Study Break.

Potential things to do with my GRE vocab flash cards (other than study them):

1. Place them in various locations throughout the city. Mailboxes, cracks between bricks, under windshield wipers. Those who find them could unknowingly become part of an awesome and select club of Bailey-GRE-flash-card holders. Plus they would learn (or review) one large, impressive word. And let's be honest and objective here, that's just spreading good vocab around the world. Good deed? I think so.

2. Make a paper mache pinata out of the cards. Fill pinata with candy and fake acceptance letters to elite programs and schools.

3. Make fun of my handwriting (i.e., "trickery" becomes "thickery") with Nate and Mike. Check.

4. Place on floor and watch Dibbs bat at them. Squeal with excitement at his cuteness as he ignores my presence.

5. Build a house of flash cards.

6. Host a party, create goody bags, stealthily fill bags with flash cards. Snicker as guests leave with lame goody bags. Add candy to goody bags if you will feel badly about giving out only vocab. Unless all party guests are English majors, then no need for candy or stealth.

7. Make tiny paper airplanes.

8. Create a flip-book. Probably a pretty unimpressive flip-book, but hey. Might be more entertaining than studying the words.

9. Quiz Mom and see how many of the words she knows. Be impressed for the 200th time in life at Mom's insane vocabulary.

10. Throw them away! Just kidding! I will study them and go to graduate school! Watch me! Super Student!

Closet Swap, Yay!

I inadvertently stole Nick's sweatshirt last weekend when I was visiting him. I feel a little bit bad because he was very excited about it and had only purchased it recently.

But it's very comfortable.

And I slipped it on the other day and my Mom immediately said, "oh that's a great shirt." So you know, I'm workin' it.

So sorry, Nick. I will return it upon your request or the next time I see you (unless I conveniently forget to bring it). But in the meantime, thank you for the inadvertent loan. The temp is cooling down here and my body appreciates the weight and the color of this fine, comfy, turquoise Gap sweatshirt. Mmm.

Don't MISS it!

I realized this evening that I have very few opportunities to flirt. I go to work, I come home, I spend time with my closest friends, but I never go out in a group, I don't meet men my age, and for as outgoing as I am, I don't feel like I have a "safe" place to just goof around and flirt.

I am just now realizing this, and feeling as if there is a significant social void in my life. For one, it bothers me on a daily basis that I don't feel as if I am getting the social outlets that I need. On a bigger scale, I feel as if this is a very brief time in my life in which I am able to meet all sorts of people easily (before everyone gets married off and we all start slowly getting less enthusiastic about things--sorry, HUGE generalization there), and I don't want to miss it and realize I missed it after the fact.

There is a line in the wonderful movie "Hair" from 1979, in which a character yells, "You MISSED it!" Some of my good friends, as well as my dad, and for sure myself, love to yell this. Toss something towards the trash can, miss the rim, gum wrapper falls on the carpet. Perfect opportunity to raise the pitch and volume of your voice to an inappropriate level and yell, "Aww, I MISSED it!" Favorite b-ball star shoots an airball? "Aw c'mon man, you MISSED it!" I could go on all day. Somehow I think if I were to feel like I missed out on my twenties, the phrase wouldn't be as funny. And I certainly don't want to feel regret concerning a huge chunk of my life. Furthermore I don't want such an amazing phrase to lose its thrill.

I am nervous around cute boys now. In college I was talking to boys all the time, thinking nothing of it. Just after college I would come home from dinner outings and think to myself, "You know what? I think that might have just been a date of sorts..." And slowly it has progressed into me hunkering back into my shell. I wasn't even aware I had a shell. I thought I was given the option at birth, popped my pacifier out of my mouth to say, "Nah, I'm good," and waved the shell along to other babies who might be interested. Apparently I have a shell. Good to know. I am realizing this as I write this. This is all news to me, as I just recognized my need to flirt a couple of hours ago, and noticed my lack of large group interaction in the last few days.

So what to do about this? My friend Sarah and I made a vague pact to each go on a date before 2010. That's kind of ridiculous and lame that we should even have to do that, but again, I am just now becoming aware of my reality. I will also take this opportunity to note that about a year ago I went on a date and decided after that one that I was going to take an indefinite break from dating, as it seemed to only make me nervous and never seemed to lead me anywhere. So I was basically signing up for anxiety sessions, and the only perk was that I didn't have to pay for my dinner or beer. But it's been over a year. Let's get a move on, Bails.

