Selfies

While I was at the gym tonight, I witnessed something that I hope to never see again. A group of young, adolescent girls were on the elliptical machines talking, laughing & "working out". When that got too boring for them, one of the girls whipped out her cell phone and began taking pictures of herself and her friends "working out". I say "working out" in quotes because I don't think any of them produced one bead of sweat. This was, clearly, all for show.
This got me thinking about people who take pictures of themselves...not themselves in a group of friends, but pictures of themselves - alone. I don't know what's worse - the selfie photo in the bathroom mirror or the selfie photo in the driver's seat of the car.
Do these people not have friends that can take a picture of them doing something other than making the infamous duck face? You know the one I'm talking about.
I am sorry if I'm offending any of my friends but, c'mon! If we're friends, I'll gladly be in a picture with you...or, at least, take one of you for your Match.com profile. That's what friends do.

Winter Casualty

Damn you, winter!
During the most recent snow & ice storm, the Grey Lady (also lovingly referred to as Betty White) sustained some damage. (Here comes my storytelling skills because I don't actually know what happened. I think this story is the least pessimistic of all of the possible stories.)
I am a careless snow remover, especially when it comes to cleaning off my vehicle. I can shovel a mean pathway and shovel myself out of a parking spot so it really just boils down to the fact that I'm lazy...and I don't leave myself enough time in the morning.
I've been known to clean off the windows and brush off my headlights/taillights but if more work is required it's probably not going to happen. That's a lie. I do clean off around the driver's door so I don't end up sitting in a pile of snow once inside.
I figure it's a waste of time to clean off the entire car when the snow will just blow off while I drive. Yes, I know it's very dangerous to do this. Other drivers must think I'm a menace to society and that my license should be revoked. They're probably right.
(Sidenote: I also don't wait long enough for the defroster to clear the whole windshield. While the defroster is on the maximum setting, I seek out that one clear spot in the windshield and contort my body over the console so I can see the road.)
Well, good news, society. I've learned my lesson.
During the last storm, I knowingly neglected to clean off the roof of the car. Well, once that snow & ice starts to melt, it starts to shift and - poof - there goes my rooftop radio antennae.
I now have approximately five radio stations that come in clearly. Everything else is just a static-y mess.
The last time I was at the dealership getting service done I asked how much it would cost to repair the damage. I saw an extra digit more than I was expecting so, needless to say, I've been listening to more CDs lately.
Thank you to anyone who has made me a CD in the past, say, ten years. I've had them on a rotation for the past few weeks.
My other theory is that some trollop vandalized my car while in the parking garage. I can't find a lesson in that story though.

Screening Phone Calls

Let it be known that I'm a telephone call screener. If I catch an incoming call and I don't recognize the telephone number, I typically will let that call go to voicemail. If I have had a long day and just can't muster up the strength to talk at length with you (yes, YOU), I'll typically let it go to voicemail.
That, however, did not happen this morning. This morning, I simply missed a call and voicemail.
Fast forward to this afternoon.
I was standing in front of the reception desk at my doctor's office and the receptionist advised me that my doctor had to cancel my appointment due to an emergency. "We had called you this morning and left a message," she said. I tell her that I did not get said message.

Sidenote: I reside in Rhode Island and my doctor's office is in Western Massachusetts. I have no long, complicated story to go along with that fact. When I moved to Rhode Island in 2004, I tried to find a new doctor and dentist but I was unable to find one that was accepting new patients. I now just use these appointments as an excuse to score long weekends.
Okay. Back to my story.
I let her know that I just traveled across state lines to be there and, although there was nothing she could do about it, she showed her sympathy, which I appreciated. As the receptionist's face dropped, I looked at my phone and saw the missed call and voicemail icons on the screen. Whoops.
She called another area and tried to squeeze me in with another doctor but he was booked for the day. Kudos to her for, at least, trying.
I rescheduled my appointment and got back into my car.
As I drove away, I was torn between, "I feel they should be required to speak with the patient directly to cancel an appointment" and "Why can't I just retrieve my voicemails?"
Oh, well. Don't feel too badly for me. My trip wasn't a total bust. I did take care of a dental exam, enjoyed lunch and dinner with friends, and took advantage of free laundry at Mom's.
Better luck next time.

