Faster than a speeding miniskirt, more powerful than a great pair of heels

So, my closing was supposed to happen yesterday, but it didn't. I found out last Wednesday that the underwriters needed some extra paperwork from my HOA, which would take the HOA about a week to get together and cost $500. My realtor valiantly fought to get the seller, CitiMortgage, to cover the costs, but they refused. I'm not actually all that bent out of shape about the money; in the grand scheme of things it's not that much (I just spent $900 on a fridge I chose solely based on the fact that the condiment shelves on the door are removable and dishwasher-safe). But in principal, I got screwed. This paperwork the underwriters needed was part of the vast sea of bullshit you have to swim through now to get a mortgage thanks to the housing market crash. And the housing market crash was due in large part to foreclosures, which were caused by people defaulting on their mortgages, and I can honestly say I have never once in my life given anyone a sub-prime mortgage, HOW ABOUT YOU, CITIMORTGAGE?

I'm just saying, you guys. I'M JUST SAYING.

I'm a huge stickler for fairness, especially when I'm the one who's not being treated fairly. Now, obviously, I know that the universe is vast and random, and it would be unreasonable to expect that everything should work out exactly the way I feel it should. I don't even really believe in karma or any other sort of cosmic justice system. I think more than anything it's the sense of powerlessness, knowing that you know how things should be but aren't able to change them or convince other people to change them for you.

Case in point: I was a pretty good kid in grade school, but the one thing I would constantly lose my shit over was when the teacher punished the whole class for something only a few kids were doing. I would sit and argue with my teachers about being punished (and in retrospect, my goodness, what was wrong with these adults that they would engage in heated arguments with an 8-year-old?), about how it wasn't fair that I had to write sentences or stay inside from recess just because other people were talking. But it never worked. So I would sit and endure my punishment and stew. I tried every form of subversive protest I could think of - writing smart-alecky parenthetical asides in my sentences, really, really enjoying my recess time spent at my desk, even loudly commenting on how sad it was that the teacher wasn't playing close enough attention to her class to figure out who the real troublemakers were. But nothing ever worked. Finally, one day, I think in Seventh grade, I was arguing with my teacher over some stupid punishment and getting nowhere when inspiration struck. I turned to my teacher and said, "You know who else had to suffer for other people's wrongdoings? Jesus. So every time you punish me for something I didn't do, I become more Christ-like. Thank you."

I didn't get out of the punishment, but at least my teacher was too dumbfounded to get me into any real trouble. And I learned that day that the combination of scriptural knowledge and complete disregard for the consequences of speaking my mind was a dangerous weapon, one whose power would only be rivaled by my discovery a few years later that guys didn't care how small your boobs were as long as you had nice legs. Yes, I had learned what countless numbers of politicians, theologians, and opinionated people had learned before me: You can use the Bible to prove yourself right. And suddenly, I had a super power. The power to end any conversation in my favor by name-checking the Almighty. A way to be an asshole, but in a way that made you not sound like an asshole, but somehow that made it even more of an asshole-ish thing to do.

So, no, I'm not all that upset about losing $500 dollars and a week of home-ownership. Actually,  I'm feeling a sense of peace about the whole ordeal. As I sit here in my non-air conditioned bedroom I'm reminded of a young man who lived 2000 years ago who was stuck somewhere he knew he didn't belong, his stepdad's carpentry shop. A young man who, years later, would also suffer at the hands of a corrupt institution being propped up by the government. We're not so different, he and I.

Thank you, CitiMortgage. I feel closer to heaven already.

HOLD ON, YOU GUYS

I just took a look at the ol' Blogger dashboard and realized I have like five or six half-finished posts from the last couple of months. We can blame that on the fact that I'm a perfectionist and I don't have the attention span to do anything from start to finish, or we can list off a couple of quick excuses that make it seem like I've been really busy lately. One of those options involves lots of links, and the other involves lots of crying. Let's do this shit.


I started hula hooping. Then I started making hoops. Making hula hoops, as it turns out, is easier than actually hula hooping. I can't do tricks, but I can waist-hoop for 30 or 40 minutes a day on my lunch break. And, more importantly, I can allow my coworkers to believe that the 23 pounds I've lost since March were due to said daily hooping regimen rather than my other daily regimen, stress and amphetamines (seriously, Adderall killed my appetite. It's totally gone. You know what else is gone? My ass. And I miss it so, so much). So I've been making exercise hoops for my coworkers. I'm a hoop mogul now. A robber hooper baron. J. Pierpont Hoopsalot Morgan (Arcane references to Gilded Age industrialists are not, to my knowledge, a known side effect of Adderall).

It was my friend Laura who initially got me into hooping. Laura is also the reason that...


I'm stage managing a Fringe Festival show. It's Laura's show, and she needed a stage manager. I don't know what that is, but I do know how to Google, and I also know who Scooter from the Muppet Show is, so I should be okay. And the more I read, the more it seems like stage managing has basically the same skill set as directing a handbell choir. Actors are easier to deal with than church ladies, right? I can do this, right? "Stage managing" is an actual verb, right??