Brad was scrolling through his phone the other day for people I could date, but we kept getting distracted by googling "The Hills" instead, and looking up pictures of Victoria Beckham, since I sort of have her haircut right now and Brad thinks I should go brunette.

I could take a class. I could find a knitting group (and consequently learn how to knit). I could just go sit in parks until I find a new friend. Or I could just start shedding this shell, throw some caution to the wind, and be me. Ahh, now that sounds refreshing. Some of this is starting to sound like I am on a husband search. While I have definite desires to one day have a husband, and don't casually make decisions involving future mates, I will say that the itch I felt tonight was not for finding "the one," but just for flirtation. Just joking around, telling someone he's wrong about his opinion of a particular actress, or trivia answer, cats vs. dogs (CATS=CORRECT), and doing so in the safety of the presence of other people. So instead of every silly interaction being weighed with a heavy "what does this mean about him? us? life?" behind it, we can just joke around. We can like each other, crush on each other, eat chips together, and not feel as if we are signing a lease for a car by spending an evening together.

Okay I think this post is nearing an end. But who's with me on this? Anyone? Any ideas of where I should go on my one date in 2009? Perhaps it should be a GROUP date! Hmm... You know I saw on Oprah once this dating organization that brought eight singles together at once for a dinner, no one was set up with anyone in particular at the beginning of the night. So you all have dinner together, you might find sparks with someone, but you also might find some friends. And you might develop a new group of friends. No pressure, multiple possibilities, and therefore effective and enjoyable.

All right. Those are my thoughts. Just thinking. Rambling. Love you, Kids. Thanks for reading.

Harrumph!!

Tonight I got home from the gym and went to take a shower. After 3 minutes, the water was still cold. I called my dad. He walked me through relighting the pilot light. I figured it out, I got the water heater working again, I was proud.

I walked away, heated up some dinner, and called Brad, as I had to wait a while for the water to effectively heat up. We talked. I went back to check on the flame. Extinguished. I called Dad again. He said, "try it again." I tried again. The pilot light lit but wouldn't stay lit, after multiple tries. I called Corie's parents, went over to use their shower.

I have no hesitation in declaring that I am pissed right now. At the water heater, at life, at everything. Sorry to be unable to provide you with a chipper post today, but if the Daily Bailey is to be truthful, it must be honest.

3 Strikes

Yesterday I made my trek west. Solo. I.e. (i.e.? Do you capitalize that at the beginning of a sentence? Are you even allowed to begin a sentence with "i.e."?), not as fun as the trek east, with fellow passenger Riley Francis. I was anxious about the drive and began the day in a grumpy gills mode, thought at one point I was perhaps lost (I was not), almost got into an accident (because someone decided to just go ahead and pull into my lane without, oh ya know...checking her mirrors and/or blindspot before doing so), but ultimately I made it. Joni Mitchell contributed greatly, thank you Darling. "Come in from the Cold," "Help Me," and "River" for sure got put on repeat, and her voice was like a warm compress on the abrasions of my worn-out, overstretched, 20-something heart and mind. And, of course, Dibby greeted me with abundant purring at the door, the ultimate heart balm. Sweet baby.

Along the road, as well as upon my return home, there were of course some unfortunate events. I will share the top three with you here:

I passed a sign advertising a hotel. At one point, (I assume) this sign had said "Free hot breakfast" on it. Well the word "breakfast" had been entirely removed, not even leaving a trace of visible paint to put drivers at ease who would have to read the two extra words that had since been added to the sign. The combination of words, new and old, were juxtaposed in a way so that I, innocent driver who didn't know what was about to hit her, now read:

NEW
FREE HOT
MANAGEMENT

Wow, Friends. One more life reminder of the value of proofreading.

Incident #2: On the final stretch of my trip, within my own city limits, where I was beginning to get back my sense of being among my own people, where management team members are not illicitly advertised, I lost my sense of security. A minivan was in front of me, and on the back of the car was a large 1' x 1' magnet that said, "WIFE WANTED," followed by a hand written phone number. I am not making this up. I am still pretty speechless about this so we will just move on to Incident #3.

After arriving home, post Cuddle Sessions 1 and 2 with Dibbs, I called my parents to let them know I had arrived safely (as I do not partake in cell phone ownership and had not communicated with anyone since morning). The conversation wandered, was moving along, when Dad said to me, "Mom wants to wish you a happy Quarter Birthday." I mulled this over, then realized, ah, yes, I am in fact 24 years and 3 months old today. Dad's response to this, however, was not, "Oh how quickly you are growing up" or "I'm so blessed to have such a lovely, talented daughter." No. Instead he said over his shoulder to my mom something in a tone casual enough that had one not understood English he would have suspected that perhaps my father was commenting on an upcoming middle school band concert ("Oh, is Suzie's recital on Thursday already?") or a new flavor of Gushers advertised in the Sunday paper ("Hmm, now available in raspberry...Pass the muffins, please"). What he said was,

"Is today conception day?"

My father, ladies and gentlemen. To this my mother yelled, "She'll never call us again!"

I actually found Incident #3 to be the least disturbing and most hilarious of all of my day's TMI/disturbing events.

Our Day

Today Riley and I began and completed our trek East. To...Riley's current home of educational enrichment, and my alma mater. Some highlights:

There was the moment that a woman started singing very high in a song we were listening to, and Riley did a double take towards the cd player, and I started cracking up.

There was a bag of carrot sticks that created a lot of...tension between us. I never would have brought carrot sticks as a so-called road "snack," yet Riley felt this was appropriate. I made fun of the carrot sticks, he ate them, I ate one or two, he asked me to put the bag back in "the fridge," meaning the cooler, and I made fun of him for that. I also did not put the carrots back in the fridge/cooler, which Riley did not discover until we were unpacking the car, at which point he got very offended for the carrots and said, "you will buy me new carrot sticks!" But the best moment involving the carrot sticks was when Ri bit into one in particular and said, "This carrot tastes like the doctor's office!"

After arriving on campus, we moved Riley into his new campus-provided housing apartment, and I almost vomited in response to how nice the place is, considering I lived in dorms built in the 60s. The same dorms my mother lived in, guys. And Riley's apartment has a "theater" in the lobby, with recliners for him and his friends to watch movies.

Riley introduced me to the new university president who has taken over since I left, and said president is very kind. He also provided me with some very intense eye contact that I was not prepared for, and asked me many questions about my graduate school search.

There was a handsome man in the stairwell of the apartment, there to fix the wireless internet connection (clearly this man is handsome and handy, as I am successfully posting here), who held the door for me, and I refrained from chasing him down the hall.

I know we just got here, but I always pack in haste, and nothing was different this time around thus I packed a bunch of dirty clothes, so I currently have a load of laundry in the wash. As I loaded the washer I realized it is one with a clear door, so you can watch your clothes being tossed around in soapy water (awesome). I called to Riley, "We should get one of these for Dibbs, he would just sit here and watch the entire wash cycle." Five minutes later, Riley called to me from the kitchen, "Bailey?"

"Yes?"

"Are you just sitting there watching the whole cycle?"

And the answer to that question would be nothing other than "duh."

(By the way, the above comic has been taped to our washer since my childhood, compliments of Dad (the not-so-closet cat lover)).

Blue

I have had very little time to myself this week. Tonight I had to work until 7:30. I got home and I was grumpy. Very grumpy. And sad that even though I get to spend the weekend with Riley, when I come home he will be gone. I thought about all the stuff I had to get done before leaving town, and then I thought, Forget it! I'll do it in the morning! I'll change the cat litter in the morning, I'll pack in the morning. And if I forget something, well I'll buy it on the road.

I then went in the kitchen where Riley was heating up frozen food, and I said "What would happen if I ate pickles and had a beer right now?," deciding this was a solution to my cantankerousness (it was, by the way).

"Your breath would smell really bad," he answered.

"Well I'm not kissing anyone!!!" I yelled.

My Baby's Baby

Some of you may have already heard, but my girl Kristen informed me today....

Celine is preggers with Baby #2!!!!!!!!

Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!

Baby's due in May. Yours truly was born in May. Potential B-day twins, mmm hmm.

Here's the official scoop:

http://www.winnipegsun.com/entertainment/music/2009/08/18/10502161.html#/entertainment/music/2009/08/18/pf-10499766.html

And here's the music video to my favorite song ever of hers, aka my anthem. Love comes to those who believe it, y'all:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tj4fajm2DQU&feature=PlayList&p=BFCD22088D9EB4CA&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=15

Twilight Reading Zone

Yesterday was August 16, 2009.

On August 16, 2009, I was reading "The Secret Life of Bees." I am toward the end of the book (so don't ruin the end for me!!), and in the setting of the book, at the point in the story where I am, it is August 16th.

