Zinc, cat, collie

Settling in for a night at the infirmary (that's what my apartment will be called until A)I am healthy again and B)the weather allows outdoor travel), I called Riley to ask him which of my sweet 90s films I should watch to make me feel better.

As I was listing some options, he replied--with what I believe was envy--"You have Lassie?!"

Well, Riley decided Homeward Bound was not appropriate for tonight, I didn't want to watch Spice World without him and Caitlin, and Riley didn't want me to watch It Takes Two without him, so I settled on the 1994 version of Lassie.

It's awesome, guys. Seriously. I have always loved it. And I'm not a dog person.

Anyway. It has been a lot longer than I realized since my last viewing, because it felt like a little plot refresher course.

My favorite moment in tonight's re-viewing was the scene where Matt and April (played by current Academy Award nominee Michelle Williams, y'all) swap earrings!!! I mean, it all came back to me, but I had definitely forgotten about that scene. You could say it made my night.

Enjoy.

HyVee has hand in clearing Missouri haze

Let's hear it for 88 cent bags of cough drops at HyVee!

Early this morning my asthma decided to randomly greet me, then after a night of sleep Mr. Headache and Madame Allergies decided to join Sir Asthma.

Boo.

Water's on the stove for tea, then into bed for this little sicko.

(I do accept sympathy get well packages. The inclusion of money in such packages is encouraged, but not required.)

Happy 1-5-0, KS!

Kansas party: success.

I feel all guests left a little more educated than when they arrived, several (namely our California visitors) left more aware of tornado safety precautions in particular.

We also enjoyed sunflower seeds, wheat beer, and The Wizard of Oz in the background without sound. We ate "puppy chow," made with peanut butter. (George Washington Carver, a Kansan, who did not actually invent peanut butter, was known for his scientific work with peanuts.)

I asked the people at Pizza Hut today for a box to decorate with, because Pizza Hut originated in Wichita, Kansas.

I dispelled the rumor about a supposed on-set death of one of the Munchkins in a scene of Oz. It's a bird, peeps. A live bird.

Annnd, that covers it for the most part. Time to bed for Dorothy.

A bientot.

No dish left behind

It was out of hand.

There were so many dirty dishes.

Technically, there still are some dirties hanging out, but I made some progress tonight (prior to a fantastic girls night w/soup and wine).

At some point today it seems I got a cut or small scrape on my thumb, and it stung when I put it in the soapy water, but I had to power through because my kitchen was disgusting. I was losing self-respect and, I'm having people over tomorrow so it will no longer be just me and Dibbs exposed to the madness.

So, iTunes shuffle and some mad wash and dry action made it happen. It's sad that at 25 I have to motivate myself so much to wash some dishes, but...you know. Whatever.

Confessions at the cinema

I have to be honest with you guys.

I want to see Sharpay's Fabulous Adventure

AND

Never Say Never.

That said, who wants to go to the theater with me?? I'll buy the Junior Mints!

Midclass snack

In the middle of my evening class tonight, a kid wearing a hat came to the door. Our teacher said she had to go to her office for a minute, and I thought,

"Is she doing an academic advising session right now?"

I didn't see right away what was in his hand.

It was pizza.

She bought us pizza. Yesssss.

Intellectual Autobiography pour vous

Well, chillins. For my Literature of Journalism class, we were asked to write "intellectual autobiographies." Below is mine. Enjoy!

Dad showed me that you win if you don’t worry about being silly in public. Mom taught me to seek after education, and a career. My big brother Kelly taught me to drink Hershey’s chocolate syrup straight from the bottle, when no one else was in the kitchen. He also assured me that talking to a therapist didn’t qualify me as being crazy. My parents have shown me that waiting to get married pays off. My brother Patrick and his wife Jenny have shown me that getting married young can work too. My younger brother Riley told me last night not to worry about today. Grandma showed me that if she can get her college degree at the age of 80, then I have no reason to whine.

My fifth grade teacher Mrs. Borth told me, at age 11, to “keep writing.” I talked to a guy named Keith for about ten minutes once and he told me I would be a good writer. My friend Dave let me know I was deserving of romantic love. My parents called me “cute,” “pretty,” creative, funny, and smart often enough growing up that I didn’t have to spend my adolescence seeking the attentions of casual boyfriends and could instead make friends, play sports, and study. My dad still tells me that nothing good happens after midnight.

Anne Lamott’s Traveling Mercies taught me that I could be a cynic and a Christian. Corrie Ten Boom’s The Hiding Place taught me that the Holocaust affected more people than just Jews. The Babysitters’ Club books let me step into a fictional world that was actually realistic. The book Wonder gave me permission to laugh at middle school. I learned to French braid hair from the Kudos Braids & Bows book. The Bible has taught me to humble myself in the sight of the Lord. Cats have shown me that it’s okay to do your own thing, that solitude is vital. Too much time alone continues to teach me that, as the Bible taught me, “It is not good for man to be alone.” My family, and pastors, have shown me that faith is worth fighting for.

