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: