Some things never change. Even in 2011.

Thrilling evening here, kids, ringin' in the new year, Bailey style.

Earlier we watched The Muppet Christmas Carol (that really is thrilling, I'm not mocking the tremendous humor of that film), talked about manatees and ferrets over dinner, then watched the Shaytards, and now I'm preparing to pack a suitcase to go see

best friend forever Nicky Pie!

(Psst! That's a fraternity sweatshirt! Haha, he doesn't really like for people to know about that.)

Anyway, I'm thinking of pouring myself a glass of wine to be a little less lame. I wore an old lady sweater (that I bought new, last week) to get pedicures with the sisses and Mama this morning, and we were discussing whether or not it was appropriate that I own it. I mean, it's no secret that my personality matches it.

When the boys met us for lunch today, Dad said, "What a great sweater for Chinese lunch!" He was not prompted to review the sweater, so I'm gonna take that as a go-ahead on the future wearing of the sweater. Not that any jesting about said sweater, or ballet slippers, or mismatched colors, or...would affect my decision to continue wearing all of the above, often together.*

I'm sure Nick and his roomie--who I am yet to meet but, don't worry, it's gonna be like Three's Company (minus one girl and plus one boy) in no time--will give me a full review of the sweater, especially considering Nick's longtime hobby of mocking my outfits.

I don't know why, those earrings are hott--and go with everything:

Okay. So here's to continuing to be an old lady in 2011, and to not making a resolution to regularly clean my car.

Cheers!

Be safe in the new year, and on this eve with much drinking (seriously--be SAFE! Here's to continuing to be a worrywart mother too).

Smooches, thanks for making it another great year on the Daily Bailey!

*To my credit, I've gotten a lot better. I think even Nick can vouch for that. It used to be sweatpants and ponytails all the time, y'all.

Familial Comfort

I think we're all getting a little too comfortable with each other.

This morning Caitlin pulled all of the covers off of me, took the pillow from underneath my head, smiled "sweetly" and said, "Good morning, Bailey!"

The kittens watched me take my shower.

I went downstairs in search of my toothbrush and caught a glimpse of my brother Kelly's butt (thank God I didn't see anything else).

I had his wife Jenny retrieve my toothbrush out of the bathroom while Kelly was in the shower, then went up to Patrick and Jenny's (different Jenny, same name) bathroom to use their toothpaste.

I went back down to Kelly and Jenny's bathroom (after Kelly was dressed) to put on my deodorant while Jenny dried her hair. Kelly and I mooned each other. Why? Do you need a reason?

I was informed that we were taking my car to Grandma's, which was of course filled with--ahem--stuff, and Caitlin started grabbing pieces of trash and banana peels (yes, plural) and taking them to the dumpster, while I yelled at her for not recycling the plastic bottles and she yelled back in regards to the handfuls of mystery, "Say goodbye!" and then rambled on about E. coli and the plague growing in my car.

You know, Caitlin, if you would have given me more than three minutes notice that we were taking my car to G'ma's, you never would have known about all the things in there. And I'm pretty sure you never thanked me for the ride.*

In the afternoon, while playing on the playground, we took a pic of all the sibs going down the slide together. The picture broke up when someone farted.

Then we were taking another sib pic on a bridge and Patrick said, "You look pretty in the sun!" and then took pictures of me like I was a model on a photo shoot.

After that I sat in Kelly and Jenny's laps while Grandma played the piano. This too ended with a fart.

All day long we teased the couples about who was responsible for creating the next grandchild (I would put Riley and Caitlin's proposed wedding date here as a time for them to enter the runnings, but they don't want to jinx it).

And of course, like always, there was lots of butt smacking throughout the day.

This is probably why our yearly Christmas celebration only lasts a few days, because eventually someone can no longer handle all the conception jokes, potential mooning, etc. And every year the comfort levels, and thus the jokes, seem to increase a notch.

...thanks in no part to me...

:)

I just gave Belle her bedtime bottle, and I tried to burp her afterward to bring her into the circle of bad behavior, telling her to burp like Grampy (and Aunty Bailey), but she cried for Daddy. I heard her burp yesterday, so I know she's got the potential in her.

*Caitlin and I don't hate each other, we show our love through increasing sarcasm. We are discovering it sometimes makes the brothers uncomfortable, who ask us to stop fighting. This from a bunch of mooners.

Boo Bop

We love our baby bop bop so much.

The niecy niece smiles all the time, and just got kisses all around before going night night. Grandpa's saying night night now.

Baby's mama sang her Christmas carols while she drank her bottle.

Conversations around the dinner table are a little quieter now that we've got a sleeping booger in the next room.

And one of the feline babies just jumped in my lap.

Annnd she just walked across the keyboard and pressed the power off button. Thanks, dolly. Ope, here she comes again. Sit, BooBoo, sit.

Movin' on up...in years

You know you've finally reached a certain age when your brother pours himself a scotch and you decide to join him with a glass of Bailey's on the rocks.

And then this certain age is confirmed when your conversation leads to reminiscing about high school.

Seriously, this is exactly what my dad and his siblings do when they get together. Bourbon and waters all around and then chattin' 'bout the good ol' days, with the in-laws chuckling at memories (i.e. squirrel in the cafeteria, Patrick chasing it) that are funny even though they weren't there.

'Tis the season, I guess. We're finally having a "typical" American holiday.*

*Never mind the fact that it's Dec. 29, we're still waiting on two sibs to arrive, and we haven't opened presents yet. Technicalities.

Hospital hats off

So I didn't want to go to the doctor today.

I didn't want to drive downtown. I didn't want to go through the same old spiel of "allergies, coughing, yeah yeah."

But may I say everyone was delightful!

The ladies at the front desk? Chipper.

The nurse? Walked in and said, "I don't think we've met yet," as if we were at some cocktail party instead of the Center for Allergy and Immunology.

Then the physician's assistant walked in and paused with her stethoscope, on its way to listen to my lungs, to talk about the book I'm reading (And the Band Played On, one of the best books I've ever read--worth your time). She said, "Isn't this so interesting?" and I thought she was simply referring to the subtitle on the cover, as in, "This looks like a good read."

No no. She had read it.

People have been turning up their noses at me for reading this depressing book and my excitement over it, but she was all ready to go and chat about blood transfusions, bathhouses (relating to the AIDS epidemic in the '80s, it's not like we were just discussing sexual behavior for no good reason--I do have some boundaries in my embrace of awkward conversation), the first AIDS patient she ever saw while working in the medical field, etc.

Yes, it's depressing, but it is so insanely interesting to see how this horrible disease unfolded and how anyone and everyone--notably the government and medical community, as well as individual populations infected with HIV--handled it. And Ms. Doc today? Oh she got that. No turned up nose. Just tuned up energy.

And then finally, after processing my validated parking pass, the woman working the booth took a moment to peer down through the window and wish me a good day and a happy new year.

Good work, hospital staff. Good work. A+.

Potty Trained

My first present of the day was on the toilet.

ON the toilet, not IN the toilet!

You guys are so gross, thinking things like that.

Anyway, there was a little green package atop the lid of the toilet seat marked "open me first." It was Starbucks VIA coffee.

Now, in addition to showing my appreciation to Santa Claus, I point this out to you because this is not the first time something has been placed on a toilet seat in order to get my immediate attention.

This spring, one of my grad school acceptance letters came in the mail, and Riley placed it in the same location that Saint Nick visited this morning. When I laughed about it, he said, "Well I knew you'd see it there!"

Now this tells us two things:

1. My family understands that I pee a lot, and that consequentially, within no more than about three hours time I will return to a certain room in the house.*
2. And, they know it's the first thing I do in the morning. Thus, the "open me first" command was bound to be obeyed because Mom--I mean Santa--knew where I'd go first.

Thanks, fam, for being in tune with my idiosyncrasies. ;)

*Come to think of it, if they were ever to have an intervention on my behalf, it would probably serve them well to gather in the bathroom. Perhaps an intervention concerning my overactive bladder, and a need to pursue prescription drugs to treat it.