A semester in Africa taught me that “exotic” experiences can feel like everyday life. A girl in a computer lab told me that she felt the same way about her experience there. I learned from moving growing up that people are different yet the same everywhere you go. I learned about adoption and civil rights at a young age, and was immediately transfixed with the concepts.

I learned from several great friendships that it is important to be friends with men and women. I learned from overhearing other females say that they “hate” other women that I hate it when women say that about each other, and I learned from observation that such verbal attacks are destructive, even to those who utter them. I learned ballet at a community college last summer. I learned from a semester of social work study that I hate doing social work.

I continually learn from elderly men wandering the streets everywhere that adorable old men can put a smile on my face just about always. My middle school librarian taught me the Macarena. Youtube taught me how to knit. I learned yesterday, when I attempted to eat my breakfast, that I’ve had too many scrambled eggs in grad school and have maybe overdone it. And I learn all the time that I will never stop learning.

Spring is more my color

I've been a little moody lately.

Those who know me a little better or have known me a little longer are currently rolling their eyes, FYI.

It's true, though. I'm in a funk in general, due to weather, lack of habitual schedule, more hours per day with cat than with humans...

I spent some time being anxious today, followed by cranky, followed by okay, followed by worried.

So, naturally, I called Nick. He didn't answer.

So, just as naturally, I called Riley.

He told me to go to the gym.

"Fine," I said.

I put on my work out clothes, sat down at my computer to check something.

And Dibbs proceeded to crawl right into my gym bag.

I emailed Riley to tell him about the message Dibbs was sending me--I translated it as "Don't go," however it could have also meant "Please take me to the lazy river for a bath!"--but because I was already dressed for aerobic activity, I gave Dibby kisses and left. And then I got in my car and saw what time it was and said, "Yeah, I'm not going to the gym."

I picked up my prescription, then headed to Wal-Mart for ink. Then Nick called, and we discussed love as I wandered the aisles.

Yeah, I didn't work out tonight. But I got the human connection I needed, drugs, fruit, and ink. And now, in just 14 short hours I'll be in the company of humans again.

Am I starting to freak some of you out? Sorry. Winter doesn't look that great on me.

Smooches,

B

C&C in the M-Dub

I hate this time of year.

Depressing, cold, lonely. Ugh.

But!

My apartment is almost clean, I exercised today (hit 3 miles for the first time in...months), and this will be the first full week of classes so even though a week from now I might be writing "I hate this time of year" for a whole other set of (overwhelmed by study) reasons, at least I can start to feel human again a little bit. You know, by being surrounded by other humans. Conversing with them. In person.

Anyway.

And to finish off this coming week, we will be celebrating

Kansas' 150th Birthday!!!!

Yay, Kansas! Yay, almost February, thus almost March, thus almost warm! And bright! And warm!

Dear California,

Please save a space for me in 2012. And, if possible, lower your cost of living.

Love,

Cold and Cranky in the Midwest

P.S. I have DVDs of The New Adventures of Old Christine to occupy me, so you needn't worry about me too much in the meantime.

Look alive

Pat me on the back.

I finally got social again.

I made it approximately 28 hours without human contact (minus briefly chatting with strangers at the gym and some phone calls), but thanks to a punk rock band, Kyle, and Deniz, I made it out of the cave.

(This wasn't a goal of mine, to be a hermit. It's just cold outside, and I don't have Friday classes, and, it's cold...)

Log

Adult things I did today:

Exercised.

Made garlic chicken w/pineapple and couscous for dinner (right? Delicious!).

Did some dishes.

Did NOT spend money.

Cleaned snow off my car without whining.

Teenage things I did today:

Got out of bed after noon.

Ignored the rest of the dishes.

Hid out from the snow and didn't go outside until after 4 p.m.

Surfed the internet and watched TV.

Umm...watched more TV.

My next plan of attack is to paint my fingernails dark blue (closest I have to black at the moment), preparing myself for attendance at a punk rock concert tomorrow (with my former editor on vocals and tambourine!!!). Now, do I need to log that in the teenage category??

Ridonculous

I take SO LONG to get out the door.

I've got my gym clothes on, including the extra sweatpants/shirt layer for the dash from car to front door of the gym, but I imagine I won't walk out my own door for about 30 minutes.

Why?

Because:

1. I don't have my shoes on.
2. Dibby's being cute chasing his tail, so I'm gonna need to watch him for a while.
3. I'll have to give him extra kisses and "I love you"s on my way out the door.
4. I'm eating part of an apple, to get some calories in me, because I truly have a fear of passing out while exercising, although that has never happened to me. Plus it's 5:32 and the only other things I've eaten today are milk, coffee, string cheese, banana, and HyVee brand Pop-Tarts (so good!, P.S.).
5. I'll need to get my keys, gym bag, ID, coat, water bottle, blah blah blah together.

Oh yeah, and I'm blogging!, in the midst of my attempt to get out the door!

Seriously, I'm ridiculous (as if you needed extra proof). It's not like I'm primping, thus causing my lateness. I don't look any hotter than the next girl, in fact 95% of the time if you put another woman next to me she's gonna look more fashionable than me.