Guilty Pleasures

If I had any musical talents whatsoever, I'd start a band. I'd name it "Guilty Pleasures" and we'd perform all of the songs that catch you by surprise and make you gasp when you hear them on the radio.
You know the songs...the ones that you used to sing into a hairbrush in your middle school bedroom's full-length mirror. They are, most likely, the same ones that are on your "gym" playlist.
Among some of my band's greatest hits would be Bel Biv DeVoe's Poison, Black Eyed Peas' My Humps and Wreckx-N-Effect's Rump Shaker.
I'm willing to bet that my band would be the most popular band in all of the land because, well, people tend to like bad things. I've been told (several times) that I like bad things and I'm okay with it. I embrace this fact.
Yes, it's true. I love poorly-made movies where the quirky couple rides into the sunset on a riding lawnmower, impromptu choreographed dances and early-90s throwbacks.
My heart warms knowing that people think of me when news breaks about a boy band tour or they hear silly gossip about one of my loves - Jordan Knight, JC Chasez, Kirk Cameron...the list goes on and on.
I'm not embarrassed by these facts. These former obsessions of mine molded me into the young lady I am today. Perhaps the name "Guilty Pleasures" is not a perfect fit. The only thing I'm guilty of is being totally awesome.

No One Comes Between Me & A Double Cheeseburger

I hate to be so blunt but working the drive-thru window at a fast food chain restaurant does not take the brains of a neurosurgeon or a NASA engineer. You don't need to be an ivy league college professor or have a degree in theoretical quantum physics. All you need to do is jot down a, typically, short list of items & put those same items into a bag. Then, throw that same bag out the window.
One would think that that task couldn't be too difficult.
Well, one would be wrong.
While on a Patriots-winning-a-playoff-game high, I took a short drive to a local fast food chain for some late night sustenance. I ordered a signature hamburger product (with cheese, of course), a double cheeseburger, 20-piece nugget & two medium sodas for myself & my honey.
I paid just over $14.00 for this totally-unhealthy splurge. Hey, go big or go home, right?
Two sodas came through the window. Fantastic.
When I received the bag from the girl at the window, I looked in. Mental checklist: two boxes & a cheeseburger wrapped in paper. Perfect.
Sauce for the nuggets. Great.
Napkins. Nice.
Straws. Super.
However, when I got back to "Honey's" house, I discovered it was anything but perfect. It was wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
Apparently, the staffers split the 20-piece nuggets into two boxes of ten. The paper-wrapped cheeseburger, from memory, is, normally, packaged in a box. Nope. Not this time.
"Where's the double cheeseburger?" I said as steam began to cascade from my ears and as I dumped the contents of the bag onto the coffee table.
Yes, I realize that even the fast food drive-thru employees are humans and they, too, can make mistakes. I realize that I only "lost" approximately $1.50 and that I didn't need a late night snack that consisted of a greasy burger...on top of another greasy burger.

Well, call me crazy. This error in my order really annoyed me. I mean, really annoyed me.
I had a completely unreasonable reaction to my latest episode at the drive-thru. Why was the drive-thru window girl out to get me? What did I ever do to her? Nothing. She couldn't have been any older than 17. She was just a baby.
I tried to cool off, unsuccessfully. I stormed into the computer and filled out an online survey about my recent experience. I won't get into the details but let's just say it wasn't a glowing review.
This survey is anonymous so they'll never refund my $1.50 or send a hand-written apology letter to my home or be able to gift me free signature hamburger products for life...
Alright, alright, alright. Back to reality.
Please, retail associates of Rhode Island, going forward, don't make me do something I'm not proud of...like park the car, walk into the restaurant with tears streaming down my face asking for my French fries.

2012: A Retrospective

I woke up bright & early this morning thanks to an 8am wake up call from the parking lot snow plow driver. I trudged through the snow (maybe 6-8") to The Grey Lady and brushed her off. After accidentally bringing quite a bit of snow into the car with me, I drove to fill up the gas tank and ventured on to Target for my annual late-December purchase.

That's right folks, the 2013 weekly planner and hanging calendar have been purchased...and you know what that means...a look back at 2012!

I've witnessed seven beautiful and intelligent young ladies change their last names while wearing a white dress. I've said farewell to friends who have changed their job titles and, as a result, some have also changed their mailing addresses. I've nursed bruises, pulled muscles and sore feet from dancing...like no one was watching, of course.

My little red suitcase has rolled through Providence, Tampa, Phoenix, San Diego, Hartford, Baltimore, St. Louis and Chicago airports; Providence, Philadelphia, South Norwalk and New York train stations; aboard a ferry to and from Nantucket; and through too many city streets and driveways to mention.

