined to go for a run, a jaunt which I had yet to accomplish in more than a month. So I strapped on my shoes, ipod, and sweatshirt, and headed out the door. After running a long circle around my area I decided to do another. I was feeling great. Then I decided to slowly walk it out, completing yet another circle. Then I got home, laid on the floor, and actually felt the motivation to complete 100 crunches. Three sets of 30, one set of 10, you're welc.

Then...the next morning came. I awoke, sleepily reached over to turn off my phone alarm, and attempted to swing my body over the side of my bed, only to find that the slightest, and we're talking slightest movement felt like 145 hands, positioned in fists all over my body, delivering one punch to every part of my body at the exact same time. Every. time. I. moved.

I'm not kidding. If you would just take a moment here, please picture 145 of these bad boys ALL over your body -------------------------------->


Two days later it's not even a little bit better. I'm stiff, I waddle instead of walk, and everything I do is in slow motion, because it has to be.

Any advice?!

Who feels me? C'mon! Who?

Does anyone ever momentarily attempt to use your phone as your mouse? Gah! I hate that.

keep your eyes away from my lunch you mongrel!

Thursday, October 18, 2007

People that work in an office are obsessed with lunch.

I found that out today. I mean, I know I've always been really excited myself when it gets to be time for that sweet, sweet midday break, but I don't take it to the extreme that some people do, and did today.

I brought lunch to share with another intern today because I had extra dorm food left over from last night. Needless to say, it wasn't peanut butter and jellies or apples, but it was delicious food. Big deal, right?

Right. Huge deal, apparently. See, we were enjoying BBQ chicken with green beens and pizza and a brownie.

And people FREAKED OUT about it. "Whoohooa. Where's the party?" one asked. Another followed us around, trying to get to the source of this food. Some exclaimed "Yum that looks great!" Another person asked us where the food came from. "My house," I said.

As we walked through the hallways, we had to endure "What is that smell?" and "Man, what a treat!" Even the man in the elevator was asking us all these questions about the food. "Look! A lamb chop! Wow, that looks amazing! It's so funny that you're eating that for lunch!" he said. "It's actually chicken," we replied.

After a while I began to feel, sort of...on display. What makes people feel like they can comment and drool over our food? Get off it, people! If you like chicken so much go get some from the thousands of Chinese restaurants all over! Get some for $1 from McDonald's! Or make some at home and bring it in a container! Sheesh!

*Story addition*
Mary, the intern I ate lunch with, reminded me of the weirdest part of the whole experience. So the elderly male who rode the elevator up to the roof with us (we eat lunch on the roof) was admiring and freaking out about our lunch. We got to the door that lead us out onto the patio and Mary and I had both hands full so he stepped forward to push open the door for us, but then Mary threw her leg up and pushed the door open with her foot. The man, flabbergasted, responded "ooooooo child!".

when it's just really too late.

Thursday, October 18, 2007

Have you ever been in a situation where you really should have met someone, but you never did, and now it's way, way too late?

I'm definitely in that situation. There are about 200 people that work here, and on my first and second days I met a ton of them. I can't remember most of their names, but it's not a huge deal because we all have name plaques on our cubicles, and I've met and learned all of the people's names that I have to interract with on a daily basis. That is except...

The woman who sits next to me. Yeah. I never met her. She was away on a reporting trip my first couple of days, then on her first day back she never introduced herself to me. And now, we just go straight to our cubicles when we sit down and that is that. But last night, I was saying goodnight to everyone on the area and I couldn't just ignore her! "Goodnight, Mitch. Goodnight, Don! Goodnight, Jenny!" I said. Then I got to her desk. "Goodnight!" I said. She looked up and replied, "Oh, uh, goodnight."

You're probably asking yourself why I wouldn't just say "This is so crazy that we haven't met yet, but hi, I'm *blah blah. I'm an intern here. I'm from *blah blah." But don't even try to tell me that, because it is way too late. As in, weeks too late.

Also, on a side note, my outfit today consists of ripped converses, holey jeans, and a plaid, casual button up T.

She is in a fancy red dress with heels, much like this one. If you ask me, though I am underdressed today I look more like the normal one. C'mon! This is a newspaper not a fancy gala ball!


Ok so I'm slightly exaggerating. But still. We are in two different, different worlds. And it is too late to fix this. Too late I tell you!

Today's rousing conversation between interns near my desk.

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

Intern 1: So, what's the good word?