A Christmas miracle!

Today (well, I guess yesterday--post midnight) I witnessed world peace.

Twice.

Not one, not two, but

all three

cats were sleeping in the same bed today.

Did I mention this happened twice?

The little boogers are bringing me peace on what is unfortunately turning out to be a bit of a rough holiday this year. :( (Prayers appreciated.)

This post is not to incite guilt in those enjoying their candy canes

Just about every holiday season my brother Patrick approaches me and recites the following:

"One day Jesus made a holiday and he named it Christmas Eve."

This is because I wrote it down (with "jesus" not capitalized, tsk--this was before my dad had entered the ministry, it's not like there was a test) in green and red marker and my mom framed it and it is a staple decoration in our December home.

I was just talking to my friend Dave about being a Grinch(es) and how--hello!--all the pressure to be happy-go-lucky during this season is just a fabrication that has nothing to do with what Jesus was sent here to teach us. Jesus teaches us that He is there when the floor drops out, not just when it's there with four walls decked with boughs of holly.

So I am saying "Jesus is the reason for the season," but I'm trying my hardest not to use that rhyme, which I feel further perpetuates the myth of magical perfection on Dec. 25 on human calendars. Because I'm saying that Jesus is the reason for Jan. 12 and 4:03 p.m. and for Tuesdays.

And,

Peeps, God doesn't even have a calendar, at least not the type we use. A schedule, yes. A plan, yes. Perfect timing?

Oh my goodness, yes, in a way we have no understanding of (Ephesians 3:14-19).

But something that aligns with human desire for control? Nope.

Honor Roll

B got straight A's! Yay!

Take THAT, first semester!

;)

Day 1 in the homeland

Well, after snuggling with the kitties upon my arrival yesterday, some TV, dinner and beers with Mike and the (my) 'rents to celebrate a semester under the belt, I found myself at...

Today.

With more than four weeks ahead of me and little to no direction or goals.

Sh*t.

It occurred to me today--and by "occurred to me" I mean freaked me out--while I was reading at Starbucks that if I go to a coffee shop to read every day I could lose my mind. Or get extremely depressed. Either way, I don't like those options.

It also occurred to me I might have to get glasses after finishing all my reading for this class next semester.

I do like that option. Glasses are sooooo cute!

Well I left the coffee shop to go work out, and thanks to a punch card from my mom, I didn't have to go outside to do it, and I could be more cardiovascular than my pilates DVD or yoga VHS would allow.

So my goals over break, for each day, are to:

1. Set an alarm (aka, get up before 11:30)
2. Exercise (most days--it's not healthy to work out heavily every day, peeps)
3. Read
4. Get PEOPLE time

I hope through these activities I will not lose my mind, nor get depressed.

But if we have to go to LensCrafters and pick out some green frames, okay. :)

It doesn't hurt that I have three felines romping about. Yogi is currently batting at the mysterious cursor and purring.

Times is hard

I'm watching CraigyFerg--

swoooon--

right now and there is something being posted across the lower portion of the screen. And you know what that is?

School closings.

Now I bring this up to illustrate that I used to love winter...

...and now I hate it.

When I was a kid, school closings were awwwesome.

Now, winter means cold, cold, and more cold.

I have found myself in the past week with little else on my mind other than avoiding the cold. Avoiding my car, after it's been parked for more than 30 minutes. Avoiding the snow, lest it creep into my shoes. Avoiding the frigid wind.

Ugh. L.A. is looking mighty fine for my future.

The Pickwick Club

I want to publish a book(s).

I want this degree, I want to be versatile, I want to be a successful career woman, but I want to write a book. That is where my heart lies. I want to write about my family.

Can you tell I just watched Little Women?

But it's true. That's my real goal, that continues to be. I want to tear open the brown paper like Jo.

P.S. You can likely expect a post like this every year.

Two hyperlinks, and a partridge in a pear tree

First hyperlink:

Kyle and I just made this audio slideshow for our reporting class. It was a pretty rough assignment, reporting wise, but worth the result, I think.

And...second:

A link to my friend Eric's blog in which he links back to the Daily Bailey! :) And, he maybe makes fun of my obsession with Dibby Baby...What? He's so cute! And I miss him!

Requires Supervision

We were two thirds of the way through the intersection.

Kyle said, "You're running a red light."

I had come to the red light. I stopped. I waited. There were no oncoming cars.

And then I drove forward.

I have no idea what I was thinking.

Kyle was laughing so hard. I told him if he hadn't been there to tell me I was running a red light I may have never noticed that I did it.

Soapdial

There is a bar of soap in my shower that has been there for a long time.

It is a little disturbing to me how long it's taking to, well, disappear.

I use it. But, you know, usually a bar of soap shrinks over time. With all the lathering and whatnot.

It occurred to me that perhaps the soap is just good bang for the buck and it doesn't lather up in a fashion of working extra hard when in fact it's just doing a whole lot of show but not a whole lot of cleaning. Perhaps it does more cleaning and less of the showy lathering.

Or maybe it isn't really doing anything at all. Maybe it's just this block of glycerin that's laughing at me, the fool, each morning.

"Sucker," the bar of Dial thinks.

White female seeking grilled cheese and a nap

I am so miserably tired right now.

(Sorry, Dale, it's another post about how tired I am, but this is really bad right now.)

Except for some social breaks to maintain my sanity/sleep/quick TV breaks, I have been working on papers for the last three days. Tuesday was a full reporting day, I hardly remember Monday, but I had class most of the day.

Make it stop!

I have a dinner date with gal pal Mary later--yay :)--but I hope I don't glaze over while we're talking due to extreme exhaustion.

I am working on this final paper in the same spot where I slept. After snoozing my alarm for over an hour, I sat up and grabbed my computer. I'm unwilling to get out of bed, even if I do have a paper due at noon. The J-School cannot win every battle in my life.

I just realized a grilled cheese sandwich sounds really good, but the bread in my fridge has been there since August.

:)

I suppose delivery pizza was invented for a reason...

Seriously, though, I'm having a hard time recognizing what day it is, and the more tired I get the more paranoid I become about my mental sanity. Ridiculous, I know, but for some reason this has been the status of my twenties. I'm hoping I'll outgrow it when I graduate to the next decade of years.

Okay. I should probably get off the blog. Wish me luck on paper 3 of 3. This one's about gender roles in magazine advertisements. Yesterday's was about mobile phone apps, and the day before that was Sesame Street. Isn't journalism so multi-faceted?! I'm sure this blog post has encouraged you to apply to the program...

Bailey Daily, Esq.

(Finally) on the front page!

Here's my story, a product of hanging out with the suits at the Missouri Supreme Court yesterday. Holler. (Please never mind the typo in the first sentence):

Death-row convict takes case to Missouri Supreme Court

While I regularly deflect my brother's hope that I attend law school, I did hope that I was blending in yesterday as a future esquire. Because, ya know, why not?

The Final Doppelganger

The stars of my yoga video have some doppelgangers elsewhere in the world.

Mostly in Kansas.

I've been using this yoga video for a few years now, and over time I've noticed that there are some lookalikes to people I actually know doing stork pose and sun breath on an old 90s VHS tape.

Of the five people in the video, I had identified doppelgangers so far for:

1. A former boss of mine
2. My friend Nancy
3. A former customer from S-Bux

And, most recently,

4. Mike's sister

But that last chick, the one who does the modified poses to demonstrate for the less flexible, I could never identify her. Until now.

I thought maybe she was someone I knew from church, one of the many in my past, so I really couldn't tell you if she's from Colorado, Kansas, or if she taught Sunday School, chaperoned a youth event, who knows.

I discovered tonight, though, that she looks like a girl in one of the classes I'm taking now.

Finally, mystery solved. I was feeling a little unbalanced, greeting my friends each time I worked out in my living room, but feeling like there were a couple of strangers who I was ignoring.

So while I didn't exactly do any cardio exercise this evening, I think the fact that I solved a mental puzzle counts as multitasking. Nay?

Tantalizing New Hobby

I would like you all to know that in my procrastination/general avoidance of scholarly work, I have managed to organize the bookmarks in my web browser.

With folders.

Ooh, folders...

I have also thus far avoided beginning the process of teaching myself to knit--something that is currently on the brain as a tantalizing new hobby.

I also would quite likely be experimenting in bread baking right now, but I do not have yeast, so that plan has been halted. Mike suggested substituting chocolate, to which I responded with a look.

To which he responded, "What?"

So I'm doing better than I could be.

I did spend money at the mall on Friday that didn't all need to be spent.

But c'mon now, this isn't a contest.

Is it Friday yet? Can I eat Christmas cookies and watch Christmas movies and cuddle with Dibby all day?

No?

Okay, fine, but don't expect me to be a full time workhorse either. Some of my best procrastination happens at the end of semesters. Just wait and see what I can do.

Yep. Still love world peace.

News flash:

I'm still not competitive.

I realized today (maybe I already knew it) something that I have been avoiding, and why.

There is a party tonight. I'm not there.

Now, I have plenty of fine, practical reasons why I'm not there.

1. I already went out, on a shopping spree with the girls to get shoes for a romantic evening with Mikey tomorrow.
2. I'm going out with Mikey tomorrow, so I don't need to go out two nights in a row.
3. I have tons of stuff to do for school, and shopping sprees and romantic evenings are not helping to accomplish them, so going out again is just going to make me feel guiltier than I already do for not doing "the right thing."

Plenty good, right? In fact Eric called me to try and convince me to go to tonight's party until he realized that I had an event tomorrow night and then willingly conceded.

Even so, there's one more reason why I didn't want to go tonight.

It's hosted by a second year grad student. And plenty of second years will be in attendance.

Now, before you start thinking that I'm hating on the second years (I'm not!), just know this: it's not them, it's me.

Okay, well to be fair, it's them affecting me. But that's not their fault. They're fine people, they're doing nothing wrong. It's my way of "dealing" with them that's wrong.

And by dealing with "them," I mean dealing with their smarts/experience. (Here's where the news flash comes in.)

I don't do well in competitive environments as it is. Never have, probably never will, unless I'm for some crazy reason eventually toward the top of the totem pole and then I don't have to worry about competition because if I'm toward the top then the fight for power and prestige should be over. But I'd probably still be annoyed with my colleagues, let's be honest...

Anyway. So this program is wonderful, and I'm so grateful and blessed to be in it. But. Everyone here is so smart, and talented, and creative.

It wears me down. I should also mention here that I have never been good at being happy for other people. When my life is going well and I have all that I want, sure. I can be happy for someone else who got the job of her dreams, for the guy who doesn't have to worry about his finances. But until I have those things myself? Heck no I'm not gonna throw you a "Good for you" party.

This is not a good thing, I realize. I'm not proud of this.

So here's my (selfish, childish) logic about the second years versus the first years. Everyone's smart, creative, talented, blah blah blah. But the second years are even more likely than the first years to have more experience in the journalism world, plus a year extra worth of knowledge.

So I'm already having trouble with the constant comparisons that I'm making. I'm tired of talking about Pulitzer winners in the classroom,

because we're first semester grad students and can't win Pulitzers yet!!!

Ahem.

Every time someone scores an internship, gets a front page story, has the editors singing his or her praises in the newsroom, I feel more strongly the fact that I've only read X number of news articles in the last month, I've never had a journalist internship and am not sure I will get one for the summer, my closest family and friends think I'm a great writer (and it means the world to me when my dad says "You've got books in you"), but in this kind of environment you can't help but occasionally feel like a chump.

Especially in the last weeks of the semester when you're exhausted, cranky, and so incredibly sick of talking about the state of print news in this digital age,

BLAH BLAH BLAH!

(I think I can safely say "blah blah blah" here, because I wouldn't be surprised if even my professors--who may stumble upon this here blog post--are tired of that conversation. C'mon, teaches. Admit it.)

So. To recap. I don't want to hang out with second years (as a stereotypical rule--there are some lovely second years I have met with whom I enjoy chatting) not because they make me feel bad, but because my jealous, frustrated, currently cranky nature causes me to weigh my skill level next to theirs, and with a weight of jealousy in my gut any beer I'm drinking is going to taste a little sour.

And I like to enjoy my Michelob.

So Dear Second Years,

You are delightful people. Thank you for hosting your parties for the other, more mature first years to enjoy. And forgive me for not being in attendance. But just remember, it's not you, it's me.

And I have another event tomorrow, so I really shouldn't go out two nights in a row.

(Pick your excuse. Choose your own adventure, shall we say. See, now there's a positive spin for all of us.)

Made ya think

How many times in a lifetime does one hit a spacebar?

Seriously, think about it.

That's a LOT of thumb taps.

Unconscious, routine flicks of the thumb.

Like blinking. Never think about it.

Until now, thanks to yours truly.

Pinch the cheeks!

This is what talking to your niece on Skype looks like:

Why I'm (supposedly) losing weight

I washed the pot.

I filled the pot.

I brought it to a boil.

I reduced the heat.

I let it simmer.

I waited for 30 minutes.

I fluffed the rice with a fork.

I put it in a bowl.

I added gooey butter to it.

I walked to the living room.

I got back up and put more butter in the bowl (still hadn't taken a bite, though).

I walked back to the living room.

I honestly don't know what happened, but I tripped or caught myself on something in my path, causing...

the bowl to fly onto the floor--

luckily not breaking--

of course upside down.

I stared at the heap of beautiful brown rice on the floor.

Then I grabbed the vacuum cleaner and had goldfish crackers and animal cookies for dinner.

So to all of you concerned family and friends who said I was too skinny during Thanksgiving

(brother Kelly: "Your job today is to go into the kitchen and eat"),

let this be proof to you that I do try to fill myself with fatty calories.

But sometimes rice falls on the floor.

I really am eating, I just really, really wish I had a personal chef sometimes.

Possible TMI--you be the judge

Friends.

I have the strangest zit.

Its placement? The tip of the nose. A Rudolph zit. A stereotypical-sitcom-teenage-acne-crisis zit.

Now I'm not vain about it. It actually just looks like my nose is cold. On one side of the tip of my nose. It's not that it looks bad.

It's that it HURTS!

The pain extends well beyond the epicenter, if you will, of the zit itself. And we're talkin' super tender.

Bonus problem: I blow my nose. A lot. I got home for Thanksgiving last week, headed for the tissues, and Dad said, "Foghorn's back." I went into my old Starbucks to visit and suck down some java during failed attempts at studying, and when I paused to blow my schnoz my old friends in green aprons looked up with reminiscent smiles.

Anyway, every time I bring a tissue to the nose it hurts like whoa. Light, thoughtless touches also send me reeling, wishing I hadn't forgotten my temporary condition. And if I purse my lips--like, while I'm thinking--in a way that moves my nose with it, yowsa.

I feel like a big baby today.

The weirdest thing is that at times it throbs, or feels like it's twitching, when I'm not even touching it.

Is this TMI, btw?

Anyway, it's just mega weird, and I hope the swelling goes down overnight, because I don't want to be interviewing a source tomorrow and suddenly yell "ouch!" when seemingly nothing touched me. All I have to do is unwittingly twitch my nose. Sorry, can't be held responsible.

Hello my name is Worn Out

I never should have sat down.

I hit the ground running on August 9th and was told I could stop for a week to celebrate Thanksgiving.

Yeah. Good luck getting me back up to finish things up before winter break.

I'm sitting here with coffee and instead of rapidly tappity tapping up Word documents, I'm feeling rather comatose.

The good news is I've raised my Freecell winning percentage from 56 to 57. And I've made progress on a crafting project for my little niecy niece (Shh, don't peep if you know what it is, her parents sometimes read this).

So what does this say about me? I care about the kids...I want to be like Martha...My neighbor Phil was right and I should have gone after a math degree?