On the upside, the show will take up the time that I would have spent thinking...

Holy fucking shit, I bought this!

Pictured: How the hell did this even happen?!

 Because even though it's all but official at this point, every time I think about it, I experience this strange mix of incredulity and swear words. I'm buying a goddamn house. In 12 days it will be mine. Well, mine and Wells Fargo's. 20% mine, at least. And let me tell you something about accomplishing a major milestone such as this: you think, oh, look at me, being a grown up, but the farther into the process you go, the more you realize you have no fucking clue. I had to start carrying more auto insurance (more than the state minimum, for once) because people can sue you if you cause an accident and you don't have enough insurance to pay for it? What? Even though it looks like a townhouse, it's really a condo? How is that possible? I have dozens of pages of homeowner's association documents, and none of them say how long you can keep your Christmas decorations up, even though that's the only thing I thought associations controlled? And for some reason, there are like 12,000 fucking washers and dryers on the market, and at least as many refrigerators, and you can reach a point where all the paint chips start to look the same, and you can't decide, because all you really wanted was a grey bedroom and WHY IS THAT SO HARD??

Okay, maybe this option had some crying too.

But, I have scene changes to highlight and hoops to tape. And lots and lots of boxes to pack. So this is the end, just a few minutes after I started writing (Thanks, Adderall, although focus won't make up for the missing butt).

Alright then. Back to work.

We do improv all the time! This conversation, right now? ALL IMPROV.

Last night Heather and I went to see Uptown the Musical, produced by our lovely friends at Box Wine Theatre. We got sushi before the show in Calhoun Square then walked to Intermedia Arts. We were still a little early and not feeling quite hipster-ish enough (we talked about riding bikes, but we didn't, total missed opportunity), so we stopped in a nearby thrift shop.

Now, I'm not big on used clothing, since it seems people in the 70s were not proportioned the way I am. Which is weird, because I came from two people who were my age in the 70s. What did they wear? I assume my mom wore hippie clothes she sewed herself, and my dad wore Black Panther-style leather jackets and berets, and neither look is really my style. Also, that is probably untrue, since my parents were suburban, middle-class Republicans with day jobs and night classes. All of this is to say, I buy clothes online from the Gap, because they sell pants with freakishly long inseams that are shipped to me sealed in plastic, and I never have to speak to another human being. Total opposite of the thrift store experience.

So on the rare occasion I find myself in a thrift store, I don't even bother trying to shop and instead gravitate towards the most ridiculous-looking thing I can find. It's almost always the rack of formal dresses, and last night was no exception. The first dress I picked up was a yellow and silver sequined strapless dress with the 80s flare-out thing that hit around the knees. So sparkly. So poofy. I loved it.

Anyway, the dress prompted the following conversation, which I think sums up the relationship Heather and I have pretty well.

Naomi: [Picks up dress] "Oooh!"

Heather: "Oooh! Sparkly!"

"Yeah." [Puts dress back.] "I need your opinion on something. I'm thinking of making a hoop* with sparkle tape and lace. Does that sound good, or would it be too much?"

"No, that sounds awesome!"

"Okay. It's just..."

"What?"

"Well, I have a whole closet full of sequined clothes, and I'm going to make a dress for the Iveys this year that has a feather skirt..."

"Oh yeah, I saw the link you posted about that!"

"Right, it'll be awesome. But with the feathers, and the sequins, and the lace...it's just that sometimes I worry that I'll wake up one morning and discover that I've transformed into a gay pride parade float."

"Oh. Well, if that happens, I'll throw candy at you!"

"Thanks, and I'll throw condoms at you!"


And probably the best photo to illustrate this story: Heather and I on New Year's Eve 2010, very sparkly and maybe just a tiny bit intoxicated. Not to be confused with New Year's Eve 2009, when I woke up the next morning on Heather's couch wearing a t-shirt that said "I'd Rather Be Riding Ginger!" That does not sum up our relationship at all.

Those are the faces of people who do not normally stay up past midnight
or wear heels for more than two hours. Friggin' CHAMPIONS.

(The show was a ton of fun, by the way. Check it out at the Fringe Festival. And check out Heather's show, which I am now morally obligated to promote since she'd let me throw condoms at her if I were a gay pride parade float. This is the new standard by which all future relationships will be measured.)


*More on this later. Okay, maybe just a little bit right now!

Evolution of an absurd inside joke

My birthday was last Wednesday, and on Friday night I went out to dinner with some friends to celebrate. This is actually the end of the story; there's a year or so of backstory to get through until we're at last Friday. I just wanted to start here so I'd remember to say I had a lovely birthday, and if you are reading this and you helped make it lovely, then thank you. So far 27 is a great age to be. It's the cube of an integer whole number! I won't be that again until I'm 27i 64!*

Heather has a cat named Cooper. She got him about a year ago as a diversion from editing the nascent cult classic Zombie Sweater, which, shameless plug, I'm in. Go on and watch it. It's the only film I've been in where I was cast solely based on having hot legs, which is weird because it's not a sexy film or role at all, and weirder still because the only other film I've been in had nothing to do with having hot legs and yet still somehow felt like a porno while we were filming it. I don't know, acting is tricky I guess.