Intern 2: *blank stare.

Intern 1: What's the good word?

Intern 2: *blank stare. "What?"

Intern 1: What's the good word?

Me: I think he means like "What's up" or "How are you".

Intern 2: Oh. Um, not much.

Intern 1: *Bobs head. "Cool, cool."

dorm dining experience #1

Wednesday, October 3, 2007

Does anyone remember this scene from "Big"? Ok well do you remember some of the stuff that he eats at that party? Ok well do you happen to remember the tiny little baby ears of corn that he eats? What in the frick are those called?

The reason that I ask is because last night I had a terrible dining experience. When I determined that my dining hall chicken breast, half-soft, half-rock hard dinner roll, and two pieces of giant broccoli wouldn't be enough to sustain me for the rest of the night, I decided to go for the salad. I was pleased to find out that there were loads of toppings, including vegetables, croutons, raisins, every kind of dressing, and even cubed ham. I was especially pleased to see little teeny, edible cobs of corn, a la Tom Hanks in "Big", so I did what any corn/"Big" lover would do and piled them on top of my salad. Since I was so hungry, I didn't even wait until I sat down to pop one in my mouth. But the second I did...my good sweet baby jesus was I regretful because it tasted TERRIBLE. There was a distinct flavor I could not for the life of me place.

But then, as I sat down and gave another mini cob the ol' college try, it hit me. I knew what the taste was. Horses. The mini corn tasted exactly, 100 percent, no doubt about it, like a solid-hoofed herbivorous quadruped of the horse-like origin. To figure out what this corn tasted like, picture a horse. Then picture smelling what the horse and it's surroundings smell like. Then picture converting that exact smell into a flavor. Then picture tasting that flavor. There you go. You can now envision the exact experience I went through.

And now you can take heed next time you gingerly pop one of these bad boys into your mouth. Just say no! Say no to horse-tasting mini devil cobs!

You have got to see this.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Listen. You all remember the British version of The Office, correct? Do you remember the seething hatred you felt for boss David Brent, played by Ricky Gervais? Well I didn't think I would be able to stand this man ever again. But just last night, I discovered a little gem that completely changed my mind.

Extras. Have you seen it? It's definitely the funniest piece of British comedy I've seen, of course apart from Monty Python. Watching it, I shook with laughter. Ricky plays a working actor who only gets roles as an extra and each episode has a different celebrity guest, such as Samuel L. Jackson, Kate Winslet, Les Dennis, Patrick Stuart, Orlando Bloom, Daniel Radcliffe, etc. I suggest you get your Neflix on, and get it on now. And here's a tip: if you do get your feisty little hands on this, watch the DVD extras, especially the outtakes. They almost made me piddle.

A note on this picture: Ok here's how it happened. So I wanted a picture of Ricky because not everyone can remember who he is, possibly because of our American-ness and his British-ocity, but the programs I have on this computer are so rudimentary that my greatest editing software is, you guessed it, "Paint." (Intern computers are greeeat.) I was able to crop out the right side but not the left so I decided to write on the left side, which really only resulted in me looking like a Perez knockoff.

skewed ethics really aren't my thing.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

A conversation I just had with my boss:

Me: It just feels like I'm supposed to be spinning things, to try to get an agenda across, when those things actually aren't there.

Boss: Well that's kind of what we do with our boxes sometimes.

Me: I know but it feels dirty.

Boss: Well I guess it's a good thing you're going to the Chronicle then!

If I wasn't sure that leaving was the right decision, that just may have been the kicker.

doggystyle.

Thursday, September 6, 2007

I've spent probably 2 hours at work today figuring out whether Snoop's "Gin and Juice" from Doggystyle is spelled with "and" or "&". After a disgusting amount of online research, an office feud, and the help of a local Amoeba Music employee, it was "and". Booyah.

Fact checking's a bitch, yo.

Thanks, passport lady. thanks.

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

So...I wanted to get my passport today. Or at least, to start the process. I successfully took my passport photos (for a whopping $14!) at a small, local post office. Then, I brought my photos and materials to a larger local post office to order the passport. There were two problems.

1. My birth certificate wasn't the original copy. I wasn't surprised because I didn't think I would get away with a scanned/emailed/printed version, but I thought I'd try. So that wasn't too big a problem; I'll just have my parents mail me a copy.