I decided to take a break from "Bees," and picked up "The Bridges of Madison County" (btw, want to go see the bridges of Madison County, now). I read about seven pages...and then, in that book, it was ALSO August 16th.

WEIRD. Weird.

Recipe for Disaster

2 pieces of toast and jam

1 cup black coffee

5 hour work shift on your feet

1 double chocolate brownie on your break

1 cup lima beans

3.5 mile run

baked talapia

pasta with a butter sauce

Mix well, in the above order, over the course of 12 hours. Be sure to have the following on hand:

Pepto Bismol

Alka-Seltzer

Tylenol, Advil, and Aleve

a novel (to occupy your mind when you can't sleep)

H2O

saltines

Sprite

bad tv

your bed

a fuzzy cat to pet

Trust me on this one. I did the living and learning for all of us this time around. Don't bother experiencing it for yourself. You can thank me when it's all over (because it's still not over. I'm still poppin' the pills and fighting with a fever...Ugh).

Potty Time

During my break at work today, I was headed to the bathroom when the young daughter of one of my friend's headed the same direction. We only have two bathrooms, each with only one toilet, at work, and I am not afraid to use the men's restroom as needed. In fact, let's be honest, I love it.

Well, time was running out on my break, so instead of waiting for the little girl to go first and then take my turn in the women's restroom, I for sure decided on using the men's. However my timing was not perfect, and I reached the doorknob for the men's restroom right as my young friend was closing the door to and shyly peering out at me from the women's. I had to think quickly, as I was setting a bad example for this impressionable young girl. I can just see her mom, "Honey! Why are you going into the boy's bathroom? Well that girl at Starbucks does it..."

So I just said, "I'm gonna use the boy's bathroom," and smirked with a hint of a nose wrinkle that said, "boys stink," and she giggled delightfully in response. Nice save, B.

Then, while spending my scandalous moment in the men's restroom, I happily reminisced about all the times when I was a teenager that I snuck into boy's bathrooms with my girlfriends, usually leading the way, all of us giggling at our daring feat.

Buster + Bailey = True Love

I have a new love in my life.

Buster. From "Arrested Development." I love him.

I just read on imdb.com that he was in that old Volkswagen commercial, singing "Mr. Roboto" inside a car. Hilarious.

But most precious piece of trivia on imdb.com? He met his wife at a Bible study. Love it. He loves Jesus. I love him. Especially his awkwardness on "Arrested."

My Imagined Reality

So I just watched about 30 minutes of this reality show called "More to Love," basically another version of "The Bachelor." I have thought a lot about these shows (America's Next Top Model included, of course) and how I would fare in the competition. Things working against me:

1. I am not competitive.

2. I am very polite, and have always let the other girl have "him." Occasionally lame, I know, but true.

I also think this pressure pot environment of the houses they all live in would make me crazy. As for ANTM, I think what would be harder than the photo shoots for me would be figuring out what to wear on a day to day basis, especially to judging. These girls will walk in to judging and I think, "Oh look, she's so cute," and then Tyra tells them they "don't look like a model today." Yikes! Other girls would be worried about being sent home, about So-and-so who left her dirty dishes in the sink that morning, I would be like, "Can I wear jeans??? Or will Tyra yell at me? Models wear jeans, right?!"

As for The Bachelor, well I think it would be hard to advertise myself. I'm an obnoxious, loud, (yet charming) outgoing lady, but I'm not sure that in these living room extravaganzas with champagne and extreme jealousy and cattiness that I would start dancing on a table for Mr. Man's attention (okay maybe I would) or go up and grab his hand and steal him away to the poolside to tell him how great I am.

Now The Bachelorette, on the other hand, overwhelming for a whole 'nother slew of reasons. First, amazing collection of eye candy, can I get an amen? But second, how on earth do you handle essentially dating 25 guys at once? At first it sounds like a dream, but think again, no way. And then eliminations, I'd be thinking, "Well can we keep him around just to look at?" even if I knew we weren't compatible.

Well I think I've officially bored you now, but I think if we're all honest here we've all imagined ourselves as reality show stars. Come on, admit it. Every time you see one of the competitors say something completely disrespectful and awful you think, "I have so much more class than that. I could win this competition better than she could." And more importantly, you want to meet Tyra too.

I Love Toast

Tonight I put toast in time out.

After work today I did my usual ritual of checking the email while channel surfing, giving myself a chance to sit, zone out, eat something, be away from customers. Well it was raining (with thunder), and I was thinking, "Well I guess I'll have to run inside at the gym."