Sorry, Phil, not switchin'. I am considering boycotting this week long break, though.

Calm down, fellow j-schoolers, I know, I know, we're exhausted, we deserve it, but seriously do you really think you're going to be able to get back up on Monday and go get 'em again?

This is strange to say, but maybe the lack of sleep makes me a better worker. When I get enough rest I just want to keep sleeping. Especially when there are three kitties available for snurgling with.

(Let's not talk about the fact that I'm not exercising and how that is contributing to my lack of energy...)

Okay, time for a refill on the java.

Clean Bill

When I need an ego boost, I don't put on a sexy outfit. I don't flash around my report card from high school.

I go to the dentist.

They love me there. More specifically, they love my mouth.

The dental hygienist said today, "If only all of my patients looked like you, life would be so easy!"

Then the dentist came over and was looking around in my mouth, saying that he was trying to find "something to complain about."

He found a "tiny" bit of gum recession, which he was quick to blame on my genetic nature and

certainly not

on my sweet, sweet nurturing care for my teeth.

Did I mention I love to floss? It's true, I do.

Love it when Mom says the kinds of things I would say

Earlier today I walked into my bedroom and Dibbs was on my bed, facing my open laptop. If we had slapped some glasses on him, you might have thought he was paying his bills online.

"Science Diet, paid, Tidy Cat, paid...Did I already pay for my flea medication this month?"

I asked him if he was checking his email.

Mom asked Dibbs if he was watching porn.

The sound of an organ, full and rich and briiiiight!

My parents had this Julie Andrews Christmas album when we were growing up.

I L-O-V-E LOVED it. Over time it started to grate on the ears of my family members, so when the CD made its way to my bedroom and there were no complaints from the others, I kept it for good. I still love it, so the aforementioned comment that I "LOVED" it is really quite inaccurate.

I just looked it up on youtube and apparently "The Sound of Christmas" is not only a Hallmark CD but was also a

TV SPECIAL.

I am experiencing three major emotions at the moment as a result of this discovery:

1. Thrill. Obviously.
2. Mild disgust: cannot believe I was not previously aware of this.
3. Impatience: I just tracked down the DVD and (duh) ordered it, and now I must wait for its arrival in the mailbox.

So. Who will be joining me for our viewing of this fine, fine production from 80s television?

Procrastination go-to

Do you think there are support groups for Freecell addiction?

P.S. My win percentage is 56. :)

Kansas hosts 2 Curious, 1 Growler

Don't worry, don't worry!

I'm still here!

Just had a few late nights, some travel, a day with G'ma, herding cats (Dibby plus his two cousins--yes, that's right. All the Daily cats, in the same house. Uh oh...), and, well, let's be honest, kissing Mike.

I've had some pretty good post ideas, so just know that I've been with you in blogging spirit.

Stay tuned for likely-to-come posts about Dibby, Yogi, and BooBoo: The Chronicles of Cat Introductions. Tonight, there were curious kittens and growling big cat. Who knows what tomorrow may hold.

Whatcha gonna do about it, Pops?

(Sorry for yet another Dibby post. But it's really a Dad post, so read on.)

I am inspired to tell this story because Dibbs the cat and I are in bed together right now. This is a triumph because while Dibby used to get in my bed regularly, about a year ago there was a bedroom rearrangement and then later there was a whole move to another place, and just in the past week or so he's finally jumped back on the bed which I love because I spend a lot of time lounging on my bed and I like kitten company.

Anywho.

Back in the day when I was living with Mom we were laying together in her bed in my parents' room talking on the phone with Dad who was in Cali (because she was still working in Kansas but Dad's job had already started in California, blah blah). One of us told him (jokingly, I think, but honestly I can't be sure) that the cat was in the bed with us, just to make him squirm 1300 miles away. Dad, who

"hates cats"

said with hardly a pause,

"There's a what in the which?"

We laughed. It was funny.

Don't ask, just don't go there

I am so damn sensitive.

Crying. (Almost) arguing.

Oh it aaaall happened today.

Warning: I don't want to debate anything, not until I get to winter break and even then! after I've had about three full days to at least begin to recover from my bone-deep and brain-deep exhaustion.

Then we can ease into sarcasm (careful now! tread with caution) and work our way slowly up to debating the day's comic strips. Then if I'm feeling like I can go on we can look into discussing favorite foods, movies we'd like to see. And then maaaybe we can dare to peruse the newspaper together. But don't get your hopes up.

Just save yourself some pissing-Bailey-off time and under no circumstances discuss the following for the next month:

• cats vs. dogs
• world travel
• politics
• employment (salary, hiring processes, plans for summer, all of the above)
• prostitution
• gender roles, marriage
• baby names

Don't ask (I know, prostitution, left field--it just always seems to get me riled up), just don't go there.

[Big Exhale]. It's gonna be interesting attending class discussions for the remainder of the semester. Especially considering I don't remember the last time I kept my mouth shut for a 50 minute class session,* so I undoubtedly will break my own rule and join a debate, somewhere, somehow.

Look out, World. Over tired, sensitive Bailey is out and about.

*If nothing else I make sarcastic asides to my pal next to me. 50 minutes is a long time.

Issues (I have them)

Today in my class we were discussing a psychological phenomenon known as the "orienting response," or orienting reflex.

Essentially what it is is a reaction to something new that appears in your surroundings, be it a noise (such as someone saying your name), something visual, etc.

In class we were using the cocktail party effect as an example, talking about how you can orient your attention, aka your cognitive "resources," onto a specific person or group of people talking within a crowded room, but then when someone says your name somewhere across the room--Aha! The novel stimulus, inciting the orienting response--your attention shifts to whoever said your name, trying to figure out who said it, if they are getting your attention or gossiping about you, what might they be gossiping about...yada yada yada...and suddenly your focus has shifted completely from the original conversation you were involved in.

SO.

While discussing this in class, I was trying to think of other relevant examples and it occurred to me that I was picturing my cat walking through the door of the classroom. As in, Dibbs the cat is my novel stimulus that incites an orienting response in me.

People, I have a problem. Someone faints, you wave ammonia under his nose, he comes to. Bailey starts to lose focus, Dibby appears anywhere in her peripheral vision, and her attention is instantly reoriented to the tabby cat.

(If you care): The only reason this goes against the characteristics of the orienting response is that over time within a specific context, as you become accustomed to a stimulus you don't react to it quite as quickly. So, if your name is John and there are lots of Johns at the party, after a while you'll stop paying attention if you hear someone say "John." That said, you would think that after seeing Dibbs thousands of times I would no longer view him as novel.

Nope.

It was both comical and disturbing to me as I realized this during our discussion today. I almost raised my hand to share it with the class, but I felt that would be too public and embarrassing.

So I took it to my blog. ;)

Must. Have. Vitamins.

Bailey needs to partake of more vitamins.

In something other than supplement form.

She went to the grocery (I really want to call it that right now, drop the "store") this evening and bought:

• sweet potatoes
• bananas
• apples
• celery
• an onion

Now she's hoping that her good deed in the produce department will fend off any pestering illness, as the last two nights she has felt a little weak. And she has a big week (ha--see what I did there?) ahead.

Wish me luck, my readers, almost all of whom eat better than I.

Love,

Bailz

"Hello, this is Tom"

I am very reluctant to delete phone messages from my dad.

There are almost always sound effects incorporated.

There is usually at least one silly voice. Variability in volume as well (Dad is of the school that finds whispering to be tremendous fun).

I called Dad on my way to school today because Edgar Winter Group's Frankenstein was on the radio. I was going to just let the song play into his voicemail if he didn't pick up, but unfortunately the song was over by the time it got to his voice recording.

So I hung up, didn't leave a message.

When Dad called back he did leave a message.

There were some beeping noises (his own) followed by some honking noises (ibid.). These were repeated for emphasis.

"That's the sound of two ships passing," he said.

Dad then explained that we too, like the ships, had crossed paths and that he was sorry he missed my call.