I've indulged in pizza with Tristen; guacamole with Jess and Tara; tea sandwiches and wedding cupcakes with the "Lovely Ladies"; pudding shots with the pub crawlers; Fenway fare with Dad, Tommy & the girls; life-changing reubens with Kate; San Diego fish tacos with Jeff, Lisa & Kate; and plates upon plates of chocolatey goodness in celebration of Denise.

I've toasted to good food, good friends and good news. I've walked the cliffs in Newport, climbed through a metal sculpture playground in St. Louis, gone completely overboard in wedding photo booths; and, even, hit a stranger in the face with a bouquet of flowers. I've broken up with my expensive trainer and started a strong relationship with my amazing boyfriend.

I've screamed for encores from Dave Matthews Band, Bob's Day Off and King Friday. I've met some great new family-to-be and friends; and have strengthened relationships that I've had for years. I used my very own RIPTA bus pass and was involved in my very first (and hopefully my last) hit-and-run.

I've been atop the St. Louis Arch, splashed in the Pacific and the Atlantic oceans and stood in LOVE park with the man I love. I've achieved my goals in the office and have taken on additional responsibility, looking for advancement within the company.

All in all, it's been a great year. No doubt, 2013 will be even better.

To everyone who has made me laugh so hard I have cried, thank you. To everyone who has dealt with me and my antics, thank you. To everyone who has made my day just a little bit better, thank you. To everyone who has helped me through a tough stretch, thank you. I truly appreciate it and I hope to return the favor one day!

Happy New Year!

It Was Bound To Happen

It was only a matter of time before I grew up.
It wasn't until earlier this week while talking with a high school friend (Hi, Kate!) that it hit me that I'm an adult...correction: we're adults. I'm 32 and, although I've put it off as long as I could, it's here...adulthood.
With Thanksgiving just one sleep away, this new truth is a reality. A welcomed reality.
Worldwide, Thanksgiving is known for celebrating family, friends, employment, good health, turkey, gravy, stuffing, yadda yadda yadda...but my Thanksgivings have always embodied so much more.
For the past eight years, I have rushed out of work in Providence on Wednesday afternoon to sit in Mass Pike traffic from Worcester to Springfield, adding at least 45 extra minutes onto my already-annoying commute to Mom's house in Western Mass. Once there, I typically inhaled dinner (and shrimp cocktail if I was lucky) and threw a load of laundry in...because there are no laundry facilities in the Ocean State. That's the excuse I'm going to go with.
I would hit the town with the high school friends that I have had the good fortune of remaining close with all of these years. We, inevitably, would run into people we knew in past lives and hold those awkward conversations that go a little something like, "So...what have you been doing since 1998?" or "Remember Mrs. (fill in the blank with a high school teacher or coach)?"
Although our rowdy behavior has subsided quite a bit in recent years, Thanksgiving has always been a good time to celebrate. Hell, in high school I'd force my immediate family out of our holiday dinner plans so I could go to an unchaperoned formal at a local Polynesian restaurant. We'd get all dolled up, put on our wrist corsages, take ridiculous amounts of pictures and then hop into a limo. Off to debauchery we go!
More recently, my Thanksgiving Day would start with a hearty breakfast of banana bread and Haviland's Chocolate Covered Thin Mints. I'd peruse the massive pile of Black Friday sale flyers in the newspaper - a newspaper which is typically less than half of the size of the Thanksgiving issue - while watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade on television. I'd laugh about the horrible lip synching of the performers and smile at the sight of Snoopy or Kermit flying high above New York City.
Occasionally, I'd head out to cheer on the Panthers on the gridiron while sipping a hot chocolate and yelling out the "Keystone" cheer in unison with the student body. (Do they still do this cheer?)
Most high school reunions seem to take place on this holiday weekend because, well, everybody's "home". Well, this year I will not be dancing at the Hu Ke Lau. I will not be throwing back drinks and living it up at Coconuts. I will not trash talk the Westfield Bombers while cheering on the good guys of Cat High.
I've made the choice to stay local and share my Thanksgiving with someone very special to me and his amazing family. They have very graciously opened their home and their hearts to me and I am very grateful to be welcomed with open arms...as long as I bring the green bean casserole.
Regardless of your Thanksgiving Day plans, I hope you are surrounded by people you care about and flooded with those "Happy Turkey Day" texts...and, if that's not an option, I hope you have plenty of pumpkin pie. Gobble gobble!