Archive for April, 2010

This morning I woke up with a start. Not just an I-have-to-get-out-of-bed-ASAP start, but an oh-shit-I-can’t-believe-I-forgot-that start.

I had forgotten to renew my parking permit, so my car had been sitting, illegally parked for TWO WHOLE DAYS.

Maybe in some places this wouldn’t be a big deal. But in DC, it’s practically a death sentence for your car. What do you mean I’m exaggerating? I was once parked in the street – legally – for less than a day and I got two tickets within the course of two hours. (I fought it. I won. Nice try, DC.)

But this time, I knew I was in the wrong. There would be no fighting these tickets, if that was even the worst of it. As I rushed to my car I was praying (yes, praying) that there would only be tickets – that the car wouldn’t be towed, that there wouldn’t be a boot.

duh duh duuuuuuh (or some other scary music)

Once my little Ford Focus came into sight I breathed a HUGE sigh of relief (yay no towing!) and tried to guess how many tickets would be on my windshield. I settled on six, which I thought was conservative for 48 hours without a legal permit.

But the windshield was clear. And no boot!

I was in such shock that I actually walked around the car a couple times to see what the catch was. There was no way I could have gotten off scot-free, was there?

Apparently, there was.

Lucky doesn’t even begin to describe how I felt – the cost of towing and tickets really adds up – but I’ll take it.

How cute! A little lucky duck!

I still renewed my parking permit before I went to work, though. Luck happens, but I’m not about to bank on it.

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Just quick note: you guys were great at coming up with your six words. I definitely didn’t think of mine that fast.


The other night at the gym I had Gilmore Girls on, and one of their conversations caught my attention.

Lorelei: You know what they say – never date a guy with a single bed.
Luke: Who says that? Why?
Lorelei: Everyone! A single bed indicates a fear of commitment. It says there’s no room for any one else in this life!
Luke: No, it says there’s no room for anyone else in this bed.
Lorelei: That’s not much better, is it?

Personally, I haven’t (knowingly) dated a single bedder since college – when we lived in dorms. It hasn’t been completely intentional; it just so happens that most people, when they live on their own, tend to buy adult-size furniture.

There are always exceptions, though. Like the friend of a friend who swears up and down that his single bed doesn’t say anything at all about commitment or lack of room.

Why can’t it just say that I like to cuddle?

Of course, he only asked that after we were ragging on him for a while.

Like I said, I haven’t recently dated a single bedder, but I can’t imagine sleepovers going well. I like cuddling as much as the next girl, but I also need to have my own side, should I want to spread out or flail. Plus, you know,  if the hug and roll comes into play in a single bed, someone’s landing on the floor.

But what do you think? Does size matter here? Are single beds a turn-off?

Or are they just impractical for sharing, unless you’re cuddly sleepers?

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A little while ago my boyfriend was telling me about an idea that he’d read about, or heard about somewhere (I was listening, I swear), in which people were asked to create Six Word Autobiographies.

My initial thought was, can I really sum up 24 years in six words? And then, if I could, would that be good or bad? So I did a little Google search to see just how popular this project was, and I found a LOT of responses. The question has been posed in numerous forums and I’ve loved reading the phrases people have come up with.

There were a few that struck me, for various reasons:

  • I feel cutest in my undies
  • Firm on Ideals, Soft on Approach.
  • I remember life before cell phones
  • Well, I thought it was funny.Stephen Colbert (Note: The others were from anonymous commenters.)

As for me, after he brought it up, we both tried to figure out our own six word autobiographies, and this is what I came up with:

Life’s more fun with sound effects.

What would yours be?

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This weekend was exhausting – in a great way.

I was initially signed up to run the Cherry Blossom Ten Miler. I had so much fun last year – and it was my first longer race, to boot – that I couldn’t wait to do it again. But something came up.

Now, I don’t usually cancel on a race for just anything. Not only had I paid for it, but I love adding a new bib to my collection; I love the feel on race day; and I love the post-race celebration of brunch and mimosas.

But I also love my friends (*awwww*) and when one of them is having an engagement party, and another is having her bachelorette party, you can bet your ass that I’ll ditch my race and be there. Which is how I found myself in the car this past Friday on my way up to Philly for the second weekend in a row.

The engagement party – Saturday afternoon – was for my best friend. Hers will be the first wedding that I’m actually in, and I’ve been told that I’ll be giving a toast. Yay! But eeek. Luckily, I have until next March to plan for that – which also means that this isn’t the last that you’ll be hearing about it.

Then there was the bachelorette party for Gaff, who’s getting married in a month. I missed the first part – belly dancing (instead of last year’s pole dancing) – in favor of the engagement party, but I got there in plenty of time for more of the fun. Personality panties, bachelorette jenga (Kings rules written on jenga blocks – I highly recommend it), margaritas, and shots – all before leaving for the bar.

And then, of course, there were more shots:

the obligatory penis straws and glow bracelets:

This shot kind of reminds me of Captain Planet..."when our powers combine..." No? Just me?

some phenomenal dancing, and, of course, a bachelorette bar game. This one was a series of dares:

One of the dares: "Ask a guy to write his favorite sex position on your body"

Another of the dares? Ask a guy for a condom and blow it up like a balloon. Talk about fun bar tricks.