I just take my sweet time. Which aggravates me (although most of the time I embrace who I am, quirks and all).

Ugh.

I think I've been watching too much of The New Adventures of Old Christine (LOVE it!), and I'm starting to catch myself saying, "That's me!" while laughing at Julia Louis-Dreyfus' antics.

The verdict

Okay, so my new professor is precious.

But this first book he has us reading...kind of a snooze.

It's not his fault, he didn't write the book in a stuffy, crowded, boring manner.

Ugh.

Back to it. Uh, after a tea/cookie/The Princess Diaries* is on TV break.

*2 things: 1, I don't particularly love that movie, yet every time it's on TV I watch part of it. I still haven't quite figured out why. 2, Riley, that link is for you. And for two daughters belonging to Mary and Steve, if you're out there reading this.

Back to the rubber oval

Well. I decided to kick off second semester by finally using my school's rec center. And I have to say.

I don't know how I feel about it.

It was so big!

And when I say that, I mean it both as a good thing and a bad thing.

It is so cool, hip, stylish, filled to the brim with workout options. It has racquetball courts--done.

But.

It's so big!

I passed by the treadmill area, and saw people standing in a line, waiting for the next available machine.

A line.

Nuh uh.

So I went to the track. There was a staircase that ended right in the middle of one of the "straights" on the track.

I had to wait a good minute or so at the top of the stairs just to jump on, so I could jog to the corner area to stretch. Because it was that crowded. It felt like I was waiting for cars to clear off the street instead of humans beings off a rubber oval.

Then when I was actually running I felt like I was in the army, being hustled along. I imagined drill sergeants intermingled with us, shouting orders.

At other times, though, I felt like we were all in a race, and thought, "This could be good for my adrenaline."

I don't know, though. I kind of felt like I was at a mega church. Now, let me clarify and say that mega churches often do great ministry, and very often they have great pastors. Personally I feel it's great pastors that get the numbers rising in the first place--people want to listen to someone who's convicting, funny, honest. And, when I pick a church the preaching is the most important element to me. But when I walk into a service with 500+ people, I just feel like it's not for me.

For a lot of people, it's a very comfortable place to be; they can choose whether or not to be anonymous. Mega churches are usually really good about sanctioning off their numbers into smaller ministry groups so people aren't left on the wayside. Like I said, I truly feel that many mega churches do a great job of ministry. And probably some of their visitors or members appreciate that they can sink in the back row and just slip out after the service. Those huge churches just aren't for me. If a church I'm already attending becomes super huge, that's another story--I don't think I would jump ship based on numbers.

Which is why I'll give the rec center some more chances.

It just felt crowded and rushed. Maybe I was just cranky because it was my first time there, and I felt self-conscious. Maybe I felt like all eyes were on me just because there were so many pairs of them, even though they probably weren't looking at or judging me at all. I was so comfortable at my old gym because I went there all the time, but I probably felt awkward at first there too.

Maybe I was just grumpy because I'm out of shape.

:) Likely.

Paper "goods"

I'll tell ya what stresses me out at the grocery store:

the toilet paper aisle.

No, it's not a fear of social stigma, or just general embarrassment. In fact, this morning when I bought an emergency refill pack at the gas station I walked out the front door with it tucked under my arm, as casually as if it were my wallet.

So it's not that I have a fear of someone catching me with some TP in public.

It's the numbers!!

1. The prices, i.e. dollar numbers. No, it's not too expensive (except for at the gas station! Phew! Well, desperate times.), that's not the issue.

We'll get back to this.

2. The number of plies. Single ply? 2-ply? Triple?

3. The number of rolls per pack.

And finally,

4. The sheer VOLUME of options! I don't know what the deal is, that toilet paper needs to fill up an entire aisle (or close to). I don't know if it's because it's made of fluffy paper and there's a lot of air space coiled up in those rolls, or what! Regardless, it's

1. ridiculous, and
2. stressful.

Which brings me back to the prices. And the plies. And the rolls per pack, and the number of options. All of it really works together to stress me out, which is where I believe the success of the monster that is the toilet paper aisle really lies.

Think about this with me. Perhaps you already have, during your own stress session; if so, welcome to this internet group therapy. You're safe here.

Okay. So you enter the aisle. You look at the rolls; well, some of the rolls, since, as we've established, the aisle is so freakishly full of rolls. How many individual rolls do you think are there, actually? Upwards of 2,000?

Anyway.

So you look at the individual packs themselves. You start, perhaps, thinking about price. How much you're willing to spend on something that doesn't stay with you long (my apologies on the subtle crudeness; although I am smirking at my clever quip). Or maybe your first thought is brand. Or number of plies.

I'm willing to bet 10 squares that no matter where you start in your thinking, quickly you are hit by all your questions at once.

And my question is, how do we stop this madness? Is there a solution?

So you look at the first five kinds or so, you settle on 2-ply, then you realize the package only has four rolls, or maybe eight. Well you don't want to come back to the store so quickly to restock. So you look at the 12 pack, or the 24 pack. Then you realize that the 24 pack has single rolls, while the 12 pack has double rolls.

Well now you're in a pickle.

So then you're thinking, "Well what's the difference?!" Then you look at prices. Say, a 37 cent difference. Meh. A meaningful amount to save. Then you wonder if the double rolls are really worth their extra 37 cents. Then you wonder if the 24 pack is all it's cracked up to be.

Then you wonder if this whole idea of "double" is some big marketing sham

--it probably is--

and then you're back at square one.

Literally.

And then,

well, assuming you're as neurotic as I am, which you luckily probably aren't,

you're literally pacing the aisle, because it's so freaking big!, walking back and forth between brands, then those orange "best value" signs start to glare even brighter as you get more and more confused, and then you

stop.

And then you think some more. You take a deep breath. You realize this does not deserve so much to-do. It's just 37 cents.

And then you grab something. Put it in your cart. Hover for a moment, considering trading it for something else.

And then you capitulate. You walk away. The toilet paper wins again.

You guys might think I'm exaggerating, but I am serious when I say that I honestly think just about every time I buy toilet paper I am somehow dissatisfied with my decision, wondering if I got ripped off, or how quickly the squares are gonna get ripped off their rolls before I'll find myself right back where I started:

The evil, white, paper filled aisle. Right next to the paper towels and napkins.

Home sweet home (says Dibbs)

Well, Dibbs was happy to arrive home after a long visit with Grammy and Grampy.

His tail was actually wagging shortly after I brought him inside.

I think he was happy

a) to be out of the car,

b) to finally eat after being restricted so he could travel without getting sick this time,

c) to be away from those kittens who eat his food, and

d) to be away from those kittens who think his tail is such a fun toy.

Did I mention he's happy to be away from the kittens? What can I say, he's a spoiled only cat. Whatever, he loves me and I'm totally okay with that, even if he doesn't play well with others.

Anyway, I miss Grammy and Grampy (aka Mom and Dad), and good old Kansas (who is about to turn 150!), and I will soon miss the leisure of, well, not reading and writing pretty much all the time save for time spent sleeping, sitting in class, and--if you're lucky--eating something that actually qualifies as a "meal" or getting in a work out.

I know what you're saying, "Bailey, you're a total nerd, you're always practically bragging about how you're an old lady who reads and cross stitches and pets her cat and wants to be a writer."

I know, friends, but I have limits. Limits with margins! (Are you reading this, Pastor Dan? That was the topic of his sermon today, about living fully, serving God and His people, but leaving breathing space (i.e., margins) so you're not snapping at people all the time and, ultimately, not really serving people or God with a happy heart which is God's whole point of asking us to bother to serve in the first place. Okay I totally just summarized and probably botched what Dan said,

anyway!

If you go to this here linky (and scroll down a bit once you arrive safely there) you can watch Andy Stanley--the guy whose original sermon series Pastor Dan is modeling--talk to you about limits and margins. And then eventually when it's posted you can go here and watch Dan put his own spin on it.)

Point being. I like to read, yes. I love to write, yes (actually I love more so when I have written something than the actual act itself, but we're not getting into that now). But I also like to color (yes), watch TV, work out, occasionally be social (gasp!) and go out with a friend or two or ten, and then talk way too much and make a couple of people wish they hadn't come out with me. Ha ha. :)

So yes. I am a little frightened of re-entering the study-intense universe. But this break has been freakishly long and I need to just get a move on and quit whining, seriously.

And I'm hoping to do a major tear up cleaning, organizing, rearranging dealio on my apartment tomorrow. We'll see about that--that's the spirit, Bails!

Okay, loves from the newly displaced (?) Bailey and Dibbs. Chat tomorrow, same place, probably different time.

Communication problems

I'm pretty close with my parents.

Scratch that.

Really close. Especially for a 25-year-old.

So it seems strange when I have a Skype conversation with my dad.

Oh did I mention he's just upstairs?

We're not that ridiculous

(okay yes we are),

it's just that Dad just set up a Skype account, so he can talk to cuties like this:

and this:

and this:

(ugh, Belle always wins the cute contest! Spotlight hog.)

Anyway, so Pops needed a Skype tutorial, so he called his tech-savvy daughter. Oops, I think he dialed the wrong number.

"You don't get a lot of 'doy' these days"

News flash:

I worry too much.

Oh wait. That's not news at all.

More like Duh Flash.

P.S. Trademark on that awesome phrase I just made up.

Billy cats gruff

If you came to my parents' house, you might see two kittens.

But what you would really behold are two dogs.

A piece of pizza mysteriously escaped the kitchen counter earlier today, and we are yet to locate it.

Suspects: two dog-like kittens.

After their pizza snack, BooBoo spent a good ten minutes trying to open a tube of Pringles. She didn't succeed, but apparently one of them knows how to open such a tube, or as a team they are able. Perhaps the pressure of a human audience was too much for them, who knows.