And let me just tell you. The thought of that made me sad. I just dreaded the idea of running on a treadmill, I was like a little kid going, "Mommy, pleeeeeease don't make me run on the treadmill!! Make the lightning go away!" (It should be mentioned here that I love rain more than just about anything and never complain about it, so my point here was that I didn't want to run inside. It could have rained all day and I would have been an extremely happy camper. Ahem. But I digress.) Well I gave the rain some time, and it did stop. I checked weather.com. I eyed the somewhat dispersing clouds, threatening them with my stare. I stepped out onto the deck and was surprised. And delighted. "Ooh. It's cool out here." And it was, it was in the 70s. I decided to go for it, and I headed to the trail.

And it was perfect. I hadn't run in 3 days, so I thought I would suck, but I did 5 miles and it was amazing. I even found this blasted trail head that a week ago I could not find.

Fast forward before I bore you. Blah blah blah, I drove home. I parked the car in the driveway before parking it in the garage and took all of the crap out of it. Let me repeat, took all of the crap out of it! Some of you avid Daily Bailey followers may recall a post entitled "The Mitsubishi Abyss." Well this was a very popular post, listing all the embarrassing items left in my car over the course of who knows how long. Well I told Kristen yesterday after our movie date (it was more than any movie date, it was our 7-year anniversary as holders of driver's licenses) that I had considered a sequel post, but that I think I am too embarrassed of what came out of my car today to share it even with you, my dear friends. The point is, I cleaned it. So so far, pretty productive list of actions being accomplished today. And to finish the list (well really this post is finishing the list), I did some dishes.

I'm not going to say I did "the" dishes, because that might imply they are all finished. They're not. There is an everlasting mountain of dishes in my kitchen. I found myself organizing dirty dishes this evening, just because I was out of room to put clean, wet dishes, too tired to wash another one anyway, but needed space to butter my toast! Which brings us back to the toast.

Post dinner and shower, post opening of the care package from Mommy and Daddy (!! complete with new running shorts and a dress, both picked out by Dad--the man has fantastic taste), I decided I needed a little somethin'-somethin' to finish off the tummy rumblings. Cinnamon toast! Mmm. Bread into the toaster, as high as the setting will allow of course. Head to the cabinet for a plate. Don't make it because I look around and realize every last inch of counter space is covered in dirty dishes. Guys, this is embarrassing. I will be the first to admit that I am a slob, that I hate to clean, that I don't clean. It gives Brad panic attacks all the time, and he loves to add it to the list of reasons why our marriage will fail (he also has continual lists going of names for our future children, our future living arrangements...so who knows).

Well I had had it. I loaded the dishwasher to capacity, added the soap, closed the door, then hand washed a bunch more until my hands couldn't handle being in water anymore. Then I organized all the dirty dishes remaining into an organized section, asked Riley to take out the trash (which he did), and then! Then. I took the toast out of time out--where it had waited in the toaster for 30+ minutes--buttered it, sprinkled some cinnanim-nim-nim on top, brought it upstairs, and polished it off while writing this little treat pour vous.

And what we have remaining, now, is yet another dirty dish. Hope I have the counter space to accommodate.

So this thing made me think of you...

As I've mentioned in an earlier post, I lived with a fantastic girl named Stacy in college, whose wedding I was recently in. We lived together our senior year, but I graduated in December, and Stace occasionally missed her former roomie (as I missed her). She sent me an email during her first semester without me that said,

"I keep thinking about you. For example, (this is weird, just to warn ya) I was putting on my underwear this morning, which was a very bright green, and I thought "Hey, Bailey would like this color."

Isn't she great? These are the kinds of things I like for friends to say to me, totally uninhibited, always real, preferably hilarious.

"When did you get the cd player?!" "When we got the money"

Riley and I set upon a great mission this evening.

We purchased supplies to build our very own

red rope licorice dispenser.

We are on our way to transform the Corolla into our very own Mirth Mobile.

Most difficult item to find? Surprisingly, the red rope licorice. Amazon.com is assisting us in this respect. I will keep you posted on progress in the project.

If I had no dress code at work...

I would wear my black collared shirt dress (knee length) with white pin stripes tomorrow.

I would put product in my hair and wear a necklace and earrings. Sandals, maybe high heels, and nail polish. Dark purple, or green, or fire engine red.

Oh and by the way, I'd have the day off. And I would go to a coffee shop with my bag full of books, the Smithsonian, maybe colored pencils for scribbling, my journal for taking notes on cute male coffee patrons. No cell phone, of course, or laptop, but a notebook in case I get the urge to write a letter, and communicate with the outside world that way.

After I get bored after an hour or two, as I inevitably always do even though it is my happy place--I think I might have ADD--, I would drive home, change into my running clothes, and head to a trail. Pound the pavement for an hour, then drive home with the windows down and the tunes cranked. Eat some fruit snacks, then steam off the salty sweat in the shower, then eat some real food, eventually when I get my (now, after a run, allowed-to-be) lazy self off the couch.

Call Brad, or Nick, or Dad to tell him how far I just ran. Kiss the kitten, then snuggle in with a book, or a movie on TV, or my favorite combo, a book in the lap in front of the TV. And there would be ice cream involved at this point (okay so maybe I lied about the "real" food element. Leave me alone, it's my day off).

How about you? What are you wearing/doing tomorrow in your fantasy world?

Peace of Mind in Growing Pains

Okay, so I realize that I owe you guys a "real" blog post, as I've been throwing some pretty short, sloppy ones at you lately. And today you're gonna get another short one, which doesn't even include my own thought, but it's a fantastic lyric, and so I thought I'd share the food for thought. From the beautiful Lauryn Hill song, Selah:

"Cause me to agree with what I know is best for me"

Mmmm. Love it, Lauryn. Love it.

Cat Boy, I mean Bat Boy, I mean Cat Boy

So today Riley scored tickets behind home plate to the Royals game (and a free parking pass, amazing). Well we were only going to be gone for a few hours, but Dibbs couldn't bear to be away from us that long, so he came searching for us. Be sure to watch the video, you won't be disappointed:

http://kansascity.royals.mlb.com/news/article.jsp?ymd=20090805&content_id=6268552&vkey=news_kc&fext=.jsp&c_id=kc

1+1=11

My brother Patrick mentioned to me that he will be running a half marathon and said that he would be willing to run it with me if I want.

I told Riley, and he got a little steamed, because he is not in support of the insanely-long-distance running that seems to be a fast growing cult in our family. To ease his concern, I reminded him, "Riley, it's only a half" (also I haven't agreed to this yet).

Still upset, he shot back, "Half is halfway to a whole!"

I told him, "We'll just keep that little piece of wisdom as something you said before you finished college" (as he is a very intelligent math mind, it just doesn't shine through when he is stressed).

Perceptions

Last summer I went to a comedy club with my girls Sarah, Kim, and Carolyn. After the show we talked to one of the comedians (Mark Fradl), and somehow I made a comment about The Sound of Music. Awkward, but you know, not a big surprise either, coming out of my mouth, right? His response?

"You’re like a gay man trapped in a woman’s body, aren’t you?"

I'm not sure anyone has ever gotten a more accurate reading of me.

Centennial!

O nce upon a time, Bailey thought she

N ever

E ver wanted to write again (after writing too many college papers).

Z uddenly, I mean, Suddenly, her college career

E nded. And she was able to

R ead whatever she wanted.

O oh, she thought. I am refreshed! A

Z illion years ago, aka in 5th grade, I loved to write. Maybe I should try again.

E rgo, the birth of the blog.

R oughly 100 days later,

O ne Hundredth post appeared, on The Daily Bailey. :) :) :) Yay.

Barack. Beer. Brad.

I asked Brad yesterday if he had seen the cover of The New York Times. The picture on the front was of Barack and Joe having a beer.

Brad, my extremely informed friend who amazes me every day with his extended knowledge, went ahead and explained the entire story of Henry Louis Gates. When he was finished he got quiet, then said,

"...Sorry. You probably just wanted to know what kind of beer they had."

And then he went ahead and told me what kind of beer they each had. Which I loved, and put in my two cents, for sure, because there was a Blue Moon involved. Mmmmm

While we were on the phone discussing this, high heels, and other topics of note, Brad went into Five Guys to order a burger. I heard a guy call out his order, "42!," and Brad said, "Thank you." Then to himself, kind of to me, he said, "Ooh, one of my favorite presidents." Uninformed (but in my defense not completely naive, definitely opinionated, caring about things that matter, and voting citizen) me, says, "What?"

Brad: "Bill Clinton, 42nd president."

To this all I could say was, "You. Are. Adorable." It's so true. Just try to deny it.