2. Here's the tricky one. In my passport photos, my face was allegedly too yellow. "Yeah, your face is too yellow," passport lady said. "But I just took the photo 5 minutes ago, are you sure it's not ok?" I said as I held the photos up to my hopeful face. "Yeah, those photos give you yellow skin and your face is red. Red like a lobster. You're going to have to get those retaken."

*sigh. This is red lobster face, signing off.

All I can say is...

Thursday, August 30, 2007

...you're welcome.

Uh ohsies...

Monday, August 20, 2007

I just got talked into joining a co-ed D.C. football league for Minnesota alumni. Though I know nothing about the sport much less how to successfully play it, I joined, naturally, in hopes of making friends and finding something fun to do.

Then I looked at our website and found our tagline: "Where sportsmanship is the exception."

Oh...my...G.

I feel so ashamed...yet intrigued.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Have you ever heard of the Starbucks Oracle? It judges you based on your regular drink.

My drink: Grande Caramel Apple Cider.

What the Oracle said:

Personality type: Clueless

You don't go to Starbucks much; when you do you just tag along with other people since you have nothing better to do. You would like to order a Tazo Chai Crème but don't know how to pronounce it. Most people who drink grande caramel apple cider are strippers.

Also drinks: Wine coolers
Can also be found at: The mall

Ok...I don't know about the mall (I did go to Gap on my work break today) but other than that, this thing is dead on.

What does it say about your drink?

More reading material here.

Damnit craigslist!

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

When I found my current living situation on Craigslist, I thought I was the luckiest little Internet user that had ever lived.

Yeah not so much.

Roommate anecdote #2056984206
It's a Monday night. I had just made myself a delicious dinner and was letting it settle as I, myself, settled down to watch an episode of 30 Rock on NBC.com. Our apartment only has free wireless in the living room, so that is where I sat. As I was relaxing, delighted by Tina Fey's comical genius, the door creaked open and in shuffled my roommates, coming from a nice smoke break. They plopped down in the living room, surrounded me and discussed which celebrities they thought were going to die next. The rest of my episode was accompanied by this and by one roommate loudly letting my other roommates in on her secret absinthe recipe while she was opening her package of US mail filled with various types of fresh drugs, drug paraphernalia, and other drug-related content.

Yaaaay I love it here!!

Just...ugh.

Tuesday, August 7, 2007

I'm beyond disgusted right now.

Who is the employee of this news organization that deems it pertinent to take the SMELLIEST DUMPS KNOWN TO MAN on a multi-daily basis?? Honestly, walking near the bathroom (which one must do to access the kitchen) I can instantly not only smell but feel the hot, sick stench of terrible butt poops infiltrating the entire hallway.

Nevermind the fact that it's the only bathroom on our whole floor minus a totally inconvenient one in the elevator lobby...this employee needs to be stopped!

My sweet, sweet weekend.

Monday, August 6, 2007

I'm just going to get out there and say it.

I really don't have friends here. I do have a friend (singular), and she's great. But her family is here for the week so she's not even going to work, much less hanging out with me. Believe me: I'm not depressed. I'm having a great time - almost too great a time hanging out with myself for my own good. To prove it to you, let me present you with a list of activities I did this weekend. Alone.

• Friday night - made burritos. Watched One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest. Watched most of The Graduate. Talked to boyfriend on phone.
• Saturday - finished The Graduate. Ate toasted sandwich. *Went to zoo alone. Watched episodes of 30 Rock on NBC.com in nearby coffee shop. Talked to boyfriend on phone.
• Sunday - Attended four - count it - FOUR movies in the theater. Paid for one. **Watched more episodes of 30 Rock in said coffee shop. Talked to boyfriend on phone.

Listen, I had fun. It was a nice, relaxing weekend. And I am the first to admit I was sort of a loser this weekend. Shhh. It's ok.

*Upon hearing I did this my dad responds with "Don't you think that's a little pathetic?"
**Upon ordering my classic drink, woman behind counter loudly proclaims "Hey...you were here last night weren't you?"

A really weird Monster.com experience.

Wednesday, August 1, 2007

So all I wanted to do was delete my Monster.com account, because all the account gave me was a ton of unwanted Spam and no actual offers or contacts. Since the site does not offer you a convenient link whatsoever to do this, I had to connect to a live chat to talk to a customer service representative. It was one of the oddest experiences of my life.

*note: actual names and personal information have been omitted and replaced. Bam.

Monster Live Chat

Welcome to Monster, Wink.
You are connected to an agent.