Anyway, we assume they can open the chips, because the other day Mom found them with an already open tube, chowing down.

I have removed Yogi from a bowl of peanuts this week. And what fell from his mouth was not a peanut, but a shell. He hadn't been there long, so I doubt he shelled a peanut. Which means this cat--pardon me, dog--is so ridiculous he will eat peanut shells!

I keep telling him he is not a goat. I don't think he understands English. Or he doesn't care. He's very quiet, that one, I think he's trying to play some innocent role and see if we'll buy it.

Other things I've caught the cats eating/pawing at in the kitchen:

• cream of mushroom soup
• chipped beef in a cream sauce
• a tea bag
• candy conversation hearts

And, since the cats brought it up, I guess I'll just take this opportunity to let y'all know that candy hearts are one of my faves. And, ya know, Val Day is right around the corner...Just sayin' (I prefer Brach's brand over Necco).

A movie review brought to you by Grandma

Sometimes I feel I am equal parts 5-, 25-, and 85-years-old.

Par example:

Early this afternoon as I was getting ready to meet my friend Tom for lunch, my mom asked me if I wanted to join her and Dad for a movie later in the afternoon. Minutes later, she was on the phone and I whispered, "Is that Dad?"

Then she told Dad to hang on and asked if I wanted to ask him something.

I did, in fact.

"Can Tommy come to the movie too?" I asked.

(This was the 5-year-old in me.)

I went to lunch with Tommy, where we complained about job searching, crankiness as a result of break-up withdrawal, Tom's business plan. You know, grown up, twenty-something topics.

Then we went to see a movie with my 'rents, which I suppose is a mature, 25-year-old activity. Seeing an indie British film with your parents, on a Wednesday afternoon? Sure. We'll call that grown up.

I should probably be fully honest in my disclosure here and mention that after some chatty settling into my movie seat, as Tommy and I exited the theater to get popcorn Dad told me to run off some of my energy before returning to the theater.

So I relapsed for a moment into 5-year-old Bailey. See what I mean? Who am I?!

Okay, I will move us along to the 85-year-old portion of this post shortly, but first we will pause for a movie review.

Today we saw The King's Speech, with Colin Firth, Geoffrey Rush, and Helena Bonham Carter. It is the true story about King George VI and the speech therapist who helped him overcome his struggle with stuttering when he suddenly succeeded his living brother as king during WWII.

Friends, I cannot express enough how much you should go see this film. It was excellent. All four of us loved it. It was a wonderful story of friendship, it was funny, it was touching, terrifically acted. Seriously.

GO. See. It.

And yes, Riley Francis, that was Mr. Desplat's work you heard in the trailer (for those of you who breezed past it without watching the trailer, march your mouse back up to that link and watch it! This is the bossy 5-year-old speaking!). And you would L-O-V-E love the soundtrack as much as you will love the film itself when you

go. See. It.

Okay. Seriously. Go see it. Please. This is coming from a girl who has little patience for movies, and rarely solicits them.

Okay now moving on to the 85-year-old portion of my day.

This evening, while Dad watched TV after dinner, I continued work on my current cross stitch project.

I have been suffering from a mysterious muscle ache in my right hand and it occurred to me just as of late that it could be the result of cross stitching too much.

Last night I also cross stitched in the living room, while Mom and Dad dozed in front of the TV, and BooBoo slept on Mom.

The other day Patrick called and asked what I was doing for the afternoon.

"Well, I just made some tea, I'm gonna cross stitch, and take some ibuprofen because I'm kind of sick."

"That's a grandma afternoon!" he told me. "The highlight of your day is taking some Advil!"

Yes, Patrick, yes.

Well, I quite like my age-confused existence. And why am I not ready to go back to school, aside from the fact that the books and constant reading and writing will soon loom over me again?

Because I'm not done hanging out with my parents, who are my friends. Or our cats.

So there.

Yours truly,

Granny

Car troubles

I'd like to welcome you all to my first LIVE blog post! Well, sort of live.

What I mean by LIVE is that I just toted this here laptop out to my car to

yep, you guessed it,

inventory the items of my car! Yay!

Per a reader's (hi Dave!) request, I spent a good ten-twelve minutes clearing the mountain of snow off my car, then pulled it into the garage to clean it out. So, back by popular demand, here's the list of items that have accumulated in my car over the past several months:

In the main cavity of the car:

• a lamp
• wallet
• 6 CD cases
• 1 pair of shoes
• 3 receipts (one dated as late as Sep. 26)
• applesauce container and lid
• 11 used napkins/tissues/paper towels
• 6 unused napkins/tissues/PT's--which did remain in the car for future nose blowing
• Greater Kansas City "Street Finder" atlas
• my medical insurance info (safe place, there, underneath the seat, buried under:)

• Wonder Woman notebook
• various food, water bottle, and straw wrappers
• 1 (of 2, total) water bottle(s)
• lip gloss, interestingly not entirely frozen

Also. Yeah, we're not done here yet. That was just the front passenger seat. Did I not remind you to get a snack before reading this? My bad. In the rest of the car there was:

