Would I lie to you?

I was thinking about what I wanted to write for Friday and was feeling all sorts of unmotivated. Sometimes blogger’s block just latches on and won’t let go. Which is why I was so excited that f.B. had tagged me for the Honest Scrap Award:

It’s a post that practically writes itself!

Ze rules: I have to tell you ten honest things about myself and then tag “ten” people to pass it on. (If we’re being honest, I probably won’t tag ten people. I think most of the blogs I read have either been tagged in this or something similar.)

And so:

1. If I had been a boy (like my parents expected), they would have named me Tilden Moses. I feel like I really dodged a bullet being a girl.

2. When I was a kid, I went through a phase where I wanted to be a stripper. I have NO idea where that idea came from. Seriously.

3. I never had braces, but I always wanted them. Partly for the colored rubber bands, partly for the retainer, and only a little bit because I thought I needed them.

4. My brother and I auditioned for a commercial once together – an Oscar Mayer commercial. And I sang this song.

5. I know all the words to Billy Joel’s “We Didn’t Start the Fire” – and am actually pretty proud of that.

6. Whenever possible, I use chopsticks to eat. In fact, in my own apartment, I rarely use a fork.

7. I love watching dance movies, good or bad (Center Stage, Step Up, Honey, one that I’m watching right now…etc.), because I like to pretend that I can move like that. I can’t. But it doesn’t stop me from trying after a few drinks.

8. If I had to choose between living in Narnia or living in Harry Potter’s world, I’d live in Narnia. Hands down.

9. My girl crush is Kate Hudson, and has been since Almost Famous.

10. I prefer Diet Coke to Diet Pepsi, but I prefer Pepsi to Coke. I also drink Diet Coke the way some people drink coffee – much more often than is healthy.

Happy Friday!

Note: I wasn’t going to tag ten, but I changed my mind – sort of. I’m going to follow f.B.’s example and tag five of the most honest blogs I read.

Lemmonex

LiLu

i hate so much

Speak On It

Fearless in Toronto

Thanks for sharing, all!

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TMI Thursday: Why Jack and I are not friends

Back when I was a sophomore in college, I signed up to be a student adviser. This meant that I’d get assigned seven or eight new freshman whom I could guide in the ways of the world – or at least in the ways of Hopkins. Oh, yeah, and that I’d get to move into my campus-owned apartment early and have two weeks of carefree drinking before I had to worry about classes. But really, it was all about guiding the newbies. Yeah.

One night I was hanging out with two of my friends, Keith and Peter, when they decided it was a good idea to start taking whiskey shots. I tried to talk my way out of it, but they assured me it was a sin to waste Jack Daniels. I only remember taking two shots, but, given the end of the night, I really hope it was more.

Trouble in a bottle. Oy vey.

photo credit: David Torrence

I thought I was fine (I even remember calling Peter before I went to bed, to make sure he got back to his place okay), but I was wrong. I woke up at some point in the middle of the night – in the stairwell next to my apartment. I was barefoot and in my Lucky Charms pajamas. And my shorts were a wee bit damp. Yes. Damp.

At 19-years-old, I had peed my pants.

But that wasn’t my primary concern – my first thought was how to get back into the apartment. You see, neither of my roommates was around, and I had wandered out without my keys.

I tried several routes. The first one was probably the smartest. There was a window in the stairwell that, even in my haze, I somehow knew was in line with a window in my living room. I had actually raised the stairwell window, peeked my head out, and contemplated whether or not I could shimmy across on the ledge before something (I don’t know what) distracted me. I’m so smart.

Eventually, I managed to get my hands on a phone and call security to come let me back in. As he lectured me on forgetting my keys, I tried to cross my legs and pull my nightshirt down to my knees in order to hide the wet spot. Once inside, I vowed to never tell *this* part of the story. I would tell how I tried to break into my own apartment (I tried several ways after the window), but NEVER how I pissed myself.

The next morning, walking down the stairs to go to adviser training, I saw this sign: “PLEASE DO NOT URINATE IN THE STAIRWELLS!” My friend walking with me laughed, and we both wondered aloud who the jackass was who had peed down the stairs.

Oh, hi, that was me.