And then he said a prayer for me on my voicemail. Just asking God to be with me today, with whatever was going on. He also prayed for a good attitude for me--uh, yep. Need that one for sure.

Adorable. Totally.

I hope you understand now why I have multiple messages saved that I can't quite bring myself to delete.

(This doesn't even get us into my brother Patrick's messages, in a whole epic class of their own. His choice voices are usually foreign accents--most often Eastern European--and currently I have a saved message of him using a female voice, pretending to be his wife.)

Three, girl it's plain to see, that you're short on electricity

Today I led a discussion for Mass Media Seminar with my classmate Amy.

As part of our presentation, I incorporated a clip from America's Next Top Model (Cycle 9, episode 6). Because, you know, I wanted to.

(It was also relevant.)

This isn't the first time I've done something like this--I'm sure you're surprised.

In seventh grade we were studying Asia in Geography class, as, naturally, we would--working our way through the continents until ta dah! School year is over!

Well when we got to Asia I suggested to our teacher, "Since we're studying Asia, could we go to a Chinese restaurant?"

As if American seventh graders had never been to a Chinese restaurant before.

She coordinated it. We took a bus to a restaurant less than five minutes away, the restaurant took our orders ahead of time; they may have even opened early for us.

My senior year of high school my friend N8 (Nate) and I both approached our sociology teacher after class one day following a discussion--or the start of one, at least--about something to do with guns or gun control. We told him about a movie that had just come out, "Bowling for Columbine," that was all about guns and gun control.

And yet another field trip was coordinated for all the sociology classes to the movie theater.

In southern Africa I really let my educational opportunities stretch to their limits.

First of all, as often as possible, we (and by "we" I mean my friend Liz and I) would try and turn any assignment into a musical.

What's that? Create a presentation about ongoing struggles in Namibia?

Oh, certainly you must have meant to rewrite the lyrics for "Back at One" in order to express the inconsistencies of electrical services in the nation.*

Oh that's not what you meant? Um...too late...

Discuss past marital laws of Namibia, regarding interracial relationships?

Okay, we'll jump into the pool and perform a mock "wedding" to illustrate that for you.

No wonder I was called a troublemaker yesterday. Daily Bailey, disrupting formal education patterns since (at least) 1998.

*There was ultimately an encore performance, I will point out. Our driver, Passat, who loved "Back at One" and would play it often, much to our thrill, in the kombi, was not initially present in the room for the original vocal recital. He was sought out and we started back at one (I crack myself up) for him.

Could I have the root origin, please?

Last night I had a dream about a spelling bee.

A girl was asked to spell "tootsie roll."

I was already amused by this (and I am not taking credit for this, either. I can't claim the humor in my dreams as my own original thought).

To make things even better, the girl asked for a clarification of meaning.

She wanted to know whether this was referring to the candy...

...or the song.

Interestingly enough, they are in fact spelled differently.

Just a little taste

When I lived in Namibia for three months, I didn't struggle with being unable to see my favorite people every day.

I missed seeing them at certain moments, for snippets of time.

I would have overwhelming urges to see someone for three or four hours. I felt that if I could have that quality time with specific people, then I could go another month without direct contact with them.

Similarly, my freshman year of college I went to my friend Claire's room and asked her, "Do you ever just miss your mom?"

We talked about how sometimes you just want to hang out with Mom. You don't need to see her every day, you're a grown woman, you can survive. But sometimes no one will cut it but Mom.

Our senior year Nick and I used to get coffee almost every Friday in the fall. I have a hard time not wanting that every Friday these days. Nick and I have been friends for so long that at this point we can sit together at a coffee shop and all but ignore each other. But there's no ignoring someone like there is ignoring Nick.

(Believe me, that's a compliment and he loves it. Likewise, I'm sure that he loves to ignore me more than anyone else.)

Last night I was suddenly compressed by stress and called Mike and woke him up. He talked to me and I felt sort of better, but then I read some really disturbing chapters in what should have been a fluffy novel (pissed!) and then had not one but two nightmares and I really just needed Mike here, not on the phone.

"Mike, I had a bad dream."

Permission to use such childish phrases, and to be comforted as a child. That's what I need. I'm too busy (as he knows, and patiently waits through) to see Mike every weekend, or even every other weekend. But for certain hours, or minutes, I need his hugs. I need to be a baby and let that be okay. He does his best over the phone, but both of us hang up knowing that satellite connections don't lessen the distance, even if they can connect people who are hours apart.

Crush

Dibby, I would argue, is mostly a cat.

He lies on his back, but that does that make him like a dog?

He's pretty independent, pees indoors, acts nonchalantly, you know, the usual cat actions.

But when he finds a balled up sock, he puts it in his teeth and throws it around. It is the strangest thing.

And he discriminates. It doesn't matter if another piece of clothing is of the same poly-cotton fiber, or a similar size. He only plays with socks.

Did I mention I love him?

Lazy bum

Trying to do homework on a Saturday night is kind of a lost cause.

I've looked up a soup recipe, searched multiple church websites*, added some books to my Amazon wish list (which I'm pretty sure only I look at, but it gives me a strange comfort to know it's there), perused Oprah's suggestions for memoir reading...

Amazingly I've stayed away from youtube. And if I was currently on facebook, you wouldn't even have to ask what I'd been doing with the last three hours.

Just FYI. If you ever tell yourself, "Oh I think I'll do some homework on Saturday night," you might find yourself doing other things instead.

*specifically, I've been listening to sermon podcasts to see which pastors' voices I find to be the most convicting. Not in a creepy way, just because that has a lot to do with my choice to listen and thus gather something from a message.

Breathing room

5 boys + 2 girls at a bar on Friday night = necessary break.

Thanks, pals.

I Dream of Research

Sometimes I laugh out loud at the research articles I read for class.

When I was reading about Sesame Street in a coffee shop, I lost it as I was caught off guard by a paragraph about children dancing to a song on the show. Of course the writing was very straightforward, but its static tone juxtaposed with its content about young students' "out-of-control dancing" had me cracking up despite the audience of strangers around me in Kaldi's.

Tonight I was reading about horoscopes in magazines whose readerships are either primarily middle- or working-class. Interesting stuff, truly. But when it gets down to which zodiac signs were more likely than others to be advised of something in particular "in 1992," I can't help it. That's just hilarious.

And just like a study would say that gender was controlled, or a sample was random, this one made note that zodiac signs were equally represented in the study.

Well, phew! We wouldn't want to leave Leo out of the equation!

I've also had at least one dream about conducting research in the last month or so. But I'm going to leave it at that before some of you decide I'm too much of a freak to be worthy of blog followers.

Cat Munch makes lifey better

I want to provide you with a post, dear readers,

yet.

I am afraid I will just whine.

So I will just tell you that Dibby has been extra cuddly lately and we have been enjoying our time together and that is my positive note for today. And, I know it seems scientifically impossible, but I'm pretty well convinced that he has gotten cuter.

So I'll leave on that note. And I'll share these delicious songs with you:

Audrey & Adele

Nap. Time. Ahhhhhh.

My day started out cold (literally).

There was a mani-pedi and a yoga session later on.

Then there was a long drive to a rural town in the dark.

Then a drive back.

And now I am tired.

Oh so tired.

But election reporting is done for the season. The chapter is closed. Yessssssss.

I'm actually really glad and honored I was put on the assignment (not by myself, of course). But it gets old. And Dibby was tired of seeing me leave.

Right now he's chasing his tail, because he's carefree, because I'm home. Yes, little boy. For a long time. Until I must leave for class tomorrow.

My body is my buddy

Bailey's exercise plan for the time being:

Yoga.

Pilates (if and when I replace my DVD player. The yoga video's a VHS*).

Brisk walks outside.

I did my yoga video tonight and definitely had to skip some poses because my back is weak. Too much time sitting in classrooms, way too little time out on the trails. Sorry, body.

*You'll note the older technology is working, while the newer is experiencing some hiccups. Hmm, isn't that interesting...[satisfied Luddite smirk]

Zang!