• 2 pairs of gloves
• bracelet
• 12 earrings
• Kleenex pack
• $1.11 in change
• industrial staples (Dad put those in there, btw...But, no, I haven't removed them since summer)
• bobbi pins
• hair ties
• 3 scarves
• 2 sweatshirts
• another tube of lip gloss, seemingly a little more frozen than the other, Sprite-flavored, one
• 2 dresses
• 2 hangers
• hat
• optical mouse
• 2 newspapers
• lotion
• sinus rinse bottle
• chapstick
• food processor
• 1 pair of sweatpants
• 7 cups
• 2 pens
• pastry bag with partially eaten donut (hi, Caitlin :)
• marker
• 18 socks
• 2 pieces of gum
• what I believe to be, but cannot be entirely sure it is: a yellow m&m
• a "Warhead" candy, stuck to the little "well" on the door, aka a door handle
• quality check sticker from...something...clothing, I assume
• tag from car dealership when I had service done on the car (this summer)
• straw
• coffee sleeve

And...there are paper towels in one of the cup holders. I will not tell you why they are there because believe it or not some things do embarrass me, and besides, if you contact Caitlin she will be more than happy to exploit me and my ways, I'm sure.

Um. But we're not done here. Oh no. I haven't told you about what I found in the trunk. Hold onto your hats, here we go!:

• a backpack (full of items which I am not going to inventory)
• a bra ;)
• 2 muffin tins
• cat litter
• 4 cups
• Cherry Coke can
• bowl (been there since Nov. 2, when I brought candy to the newsroom for election night. Maybe Nov. 3, if it was after midnight when I left the newsroom. Is that a little better? Saving face at all here?)
• microwaveable plate with lid
• green apron
• piece of tulle ribbon
• Charlie Brown notebook (not to be confused with the Wonder Woman notebook found in the main vehicle cavity), with notes inside from the Supreme Court case I covered--holla!
• 2 parking tickets (shhh)
• more paper--mostly school stuff
• 12 newspapers
• 2 (unused) napkins
• desk organizer tray

And, issues of the following magazines (keep in mind I am part of a journalism program, so the majority of these were free--if you're scratching your head at some of the titles):

Endless Vacation

Columbia Woman

Ladies' Home Journal

Better Homes and Gardens

Farm Journal

News China

Information Week

Columbia Magazine

New York

Communication Theory

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Milwaukee Magazine

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Real Simple

Rolling Stone

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Harvard Business Review

MBQ

The New Yorker

Emerging Photographer

Ahhh. So, my reflections on this particular cleaning session. Well, I have to say,

and I'm being honest here,

it wasn't as bad as I thought.

Quit laughing, Dave.

It has been worse. Don't believe me? Read this and then this and then cast your vote.

That could be thanks to Caitlin and Riley's pre-cleaning session, mentioned in a December post.

Also, I honestly thought I needed to buy more socks. I was just telling Mom I would like some more, and I only had four pairs with me in Chicago. Looks like I'll be good to go for my upcoming restricted-spending plan (stay tuned).

And, my meal choices may well be expanded if I bother to take some of the above items into my apartment. J-school friends, anyone up for muffins? Cupcakes? Anything requiring a food processor? I'm also coming back with a kitchen table, so we don't have to eat on the floor anymore! Yay!

Here's to second semester, with new cuisine and a--MORE than likely--still messy car. Cheers.

Seven year itch

Hello, Friends!

Okay, well I am aware of the fact that the blog has been a little photo-heavy lately, however.

The photo at the bottom of this post needs to be shared.

I spent the past week with my BFF Nick, and we have a way of...bickering...after we've spent approximately five days together. We're both aware that this means we love each other, because we are comfortable telling each other,

for example,

(I am just making these up, of course...)

not to light the votive candles until the party begins,

or,

that one's driving skills are less than...what might be preferred.

Anyway. I don't know that I have any other friend with whom I can say such things and have such things said to me, harrumph in response, and still feel comfortable being in the same room with him, knowing that we are no worse for the wear. To me this is a triumph: friendship achieving a level of family.

Well it just so happens that Nick and I became friends just over seven years ago.* So this past week, as we bickered, I came to view us as having hit the seven year itch.

NOT! to say that our friendship is going to end. No divorce for these besties. No way. Why?

Well. Because Nick is an amazing friend. And I think he likes having me as a friend too...

And. Because we're so darn cute.

This morning Nick emailed me this visual depiction of what seven years as friends looks like. And I have to say, it looks pretty. darn. fabulous.:

*Which means we're old, because we were college freshmen seven years ago.

Sportsmanship

Dear Chiefs,

We still love you.

Dear Ravens,

Good game. [Insert butt slaps here.]

Lucky baby. Lucky aunty.

If you're little and I love to kiss your cheeks, I might cross stitch a bib for you. This little bop can confirm such rumors:

Cheeze

This just in: The Daily family picture. In fact, the last Daily family portrait of 2010. This was taken on New Years' Eve in front of our favorite Chinese restaurant, where the original Dailys have been eating since childhood, and where, one by one, we have introduced new or soon-to-be Dailys.