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They’re moving to the big kid table

One of my new (within the past year) TV obsessions is NCIS. I started watching one day when there was a marathon on TBS and have been hooked ever since. But only recently have I started watching the new episodes.

Last night, I recognized not one, but two actors from other TV shows I used to watch, who I just couldn’t take seriously after seeing them in their past roles. (This may mean that I watch too much TV. We can revisit that later.)

1) Danneel Harris

Danneel as Rachel Gatina - teen soap brat and a half.

Don’t recognize the name? She was the bitch (one of them) on One Tree Hill. She was everything from bad girl to best friend to reformed to druggie to rehabbed. But to see her playing a lab assistant in NCIS? Well, Rachel Gatina wouldn’t be caught dead in a lab. Unless she was having sex there.

2) Chris Carmack

Ah, Luke Ward. Cheating boyfriend and badass jock extraordinaire of the O.C. Maybe his character last night wasn’t quite as much of a stretch. He was essentially a no-good ex-fiance. (Not for cheating this time, but for orchestrating the murder of his fiancee’s father. Some people are so picky.)

Maybe it’s just me that has trouble with this. I know actors usually don’t want to be typecast or pigeonholed. And I’m sure that these two appreciate the chance to move from teen soap to legit crime drama.

But I don’t think I can take seriously someone whose best known line is: “Welcome to the O.C., bitch!“

Sorry, Chris. Maybe next time.

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Can you hear me now?

When I first saw the  commercials for the Loud ‘N Clear, I assumed it was just another device to help the older generation with their hearing. Also, because of the similarity in appearance to a bluetooth headset, they’d have the added benefit of being able to talk to themselves and have passersby think they’re on the phone. Without the earpiece, people might pick up on the senility.

But I digress.

I saw the commercial again last night and, after watching an old lady win at bingo because she had the Loud ‘N Clear, I saw them promoting another use: spying! Well, spying sounds too cool. Eavesdropping is better, I suppose.

Start at 55 seconds:

You know why they think you’re cute, buddy? ‘Cause from that angle, they can’t see that you’re wearing a hi-tech hearing aid at a party. You’re just the coolest.

As an espionage tool, the Loud ‘N Clear really just seems like an updated version of the Talkboy. And with the Talkboy, not only could you eavesdrop, but you had the recording and playback options. Classic:

Honestly, I still think it would be fun to have a Talkboy. But a Loud ‘N Clear? Maybe not for another 60 years.

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Who you callin’ oopid-stay?

I’m sorry to say, that while this past weekend was tons of fun (and injury-less!), I’m pretty sure I killed more brain cells than is ever advisable. It wasn’t the booze (okay, it wasn’t just the booze); it was the TV show. Whoever had control of the remote decided to stop his channel surfing on MTV’s Parental Control, which can’t even be called good bad TV. It’s just bad bad TV. In case you haven’t wasted hours of your life like I have ever seen it, here’s the premise:

• Mom and Dad hate their child’s significant other
• Mom and Dad get to each pick out a date for their child to go on, while they sit with the current s.o. and watch said dates
• Whoever’s going on the dates has to pick between the current s.o., Mom’s choice, and Dad’s choice

Now, the dates actually seem fun – human spin art, scaling buildings, flying planes – none of which I’ve ever done on a date. And 99% of the time, Mom and Dad pick out genuinely interesting people. But, seemingly regardless of all these factors, the kid always picks their original boyfriend/girlfriend!

Given this consistency, I can really only conclude one thing: It’s all a scam to get free stuff!

Think about it: you get your 15 minutes of fame (even though you probably come off looking like a jackass). You get a little variety, dating someone who isn’t your significant other. (I guess sometimes that’s good?) And you get to go on dates that you probably a) never could have come up with and b) never could have orchestrated/paid for.

The one that really stuck out to me was mini-motorcycle racing on an ice rink.

1) Where do you get mini-motorcycles in the first place?

2) Who do you have to know to rent out an entire ice rink for just you and your date?

3) How does the idea even originate? Or am I the only one who hasn’t thought about racing mini-motorcycles on ice?

I’m almost tempted to watch another episode as research, just to see what other creative dating activities they’ve come up with. But, truthfully, I don’t think I can spare the brain cells.

Or stomach the stupidity.