Party on, Emoke. Party on, Bailey.

Gal Pal

Best way to spend the beginning hours of Halloween?

On Skype with Carolyn in Japan.

:)

Love you, lady.

Green desires

As far as I know my stipend payment should be rollin' in to the 'ol checking account right around midnight.

And I'll bet you'll never guess (unless you're Mom and I already told you this) what I want to buy with it.

Give up?

Broccoli.

I haven't wanted any broccoli for the last several years. But that is what I want. I wanna cook it up real nice and put butter on it. Mmmm. And stay in on Friday night and eat it all up.

I am so tired. I am bordering on delusional. But hey, the body wants what it wants. I'm just here to listen and obey orders. Aye aye, Captain Broccoli.

Warning: may spontaneously burst into tears

I am not a nice person when I am overworked, genuinely scared that I will miss deadlines, exhausted, and have a headache.

FYInfo. Approach at your own risk.

(But please give me a hug. I secretly really need one.)

Puzzle!

I asked a friend to be on the lookout for a flannel shirt at Salvation Army.

I am awaiting a pair of Buddy Holly glasses and an Aerosmith t-shirt in the mail.

Can you guess what my Halloween costume is??

I'll give you a hint: "I can go to a movie on a school night [snaps fingers] like that."

Repressed voltage

Today in my Mass Media seminar we were talking about persuasion, in journalism as a whole but also in advertising. The Energizer bunny came up as an example, and we kept referring to it throughout the class period.

After about ten to fifteen minutes had passed and we were still talking about batteries, I wrote on my notebook for my friend Nick next to me to read. I wrote,

"batteries stress me out."

He snickered.

And then I realized how much batteries stress me out. And how much I avoid them as a result.

I think I use batteries--clarification, replace batteries--maybe once a year (this is not including everyday use of batteries in remote controls, cars, cell phones, etc.). That once-a-year occurrence is the approximate one time a year I have the leisure and freedom to travel somewhere by plane. And then I bring along my old school discman, to fill time between reading Spirit Magazine and sipping Dr Pepper. Along with some batteries.

And I am always nervous. Because I feel like batteries always die. Even the brand new ones.

I was at the Las Vegas airport for a layover and I bought batteries in the gift shop, put them in my discman, and it still didn't work.

This is why I avoid batteries. Every time I put them in something, I just expect them to die shortly after. I remember as a kid often needing batteries for something, I don't even know what, some toy or another. And it always seemed to be a headache, for me, the brothers, for Dad.

We had at least one basket of batteries, I remember. The batteries were all heaped up together (this gives you a tiny snapshot of my family's organizational skills as a whole, and an even tinier snapshot of that which is my mind), and it was never clear which ones were brand new, fully charged, almost dead, dead.

We had a battery tester, which I thought was kind of fun, but I don't recall that it solved our battery woes. It may have even made them worse--an illusory helper.

[I could also have stressful associations with batteries because the two boys on my Odyssey of the Mind team in fourth grade used to put 9-volt batteries on their tongues, laughing after receiving its painful shock. Just watching this scarred me.]

As Riley got older and accumulated more battery operated toys, as young boys tend to do--a Gameboy, etc.--batteries continued to enter our house. I remember him and Dad having arguments/discussions about Riley's need for batteries, required trips to the store, when could they go, why don't you check the heap in the basket?, those are all dead, have you tested them all?...you get the picture.

So I realized, today, during Mass Media seminar of all places, that I have been both subconsciously and I believe consciously avoiding battery usage for all these years.

Huh. Well the first step to recovery is admitting I have a problem. Next up? Call the therapist.

"So, you say there was a basket with a heap of batteries? What kind of batteries?"

"All kinds. Too many to count...I don't wanna talk about it."

"Okay, maybe in the next session."

Two headed monster: "Bl-Og. Blog!"

I want a life. I want a life with weekends.

Once upon a time I used to watch every Chiefs game. Once upon a time I attended Jayhawk football games. And once upon a time I used to play pickup games of football.

This Friday I did homework downtown and grumbled to myself at all the passers-by in their Mizzou clothes, with their kids with temporary tiger tattoos on their cheeks. At the sorority girls and fraternity boys painting the shop windows. When I left campus Friday afternoon, I knew I wouldn't return downtown until after the festivities were over.

And this made me mad and sad.

I love football. I love drinking beer with strangers (that sounds bad, even in context--I like drinking beer with strangers in safe situations). I love fall weather. But none of that is in my life anymore. I had one beer this weekend, made no friends with strangers, and hardly spent ten minutes outdoors.

I don't feel human. I turn down social invitations either because I don't have the time right then or know that I can only afford to take quick breaks, and I know that in order to keep breaks brief I need to take them solo.

I'm hungry and tired a lot.

I try to enjoy my weekends with Mike, but during ones like this, I am too stressed to even properly appreciate his saintly way of sitting quietly while I type all weekend. This makes me feel like a jerk. To this he says "nonsense" and kisses me, but I know he's just being nice, which is another point for him, with zip for Bailey.

Grumpy grumpy grumpy. Overworked. Nothing I can do about it.

Classmates ask me about how internship applications are coming, I get frustrated. I almost said once this week "I don't want to talk about it," but couldn't think of a way not to sound rude.

I've never had strong desires to freeze time, but now I understand why people daydream about it.

Sorry for the whining. That's about all I can squeeze out of myself at the moment.

Back to my Sesame Street research.

Only $10.83

Christmas is 2 months and 1 day away, people. Start shoppin'.

This is on my list, thanks. ;)

No contest with this little punkin

Cutie Pie of the Week award goes to...

Belle!

Please send any submissions for the Cutie Pie contest to thedaileebailey@yahoo.com. Yes, cats and precious old men are likely to rise to the top of the pile, but hey, try me. See if you can out-cute the normal cutes. And, I apologize for putting such a high standard on our first week--niece in a pumpkin suit? Too much, I know. But y'all have pretty adorable offspring, I've seen 'em, so send 'em, send 'em!*

*obviously only if you're comfortable with putting one's photo online. Privacy and safety, holler!

Beta Snark

I asked an editor yesterday if I'm too snarky for the newspaper.

I'll let you decide: see the first two paragraphs.

My stance? I can't help it if Historic Preservation commissioners are funny. Just reporting the facts, ma'am.

I will...

If and when I have them, I'm going to sing my kids to sleep.

(After reading to them, of course. And praying. But perhaps I'll spare them my dad's way of pretending to fall asleep during the "forever and ever" portion of the Lord's prayer. Although that was a very fun, giggling game to wake him up...)

You have five hyperlink chances to smile throughout this post

It has long bothered me when a person smiles rarely, if ever.

I finally realized today that I see few smiles among my peers. Some people give me smiles consistently. But I don't see those people every day. Other people just don't crack a little grin! Ever!, it seems.

I'm not even kidding when I say it's getting me down. For me, others' smiles are fuel. I am at that point in the semester where I am emotionally and physically done. I want to get coffee, do the crossword, and shoot the breeze with peeps. But I hardly have time for any of that.

So when people keep their lips pursed, it downright makes me angry. My energy level is already low, and when I encounter frown after frown (not to mention some sorry senses of humor...) I don't have any more energy to do everything from the mundane (pick up consent forms for classes next semester--don't even get me started on that policy) to the extra-complicated (write an election story on candidates' views on Missouri highways).

So turn that frown upside down!! I'm just as stressed and annoyed and tired and emotionally spent as y'all. But I'm still trying to crack jokes and share smiles. To smile takes no extra time or energy. So just be polite. Humor me, and smile.

Please.

Ready? Go!

(If you're really having trouble, watch this.)

Too much

Raise your hand if you're a little down on yourself right now...

[Daily Bailey raises hand]

In some ways I have changed A TON in the last two months.