It's kind of a precious practice, if you ask me.

Anyway, despite the fact that it was fah-ree-zing (as you can tell), we had to take the pic because

• A) the Christmas season is often the only time each year we get together for a portrait (the term portrait being used loosely here, of course)
• B) it's tradition.
• C) we have a new Daily who wasn't here last year!

So, without further ado, let's analyze the photo, shall we? Yay!

Okay:

1. Belle (far right) = the cutest papoose baby I've ever seen in Kansas. It is difficult not to squeal upon viewing this.
2. I messed up the picture. Hair in the face. Really, Bailey?
3. Caitlin (5th from right) is posed for an engagement picture, except that she has her hands on me, not her fiance. However, her fiance and I have duplicate faces, so whatevs.
4. Her fiance (4th from right) has his hair parted like a little boy/conservative businessman.
5. I think Kelly (far left) is holding Jenny's purse. As in, he was probably trying to put his hand on her torso, but got a handful of handbag instead.
6. While the rest of us are either wearing a scarf, hugging herself for warmth, swaddled in a protective blanket, etc., JENNY (3rd from right) is wearing sandals AND sunglasses. Also, she looks entirely unaffected by the temperature. Seriously, people, it was not comfortable. I'm smiling, but my mind was on getting my butt in a heated vehicle. Immediately.

Other than that, I have nothing else to say except how cute we are. Duh. Good work, Dailys. See ya next Dec. 31st.

Happy/Sad

Happy:

Well, we just got semi-prepared for cotillion.

How, you ask?

By filling the bathtub with eucalyptus/spearmint epsom salt from CVS (the tub plugged with a milk jug cap--duh), scrunching all four* of our butts along the edge of the tub, and soaking them for a mini pedicure.

We drank champagne while soaking.

Then we lotioned up our feetsies.

Tomorrow is face mask day. We might need more champagne.

Today I purchased a dress. It's not formal, nor with a hump in the back.

However. It will probably have to do.

*Nick, Bailey, Matty, Jeffy

_______________________________________

Sad:

Well. As this is a public blog, I don't know that I should get too into any details. But I made a decision concerning a relationship, and now I'm suffering the consequences. And it just sucks to know that I made a decision and I have to deal with it.

Being an adult is hard. And when you all of a sudden "can't" contact a friend, it makes the healing/dealing part really hard.

It usually hits me in the evening, or after midnight (i.e., now), when everything--the shopping, the coffee, the pedicures--stops. But be sure: it hits.

:(

(Prayers appreciated. Thanks, guys.)

Dance card

Tomorrow we shop.

I'm thinking of more literary ways to introduce this, but I'm just gonna say it:

No, there's no wedding, calm down.

We're having a cotillion.

Here in the North.

Holllllllll. Er.

It all started earlier this week when, for whatever reason, Jeff and I started joking about cotillions. Then this morning Nick suggested having a wine and cheese party this Friday, and Jeff and I immediately

--of course--

translated and evolved this into a cotillion.

Jeff, being from Louisville, will be our coach in all things Southern. We will combine our iTunes libraries to come up with music from the region (I'll be providing the Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood soundtrack and Brooke Waggoner, who's from Nashville). We are considering projecting videos of cotillion-type dancing on the wall during the fete.

But most importantly.

Tomorrow we will begin--and perhaps finish--our excursion for a dress.

With a hump.

You know what I'm talking about. Think Cinderella's stepsisters.

Now I'm not planning on meeting Prince Charming, nor losing my shoe (although we could act that out for dramatic effect). But I am looking forward to sporting a dress.

With a hump.

Bailey's, coffee, Netflix

I just watched Notting Hill for the first time,

and yes,

it has taken me all this time to finally watch it.

Nick and Sarah and I had already been to trivia night, and I had approx. 2 1/2 beers inside me, so I was rather sleepy, but Jeff informed me that I was not allowed to fall asleep during Notting Hill.

Well I did not. And the film was lovely.

Anyway. There is a scene in which Hugh Grant's character apologizes for being cranky for the past six months, because his mind is...elsewhere...thinking about a girl.

This resonated with me.

Because.

In my short time here in Chi-town (I really don't like that nickname, but it came out of me), I have met several of Nick's friends and have apologized to many, if not all, of them for being cranky. Because my thoughts have been drifting toward...a boy.

So when Hugh made his little confession I looked at Nick and asked if it reminded him of anyone.

He laughed.

Funniest thing I heard all day

We made a short-ish trek today in Nick's car, to pick up a friend and go to Hamburger Mary's for lunch (delish, P.S.).

Well.

The heat got turned up a little too high in the Subaru.

When we arrived at Tom's apartment, Jeff got out of the front seat and headed to the back to sit with me, offering Tom shotgun.

As he got out of the car, however, he made a comment about needing to get out of the car for a minute, to escape the heat.