Wink:hello, I have a question.
Uma:Hello Wink!
Uma:Thank you for contacting Monster, my name is Uma Maheswar, how may I help you?
Wink:Hi Uma. I'm wondering how I can delete my entire Monster account
Wink:I'm having trouble finding out how to disable it
Uma:I am sorry for the inconvenience caused to you.
Wink:can you tell me how to do this?
Wink:no problem
Uma:I will be glad to help you with this.
Uma:Wink, May I know why you want to delete your account?
Wink:I want to start a new one later on
Uma:Okay.
Uma:Wink, I will help you with this.
Uma:To locate your account, May I have your email address and full name as in your Monster account, please?
Wink:wink@truthpirates.com, Wink
Uma:Thank you.
Uma:Wink, I have located an account with the information which you provided me.
Uma:Just to make sure that I am in the right account; may I have your Complete Street Address and Phone Number as mentioned in your Monster Account?
Wink:****,***
Uma:Thank you very much for verifying your account details.
Uma:I have located your account.
Uma:Wink, Instead of deleting your account you can disable your account, so that you are not going to receive any emails from the Monster or from employers.
Uma:You can reactivate your account in the future if you want to use Monster services.
Wink:would it be possible to just delete it?
Uma:Wink, please let me know do you want me delete your account or disable it?
Uma:Okay,I respect your decision.
Wink:thanks
Uma:Please give me a moment while I delete your account
Uma:You are welcome.
Uma:Thank you for your time and patience.
Wink:thank you
Uma:Wink, I would like to inform you that I have successfully deleted your Monster account.
Wink:ok
Uma: As per your request, your account and all of your personal information have been removed from our database.
Wink:thanks for the help
Uma:I suggest you to try to login to your account to check whether account is deleted or not.
Wink:ok I'll do that
Uma:It's my pleasure.
Uma:Please let me know are you able to login to your account.
Wink:ok I'll check
Uma:I will stay online to make sure that your account is deleted properly.
Wink:ok it won't let me log in so it looks like it worked
Uma:Yes, now you can confirm, that your account is no more active.
Wink:ok. thanks!
Uma:It is deleted properly.
Uma:Wink, Have I resolved your issue today?
Wink:yes, thank you.
Uma:You are most welcome.
Uma:Is there anything else I can help you with?
Wink:nope that's it
Uma:It's my pleasure.
Uma:Take good care of your self.
Uma:Thank you for using Monster, have a good day.
Wink:thanks you too

Then, I got this in my inbox!

Hello Wink,

Thank You for contacting Monster Customer Central. With regards to the chat we had today, I would like to inform you that I have successfully deleted your account. As per your request, your account and all of your personal information have been removed from our database. This is just a confirmation email from your side informing you that your account has been deleted from Monster. In the future if you want to start an account in Monster please feel free to email us at uma.s@monster.com , I will be glad to help you. You are valuable customer at Monster and we will be happy to assist you. All the best and success.

Thanks & Regards,

Uma Maheswar.

Monster Customer Central

Monster -- Today is the Day.

Do I like……have a relationship with this woman now??

Harry Potter Brings Out the Crazy

Thursday, July 26, 2007

I can’t pretend to judge.

Last night, I sat on my bed, eyes red with the sleepless wonder of every word that got me closer to the long-awaited Harry Potter conclusion. I laughed out loud. I sobbed. I gasped. I took the occasional "emotion-break" from reading in order to collect myself.

Then it came: sweet closure. When I finished, I didn’t know what was better — knowing what the ending was, or knowing that I didn’t have to blast my iPod or cover my ears on sidewalks and public transportation to drown out potential spoilers.

Whether it’s to amuse you, or to convince myself that I’m not that bad…why don’t we take a look at some of the more notable HP fanatics?

Kathy Cook, 48. Third-grade teacher, famous for her HP bedroom. Waterloo, IA.

Miana Breed, 14. Wake Forest, NC. “My relationship with Harry started so long ago, when I was 8.”

Kristin Devoe, 39. Delmar, NY. Harry blogger would do anything to avoid a spoiler: "It might sound silly to those who haven't put in the time, but this is the biggest event in the history of books!"

Lucy Bushell, 30, Hambelton, UK. Saw the last HP movie 111 times.

Hibbity Bibbity / The perils of having roommates.

On the unfortunate experience of hearing your roommate do the hibbity bibbity.