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Here’s to history not repeating itself

I wrote once about how skiing and I don’t get along. Or, as I like to say, how I skied on my face. And yet, I’m at it again, heading out of town this weekend to face potential disaster. Why, you might ask, am I doing something that I’ve had so little previous success in? Three reasons:

1) PiC is making me and I’m an excellent friend. She and her boyfriend had already rented the house and offered demanded that I and another friend join them. She’s pretty feisty, trust me; you wouldn’t want to cross her either.

2) There’s still a chance that we could possibly go tubing instead of skiing! Much less chance of injury. (Plus PiC told me I could bring my flask. Although, would that increase the risk of injury? Hmm.) I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

3) Regardless, even if we neither ski nor tube, it’s still a weekend away from the city, doing something different. (And by “different” I mean drinking with friends from home in the Poconos instead of with friends in DC. See? Two completely different things.)

If the snow gods are smiling, I’ll spend my weekend doing this:

And NOT come back like this:

I mean, the smile’s fine. The swollen eye, however, might be a pain in the ass, and really doesn’t go with the whole business casual look I sport during the week.

Wish me luck!

Ed. Note: The picture of the swollen eye is NOT me. Promise. But thanks for everyone’s concern!

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Protected: TMI Thursday: It’s no Perrier, but I guess it did the trick

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Through the eyes of a child

I wasn’t going to go yesterday. I thought I could be a part of history by watching the inaugural festivities from the warmth of my apartment, away from the crowds. And I suppose I could have been.

But it was So. Much. Better. to be there in person. Could I see the Capitol (or anything, really) from where I was? No, of course not. That’s what the giant TV screens were for. I hung out off to the side of the Washington Monument, marveling at the crowds I’d been warned about, but had hardly believed were possible.

Sure, there was a delay between the sound and picture, but so what? That didn’t stop me from getting goosebumps during the speeches – goosebumps that had nothing to do with the sub-freezing temperatures. Or from getting slightly teary-eyed, at the promise of the next four (at least) years.

But the best non-ceremony part of the day, was one particular little girl, sitting on her dad’s shoulders while watching history on the big screen. At one point, during a lull, she piped up in her high, tiny, five or six-year-old voice and chanted, “O-bam-a! O-bam-a! O-bam-a!“

When I was her age, the first Bush was in office and the Gulf War was going on. But that was the extent of my political knowledge. And there was NO way that I was picking up on any sort of excitement, especially not equal to that of what she was obviously feeling yesterday.

It’s been a long time, for nearly all of us, since we’ve felt the kind of energy and hope that inspires spontaneous cheers and chants. And that inspires people to travel across the country, and camp out overnight in order to catch even a glimpse of the proceedings.

Experiencing that excitement first hand yesterday made any frozen extremities more than worth it. If that little girl wasn’t complaining, really, why should I?

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Do they make that in my size?

This morning was the type of walk that made me want to keep my head down, staring at the sidewalk the entire time. Not because I was angry, but because it was that. Damn. Cold. I periodically touched my gloved hands to my nose, ears, and chin, just to make sure they were all still there. They were so numb, I just couldn’t be sure.

Additionally (and I know this is my own fault) my hair was an icy mess. I know that I should dry it after the shower, I do know this, but I was running late. So I brushed it, threw on a hat, and hoped for the best. NOT my most fantastic idea ever. I was less than ten minutes into my walk when I reached up to check on my ears, nose, and chin, and brushed against my hair. But my hair? It was hard as a rock. The length that wasn’t covered by my hat was *completely* frozen, and frankly, I considered the possibility that it might actually break off if I bent the pieces at all. (My excuse: my brain was frozen, too.)

I spent the next ten minutes ruing the fact that I didn’t have some type of ski mask, covering all but my eyes, and thinking about other possibilities of keeping warm on the walk to work. I could really go for something like this:

Look how happy and warm he looks! Not only does he have the type of hat I need (I wonder if it comes in my size?), but he’s zipped in to what looks like a fleece lined little sack! Granted, I’m sure there’s a downside to not being able to move your arms and legs at all, but when you’re being carried like that, who cares?

Man, babies get all the good stuff. I’m still trying to thaw out my hair.

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Protected: TMI Thursday: Look Ma! No hands!

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