Well, Jeff was wearing a black pea coat, and for the quick moment that I saw him walking from the front of the car toward the back, he looked like a harried businessman. I also had my window in the back cracked--because of the intense heat, of course, which was threatening to make me carsick--so I could hear Jeff.

Hear him exhale, specifically.

It was so funny, the corporate pea coat paired with the exhale that bordered on being a downright pant. That in itself was enough to crack me up. But then Jeff outdid himself.

He got in the backseat and said,

"I feel like Shadrack in this car."

Funniest thing I heard all day, folks. Nothing topped it.

Although, this is perhaps the funniest thing I saw online today, compliments of Nick.

Home Alone!/Episcopal recap

Raise your hand if you have free reign of an apartment!

What should I do, friends, while Nick and Jeff are out?

Paint the walls?

Introduce myself to the neighbors?

Switch the contents of their sock drawers?

Hmm...

I've gotta say, I've been here less than 24 hours and they've already left me behind. Some hosts they are.

Just kidding, they're delightful, and we're well on our way to starring in the reprise of Three's Company. I even brought along three Starbucks aprons for us to wear during our morning coffee. Jeff suggested we take a shot of Bailey's Irish Cream each day that I'm here. Sounds good to me. Perhaps we can sip while Nick reads us a nightly bedtime story (Nick has a wonderful storytelling voice. My college roommate Claire and I used to charge him "rent" in the cost of a bedtime story when he would come visit us).

Nick had to work this morning--seriously, Nick--so my new friend Matty took me to church with him, where we were very badly behaved. A little too much giggling, and I may have spilled coffee on the hymnal.

In place of a sermon we had a "hymn sing," where people raised their hands with hymn numbers and we would sing a verse before moving onto the next suggestion. Matty dared me to find a really obscure hymn, and I suggested to him that I raise my hand with a Lenten hymn, perhaps from Good Friday.

I later told Matty we should never be allowed to attend church together again, or at least not sit next to each other.

"We got fewer looks than I thought we would," he told me this afternoon.

Ugh. Sorry, world.

I sure chose the day to be a diva.

Long story a little less long:

Kelly and Jenny and Bailey drove from Kansas to Illinois today and dropped Bailey off at a train stop there to ride into Chicago to meet best friend forever Nicky Pie for a week of fun and excitement.

Now. When I say "dropped Bailey off," you picture a calm "drop off," am I right? With kisses and hugs? Okay well there were hugs, but no time for kisses! We got in the "I love you"s, if I remember correctly, because those can be multi-tasked, grouped in with the hugs.

Anyway.

We ran! up the stairs to the train, leaving my curling iron and hair dryer behind in the car in our haste (tomorrow morning could be interesting, in this frigid weather), after Kelly grew more and more nervous about leaving his

sweet, precious, only sister

at a...sketchy...train stop, as well as not being able to find the train stop right away, with mere minutes left to board.

Kelly's nerves must have been pretty present in his face, because after I boarded, the conductor followed me onto the train and asked me first:

"You do have cash, don't you?"

And then a few minutes later:

"Do you know where you're going when you get there?"

Awesome. Okay, well the diva explanation: here it comes.

So I don't think I can blame the conductor's extra concern/my seeming lack of street smarts this evening on Kelly's concern for his

sweet, precious, only sister

alone.

Because.

I must be honest.

I was dressed.

And accessorized.

And in possession of luggage belonging to:

a diva.

(I must preface before I continue that I harbor no ill-will (well, that I'm aware of--we might need to re-address this topic in whole during a later blog post) toward divas.)

Okay. We'll start from the top. My outfit:

Sweater. Jeans. Flashy red coat.

Heels.

Accessories:

Ponytail, slicked back with a headband. Diamond-looking stud earrings.

And finally, luggage:

HUGE suitcase. Shoulder bag (filled with books! Intelligent blonde! NOT a diva!). Laptop...in a pink and brown case.

And also carrying:

A leather-looking jacket.

Ugh. I can hardly continue in the telling of this story.

Diva, right? No wonder he asked if I had cash, and whether I knew where I was going when I got off the train. He didn't even have to check my driver's license to guess I was a little naive schoolgirl from Kansas.

Ugh.

So remember how yesterday I told you I used to wear sweatpants all the time? Yeah, so nowadays I wear pink things and earrings and jeans. Yes. But I rarely wear heels.

But today? On the sketchy train? Yep, heels.

Ugh.

People, I was reading a book on the train about AIDS, for crying out loud. I am a concerned citizen! But my outfit betrayed me as embodying a different type of sentiment for the world around me. One concerned with

[fake!]

diamond stud earrings and

[fake!]

leather jackets.

Sigh...

I will say this is the most excited I've been to be in Chicago in a long time, (aside from the simple fact that I'm away from the judging eyes on the train), especially considering the weather--shudder. Currently: 15 degrees. Feels like: -1. Wind: 17-23 mph.

Why?

Because I'm with best friend forever Nicky Pie.

He'd probably appreciate it if I quit calling him that. Not the BFF part, but the "Pie" part. Meh.