So you're laying there. It's 9:30 p.m. on a Saturday night. You've had a really draining week, Friday night and Saturday afternoon. You're thinking to yourself, "this is exactly what I need. A night in, just for myself, a big sandwich and some crappy TV on DVD. Let...the relaxing...being."

When all of the sudden, you hear it. Your roommate, who shares a (thin) wall with you, is loudly panting and moaning her way though a sexual encounter with Mr. Russian Dude she met at a park. You lay there, gagging, as you brianstorm any and every way to drown out her disgusting, animal-like, porn-star bellowing.

As it turns out, my much-needed, relaxing night ended up with me, digusted, wrapping pillows around my head, trying to avoid the ability to hear. What a disaster.


PERILS

So, you know you have a really great roommate when she has the decency and selflessness to do the following:

• Steals the communal light bulb out of the hallway light when the light bulb in her room goes out. Does not replace it. [Thus resulting in you blindly groping your way out of your room every night and day.]
• Uses your laundry detergent without asking, then informs you that she used it. No remorse. [Mind you she did four loads out of your tiny 16-load detergent bottle.]
• Waltzes into your room at any time of day while you're gone at work to hang up her laundry, sniff around, and do allah knows what in there.

If only this pesky "rent" thing was not a factor!!*

*shakes fist at "rent"

You know what I'm talking about.

Friday, July 13, 2007

So everyone has this friend. You know, the one that is so much fun to hang out with, but you never know if one second you'll be engrossed in a coversation with her (or him), you'll look to your left for one second, then you'll look back and she's halfway across the park excitedly greeting another friend. You look down, and your friend has left her bag with you, because she knows you're a responsible person. She can leave her bag with you. But you could never leave yours with her.

Picture this. You're at a big event in the park, sitting in the grass. You're chomping on some food with your friend, having a good time, starting to think to yourself, "Wow. I really enjoy this person's company. We're starting to become pretty good friends." Then, all of the sudden, she's gallavanting across the field to say hi to some friends, and of course, you're stuck with the bags, food and drinks. As you look around, you see groups of friends - all together, inclusively, talking and laughing. "It's cool, she'll be right back. I can just chill here," you say to yourself as you take a huge bite of burritto, sheepishly look around, and realize you are totally alone.

Don't you love friends like that?!

Questions for a Wednesday morning

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

As I peer quizzically into the Barrel of my diet Snapple lemon iced tea I am forced to wonder...

Are those chunks normal? Should I...shake?

How could something with zero calories taste so, so magnificent?

Didn't Snapple used to cost, like, $4 per bottle? Why is it $1 now?

Who is the genius that created the Snapple lemon iced tea slogan "Good when it's a tea, bad when it's a car" (with an arrow pointing to a cartoon lemon)?

Will diet Snapple give me cancer?

Either way, diet Snapple, I don't even care. I just love you, you snapply minx.

The sweaty mess.

Sunday, July 8, 2007

I was recently not only traveling to a new city that I had never been, but moving there. This having been the first time I had ever moved anywhere via plane, I unfortunately now realize that I definitely over-packed, to say the least.

Since I had two gigantic suitcases stuffed with clothes and other various items so much so that the seams literally clung to each other for dear, sweet life, I really had no room for sweatshirts or sweaters. My alternative? Wearing them all, one on top of the other, on the plane.

Though I looked like a drug smuggling, skinny-faced yet overweight person, I somehow got through security, on the plane, and to the luggage claim at my new city with no problems. As I was awaiting the arrival of my new Craig's List roommates who were coming to take me to my new flat, I suddenly started to become extremely warm under my three sweatshirts, one large sweater and jacket. The 30-lb backpack on my back coupled with the rock-heavy laptop strapped across my shoulders did not help the situation.

By the time my new roommates got to the airport, I had become nothing less than a seething, bumbling, profusely sweating ball of hot.

I was hoping they wouldn't notice, but as I loaded my gear and my person into their very small vehicle, a thick cloud of moisture started to spread itself across first my passenger window, then quickly to the back windows, front windows, driver side window and what surely had to be the windows of any cars passing by.

"Haha, I guess I'm a little warm right now. Sorry guys," I mumbled with a sheepish grin to my tiny, expensive clothing-clad, perfect new roommates.

"Oh, yeah, um, it's no problem," they replied, confused, most likely wondering if I was going to heat the entire apartment all summer with my immense, no less than shocking body sweat.

And that, dear readers, was my first experience in my new town.