I do dishes regularly. I wash my sheets every two weeks. On Friday night I spent almost eight straight hours looking at election donations, line by line, categorizing them by type of donor. I don't remember the last time I gave such focus to one thing. Probably in early high school was the last time. I'm doing government reporting--every week I'm diving into a topic that I still know very little about, but I'm working hard to make it work. I went to the scene of a shooting this week, talked to a police officer, and wrote a news article on it. I've written an obituary. I plan ahead. I multi-task.

I couldn't/didn't do any of those things prior to this program.

But there are moments where I feel I just can't win. Just when I think I have my priorities figured out, something will happen to make me feel like I'm not doing enough. I feel I could be a better student if I didn't have the added bulk of work from an assistantship, but that would mean I would have to pay for school. Right now people are applying for summer internships, and I'm just trying to focus on what's right in front of me--which is about twenty things.

There are not just deadlines at the newspaper. There are deadlines everywhere.

The problem with being in a top-caliber program is that everyone is so smart. Some days I just want to walk into the classroom and announce, "All right, people. We're all smart. We all know this. So let's just let our walls down and treat each other like humans, like friends even. We don't have to be so combative, always challenging each other's ideas, one-upping each other with our knowledge."

Sigh.

I've all but sacrificed my social life. I tell people that my social life consists of Mike, Dibbs, and my fellow students, and I'm totally serious. I have 12 hour days and I feel sad for Dibby being left alone. I have to cut Mike off on the phone sometimes because I'm too busy, or sometimes I'm just downright falling asleep. This week we actually had to end our Skype conversation because Dibbs would not stop meowing because I had been gone all day and he wanted attention.

I can't make this stuff up.

And then Mike felt bad because I was so stressed out and he wanted to be here, and I felt bad because I couldn't give him attention, and I needed TLC just like Dibby did.

I was invited to a movie and a birthday party this weekend and skipped both of them. But do I feel like I got a lot accomplished? Not really.

Okay now I'm just complaining. But this is just a post to share that horrible feeling in your gut--the one when you think you're doing the right thing and then you get knocked on your ass. I know you've all been there. You might be there now. I would argue we're always there, to some degree.

It's really hard for me to know if I'm following God's will, but I do know that those snap-of-a-finger moments where you suddenly loathe yourself and question all your gifts and abilities are the work of Satan. You don't have to share my belief, but I sincerely believe that such is the case.

So do I feel that the opposite of low self-esteem, i.e. high self esteem, pride, are God's will? Absolutely not.

I guess I just think that trying to figure out God's will and ignoring Satan's attempts to knock us off His path are equally grueling battles. And a thousand times tougher than graduate school alone. But both are possible with Him.

I'm just feeling my lack of power without Him tonight. Not that He's not here.

Okay. Bedtime. Loves to any/all of you who are feeling the same. God is with you. You can do it.

Grand grans

My grandmothers are pretty much hysterical. I'm an idiot for not calling them more often.

I called them each today, and here were their highlight quotes:

Mom's mom: Telling me about how she made JELL-O. "I haven't made JELL-O in years!"

Dad's mom: Telling me how three of her five kids are coming or have come to visit her within a month. I told her she is popular, to which she replied, "You bet!"

Love you, Jerry and Winnie. xoxox

Goooooooal!

I used to run 4-5 times a week, but since beginning graduate school that has been reduced to 0-2 times a week. I'm not a fan of this, because not only do I miss running, but with my runs being so few and far between I really have to push myself; the exercise feels like more of a challenge than a release.

This weekend, however, I was inspired by some athletes in my family to keep fighting the good fight. Yes, my 61-year-old father, two older brothers, and sister-in-law ran the Chicago marathon this weekend.

But I'm talking about Dibby's new cousins. (Yogi plays midfield, and Boo Boo's on defense.) Get it, little boogers!

THEY'RE SAFE!!!

The 33rd and final miner has been brought to the surface safely. Luis Urzua was greeted by the Chilean president who told him that his "shift is over." Urzua was the shift commander of the group of miners and volunteered to be the final one lifted to safety, by the rescue capsule named "Phoenix."

I am so thrilled. I still can't believe this story. It is incredible.

Rescuers Pull All 33 Miners to Safety

Be sure to pray for the six rescue workers who still need to be transported out of the mine.

The second miner to reach the surface, Mario Sepúlveda, said, “I’ve been near God, but I’ve also been near the devil. God won.”

Keep 'em comin', Friends

I heard at least five little nuggets of fantastic speech today that kept me sane (and, often, laughing). They are as follows:

Mike: (Background--last night when we were saying goodnight on Skype I gave him the command to dream about me.)

This morning he wrote in an email, "I did dream about you...although it fell under a world invasion type scenario."

My beat editor, Scott: Discussing our upcoming election coverage, we came across something on the agenda that caused him to say he didn't give "a hill of beans" about it.

Someone who will remain unnamed: Speaking of someone else who will remain unnamed, this person said that she was scared of the other person. When I asked why, she said, "I don't like her eyebrows!"

Apparently this is warrant for fear.

An assistant city editor, Becky: While editing my coverage of a shooting, she thought she had finalized a sentence, but I asked her to reword it. Because as it was, it read, "The victim's exact name and age have not been released."

I wondered what she meant by "exact name"...This was a fantastic moment for me because she usually catches me in my blunders, not the other way around.

The New York Times: My final great line of the day came in a news brief through my RSS feed. It read,

"First of 33 Trapped Miners Is Rescued in Chile."

This, certainly, is the best of the five. God bless these unwavering men, and may He bring them all safely to the surface. A little practice round for future ascension...

Oh, and P.S. Update: There are now three safely out of the mine.

Journey in a sedan

Big Red, aka "Bread," aka my little red car, reached 100,000 miles on its odometer today. Good boy.* You've taken me far. And safely. You've gotten me stuck in the snow a few times, but I got out, and our only accident (unrelated to snow) was minor, with no injuries, and not our fault.

*Yes, my car is a boy. I figure women are objectified often enough, being compared to cars, so I've turned the tables. Bazinga.

Sittin' in a tree

My little brother is all grown up (more so than me, I like to argue). I can no longer dress him up like a girl...

...because yesterday he put a ring on someone's finger. Someone who we love a lot. Congratulations, Riley and Caitlin! And welcome to the family, wonderful girl! You are a stellar addition.

Bailey's gonna show you how to get an 'A'

I had a phone conversation with my brother Patrick in the final hours of my undergraduate career. I told him about the final project I was wrapping up, a paper for my children's literature course.

I may have forgot to mention to him what class it was for, because when I told him I was writing a paper about Peter Pan he said,

"Wait, what?"

The irony simply didn't occur to me that after 3 1/2 grueling years of reading, writing, research, even travel abroad, I was going out with a grand...children's story.

Yesterday I pitched a research proposal to my mass media professor. And the topic is...

Sesame Street.

[Careful when you click on that link. You will be on youtube for hours--celebrity SS videos are highly chain reactive.]

Maybe this is what happens when you're under extreme academic pressure. You start reverting to your scholastic roots, curling up with your baby blanket helping Blue with his clues. It's just easier than reading about framing, and agenda setting, blah blah blah, all the live long day.

I can only imagine what my final thesis will look like if this pattern of backward intelligence continues. Oh well. I just hope the faculty witnesses at my oral defense will at least dance when I hit play on a Jackson 5 track and commence with my elementary research findings.

(cheer) Leader

I went for a run tonight, even though I have been overly sleep deprived all week, and for whatever reason I am still awake now, which I should probably not be...just making the problem worse...

Anyway. I spent the day being angry/grumpy/depressed/anxious, so in a kind of protest I decided to produce endorphins* and defy the gravity of negative emotions.

I was running one direction and a man coming from the other direction, also running, passed a third runner in front of me and myself. To each of us he said as he passed, "Good job."

What. a wonderful thing to do.

I put my hand to my heart and said "precious" quietly to myself.

After reaching my designated mile-marker, I turned around to head back to my car, and somewhere along the line he had turned around as well, to backtrack in the opposite direction.

And he said "good job" again as we passed each other a second time.

And the award for best co-trailer goes to...