I may have been hurting in the morning, and still a little lacking on the sleep, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I can’t wait for the wedding(s)!

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If you’ve been reading me for any amount of time, you know that I’m a HUGE Phillies fan. I love the sport; I love being at the games; I love the energy – especially when your team makes it to the World Series two years in a row after a seriously long drought.

And I do, of course, love some of the players, themselves. So, when I went to the Nats home opener on Monday where they were playing my Philadelphia Phillies, and we got there early enough to hang out behind the Phillies dugout and watch them warm up, well, I was in heaven.

And I may have done a little sly stalking observing, aided and abetted by the boyfriend (who had to hold the camera steady, since I was too excited). Though, judging by some of the photos, there was nothing sly about it.

Jayson Werth knew exactly what I was doing:

Jayson: Hey big guy, what’s shakin’? Yeah, I’m optimistic about our chances today.

Big guy: That’s great, but I have to ask: what finally convinced you to get rid of that beard?

Me: Omgomgomg. Do you see him? Can you get a good shot?

Jayson: Why does everyone keep talking about my beard?

Hey, is that girl looking at me?

Me: *turns away out of embarrassment*

Jayson: Dude, Shane, is that girl still staring at me?

Rauuuuul: Why didn’t you ask me?

Shane: Because you’re facing the wrong way. Duh. So which girl?

Jayson: The one in the Phillies shirt!

Shane: Dude – they’re all in Phillies shirts!

Jayson: No way. There’s one Nats fan. And there’s anoth- Well, there’s at least the one.

But seriously, is she still staring?

Jayson: Ah, what the hell. Might as well strike a pose.

Shane: Oh yeah, I see her now. The one with the camera pointed over here.

Me: *swoon*

Jayson: Ha, I’m totally gonna mess with her. Look at me running my hands through my long, flowing locks…

Ryan: Dude, you look like a douche. Put your hat back on.

Jayson: Psh. You’re just jealous that you don’t have a stalker.

Jayson: All right, enough’s enough. Gotta get my stretches in. Hmm…I wonder where she’s sitting…*

It’s just too bad the Phils won’t be back here until July…

Happy Friday!

*So, I don’t think I should have to note that 99% of this conversation is made up, but I will….just in case. I wouln’t want my Phillies to stumble over here and get upset.

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Today is the end of the TMI Thursday era. It had a good run and, frankly, I was impressed with those who managed to pull out a story every.single.week. I lasted for a little over 6 months until I was grasping at straws. Not to say that I’ve exhausted all my embarrassing stories, but something changed along the way. As recently as December, I was trying to participate in Lilu’s TMI Thursday: Post Secret edition, but I just couldn’t do it – not even anonymously.

I had the perfect photo and the words to go with it. I was logged on to the account and everything…but I couldn’t hit send.

Now, I don’t know how much TMI Thursday was ever intended to be a learning experience, per se, but for me it was. It made me realize that I still have some boundaries. That there are still some stories that I’m not willing to share – not necessarily because they’re too gross or embarrassing, but because there’s some aspect that’s just too personal.

And as much as I love blogging, and putting it all out there, I still need to keep a piece of me for me.

That said, even without it being a regular feature, I’m sure I’ll have some TMIs up here from time to time. I mean, racing season is starting up again, so I’m bound to be throwing up in public at inopportune times. And what kind of blogger would I be if I didn’t share that with you all?

So, though I don’t have a new one to report, I leave you with the TMI that was probably the hardest to write and own up to. Most likely because I kept it a secret shame for oh-so-long.

And, along with that (Why Jack and I are not friends), I offer you these words of (fairly common sensical) wisdom:

ALWAYS Exercise Caution When Drinking Jack Daniels

(Oh, and maybe make sure someone has an extra set of your keys – and an extra pair of shorts. Just in case. For emergencies.)

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Part of my responsibilities when I’m home for big holiday family dinners (aside from making the desserts) is to set the table. We break out the good dishes, the silver, the water goblets, etc. and my job is to pull it all together and make it look good. Of course, this also appeals to my OCD-like neuroses, wherein I feel the need to make sure that every plate is evenly spaced, every utensil is straight, and every glass is lined up above the proper utensil.

Emily Post would be so proud.


But, apparently, this year I went a little overboard.

I was setting the table Sunday morning – for 11, mind you, which already threw me off because then there wouldn’t be an even number of people on each side – when my mom came into the room and saw me tweaking one of the place settings. She started asking if I had an idea of where I wanted people to sit, or where I was going to sit, and I told her, “Well, I think I’ll just sit in the same seat I’m always in, otherwise it’d just feel weird.” Which probably wouldn’t have been too strange, in and of itself, but as I said it, I continued to adjust the place setting, trying to get it to line up exactly with the seat it was intended for.

So, I guess I should have seen it coming when my mom said, “Now, no offense, and don’t take this the wrong way, but when you were in therapy, did you ever touch on possibly actually having OCD?

I hadn’t, because we were working through a whole other set of issues, but I also never would have thought to bring it up. Because I’ve always been under the impression that everyone has at least some slight form of OCD, and we all just chalk it up to quirks.

But, who knows, maybe I’ve finally moved from quirky to neurotic. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

What little quirks do you have, that you might find getting more and more pronounced? Please tell me I’m not the only one here.

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