Free, unsolicited encouragement. What an example to follow. I am inspired. And impressed, and touched. Way to go, sir.

To you I say, via blog, good job.

*That word totally looks like "dolphins." I subconsciously realize that every time I encounter it. Maybe we should refer to happy dolphins--which, those in the wild are, but ones in The Cove are not--as "endolphins."

Social Network: Auto shut off

There should be certain inhibitors in place to keep me from doing specific things.

On facebook, I should only be allowed to look at vacation photos of people I actually know.

I should only be allowed to be on facebook for 30 minutes at a time, 60 minutes a day, total.

I should not be allowed to discuss any issues involving more than one side when I have reached the end of a full day. In other words, any topic other than "Dibbs is the cutest cat evvvver" should be completely off the table. This equation should be further tweaked when I am lacking sleep, and tweaked even more when I am lacking sleep from the night before and up too late for the current night.

I shouldn't be allowed to argue the other side of the previous paragraph when I am exhausted, the notorious free will argument, i.e. the "I can do whatever I want" argument.

And I probably shouldn't be allowed to blog this late either.

Most of these standards for my life that I have mentioned involve the variable of sleep deprivation. But those facebook rules? Those should always. Always. apply.

Seriously.* I want Mark Zuckerburg to get on this. You've made the movie, you've given N.J. money (actually, you've given them stock shares--see?! I can't be blogging! I'm too technical and argumentative at this hour!), now get to setting blinders for the social network.

*No. Seriously.

I'm covering the HPC meeting tonight

IRB (Institutional Review Board) training takes more than an hour or two.

FYI (for your information).

It may also lead to SLB (sore lower back) if you choose to sit on your bed while completing the training modules.

Oh crap. We're not supposed to use acronyms as news reporters.

Siblings Care

I'm listening to the song "You Sang To Me" by Marc Anthony right now.

I remember when I was in high school, or about to start high school, and this song was on the radio. My brother Kelly came into my room and said something along the lines of, "Bailey, as your big brother, I have to do this for you."

And then he turned off the song.

He wasn't a big fan.

I am realizing right now how long this song is, and that it's kind of repetitive...

"10 issues for just $10!"

I want a magazine subscription.

I am taking a course called "The Magazine: Then and Now" and, ironically, I don't subscribe to even one magazine. I am even on the magazine track for my degree.

So I say, don't I deserve to receive a glossy issue in my mailbox once a month?

Well there's the issue of funds, first. They are slim. This doesn't stop me from buying a used X&Y album on Amazon for 19 cents, no. But I would still feel guilty coughing up 18 bucks or so.

Second, time. Where is that? Again, the "lack" of time didn't stop me from watching America's Next Top Model this afternoon, and I am certainly not doing homework at the moment. (Hey, it's Friday.)

But still. I'm not sure that inviting Real Simple into my home is the best idea. Pretty tempting, consuming distraction. And then there's the other side, the side that will potentially leave me with a stack of 12 magazines a year from now, none of which I've had or taken the time to look at.

And third. Imagining I simply ignore these time and money constraints--

which I do. Oh, how I do.

--there is still the question of which magazine??

I think we can argue The Economist is out. Way too much material, and I am pretty seeped in news as it is. I think we need to stick to a monthly, rather than weekly, publication, preferably with pretty pictures.

Psychology Today, Oprah, and Real Simple are usually at the top of my list when I come back to this daydream. At this point I would even go for a subscription of Seventeen, probably because I just want an escape from all that which is scholarly.

I think this calls for a poll. Perhaps two. Should I get a magazine subscription? And, to which publication?

All right, friends, refer to the right side of the page and get to voting! This will be practice for November's elections! Yay!

The man who made my day today

He was wearing glasses.

Middle aged.

Location: Barnes & Noble cafe. Time: approximately 4 p.m.

He had on wool-ish socks, with those casual shoes that younger guys where.

On his belt, he had four gadgets. One was a beeper, two were indiscernible, and I would guess the final one was a pocket knife, but I cannot confirm this because it was sheathed in a camouflage-print canvas envelope.

He also had a large wallet peaking out of his left back pocket.

On his table he had a copy of 4WD (4 Wheel Drive) Magazine, the Farmer's Almanac, and one other magazine.

He had a beverage from the cafe. Venti size, if memory serves.

In his hands?

Martha Stewart Magazine. The Halloween issue.

He had it open to the page offering instructions for applying makeup for a mummy costume, reading rather intently.

And this is how he made my day.

Oh, look at the (bed)time!

Mondays are big time class days. I spend four hours in class, and usually start the day early contributing to class blogs by their deadlines. Today was an exception, but I usually spend the break between the two classes typing a paper for the second class, then scrambling to find a printer.

Yup. Great study habits.

Anyway, I get home and just sit. Other than doing about one set of dishes, spraying half of the kitchen counter (note: not the entire counter) with 409, and picking up my prescriptions from Walgreens, I have just sat here since I got home.

I had sincere intentions of going for a run, but my headache was on the verge of throbbing by the time I walked in the door, so I decided against it.

Tomorrow I have at least a ten hour day in the newsroom, potentially longer, so I am going to get in bed with a novel--

Gasp! A novel?! Oh no, she isn't!

Oh yes, she is.

--and call it a day. I feel slightly okay, slightly guilty about this. I put in a full day, that started before 8am, but I also quit around 6pm and haven't picked up the pace since.

Ah, well. Too late to worry about it now.

The Mermaid Chair, I will see you now.

Reality, I'll deal with you tomorrow.

Cat prodigy! Call the press! Oh wait, I am the press.

Dibby's a genius. He just walked across the keyboard and typed the following:

YUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU&Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhuy7

He initially stepped on the Enter key, holding it down for about five seconds, but I edited that portion out for you.

Holler. Checking in.

Michael is doing work.

Bailey is not.

He's making me feel a little bit bad.

And, to make it worse, he's finishing up, which means he's going to come over here to cuddle in a minute--

Oh, well look who's here. Reading over my shoulder now. I was typing that last sentence when Mike said, "Are you doing work?" I laughed.

Well I don't know that I have much to say right now, honestly, I'm just putting up a post because I've been neglecting the DB. Smooches to you all. Well not really, because Mikey likes to claim those. But big hugs and lots of love.

Sorry for the lame post.

--Bailey

Revamping with a Pest

Yes, we have a new look. But you may note, a similar color scheme to before.

Also, the dandelions in the corner certainly carried a lot of weight in getting me to choose this template.

I love dandelions. I remember when I first heard they were weeds, I thought, "What?! They look like flowers!" Plus they have that awesome bonus of functioning as an entertainment device. Come on, show of hands, who does not like to blow the seeds into the wind?

That's what I thought. No one raised his or her hand. Even Belle participated in the spreading of dandelion seeds, meaning it must be a humanitarian thing to do (i.e. does not matter that they are technically weeds), because Belle sat in as a proxy for her dad in the cold, terrifying dungeon. But I digress.

I told my psychology teacher in high school about my love for dandelions while we were on a field trip, during the bus ride. At one point when we had stopped for lunch, I think, we got back on the bus and she had picked a dandelion for me, because I had told her I liked them.

Yep, precious.

And look at this that I just found. Another in support of dandelions as friends, with a link to a recipe. Pest? Pesto!

This will make a great book someday (I hope)

Oh, I am learning in graduate school.

Today I learned...

• If you are making friends, but don't have substantial time to spend with them, don't have a church picked out, have essentially lost touch with your pre-grad school social circle of support, don't exercise but used to, and intake more coffee than actual food, it might hit you after a month that you are homesick, lonely and depressed.
• I also learned that if you do some dishes and go for a run you might feel quite a bit better.

Other learning opportunities of the day...

• If you start watching hedgehog videos on youtube, you might be there for a while.
• I didn't really learn this next point, but was reminded that living with a cat makes life considerably easier, happier, and more peaceful.

And finally...

• When trying to print, it helps a lot if you plug the printer in.

Hey, don't look at me. I wasn't the one who let me into a master's program.