Anyway, Heather got Cooper last April and the two were a match made in heaven. Here's the blog she wrote about him when she first got him. And I know what you're thinking. "Awww, she was so excited that she talked about him like he was people! I can haz poetic license plz?" But you're wrong (and LOLspeak is way passe), that's how they actually are in real life. Heather is a crazy cat lady, but young and hip enough that she makes it awesome somehow. Sometimes I'm jealous of Heather and Cooper. I wish I was a cool cat lady. But then I remember that my cat is awful and fat and tries to trick you into petting her even though you were totally gonna do it anyway.

Fast forward to December, when Heather went back home for Christmas and I was glad she'd be gone for a while, because I still had no idea what to get her. I was also glad to cat-sit for her, because Cooper is super friendly, and sometimes with all of the stresses of the holiday season it's nice to be able to crash on someone else's couch and cuddle with their cat for a while, you know? It was during one such cuddle session that inspiration struck.

Cooper

Plus t-shirt

Plus Photoshop and iron-on paper

Equals the best damn present ever.

Also, I think at this point I may have become Cooper's aunt. I'm not quite sure how that works.

Fast forward again to this April, when Heather threw a party in honor of the first anniversary of Cooper's adoption. I was out with some mutual friends a couple weeks before the event and we were discussing gift ideas. How do you top something like a t-shirt with a picture of a cat on it?

"You could get Cooper a t-shirt with a picture of Heather on it," one friend suggested.

"I could," I said. "Or..." 

And then it hit me. A flash of inspiration; that beautiful moment when genius and insanity and "maybe I drank too much beer waiting for the late night happy hour app specials to start" collide. I knew exactly what to make.

"Or...I could get Cooper a t-shirt with a picture of Heather wearing a t-shirt with a picture of Cooper on it, on it."

And that is exactly what I did.

At the party we all joked about how far it had gone. What was next, another t-shirt? Something larger, maybe a tote bag? Unfortunately cats hate wearing clothes, so I didn't get any good pictures of Cooper wearing the shirt. I figured this was the end.

And now we're up to last Friday. When we got to the restaurant Heather gave me my birthday present, a small, soft package wrapped in pink tissue paper. I could tell it was something fabric, and for a brief moment I thought about joking that it was a cat t-shirt. But I didn't say anything, because it couldn't be, right? There's no way.

Except that it totally was. Nicely played, Heather.

And so....here's a picture of me wearing a t-shirt with a picture of Heather wearing a t-shirt with a picture of Cooper on it and Cooper wearing a t-shirt with a picture of Heather wearing a t-shirt with a picture of Cooper on it, on it. I think.

The important part is, Heather's birthday is at the end of October, so I have five months to parse that sentence and find an iron-on transfer large enough to accommodate all of the recursive madness. This isn't the end. This is only just beginning, and it won't stop until someone's head explodes.


*Okay, I looked it up and it turns out you don't get i as an answer unless you were cubing i to begin with, and it's not an integer anyway, so none of that up there makes any sense. That's what I get for trying to shoehorn in a math joke. Tune in next week when I talk about how I was so excited to find out that my mutual fund was compounding interest again that I yelled "eeeeeee!" DAMMIT THAT'S EVEN WORSE.

Late night list

1. It's very late/very early and I am awake. I was asleep at one point,  but no longer. I woke up and started thinking about things, you know, the things that seem so important when you're half asleep and you can't stop thinking about them, but once they fully wake you up you realize it could've waited til morning, because what are you going to do at 2AM anyway? Write an email? The recipient will see the timestamp and think you're weird (note: please do not read the timestamp on this blog).

2. I cleaned my entire bathroom after Zumba class today, both rooms, and it was pretty gross because it's got dormered walls and I don't normally clean the parts I can't stand up straight in. Did you know that in the humidity of a bathroom, dirt becomes mud? And the dirt-mud all has hair in it so it forms this sort of caked-on matrix that sticks to every surface and doesn't wash off of your mop and rag. Anyway, that's my bathroom, gross and unclean, or at least it was until earlier tonight.

3. I have to go to work tomorrow, then the gym (Fitness Yoga? Do I have the balls? WE SHALL SEE.) then this show because I hate interactive theater only slightly less than getting ashes put on my forehead, especially with bangs (the bangs affect only the ashes, not the theater. That was a poorly worded sentence). Why am I awake? See #1; and also, I don't want to jump to conclusions or anything but I started taking Adderall today. That might have influenced #2 as well. I don't know; I also had a big mocha at lunch. Right now I'm choosing to focus on how badass it is to have a bottle labeled "AMPHETAMINE 5MG" in my purse. Even though I know it's not badass at all, not even for me (I used to take Dexatrim all the time in high school, which was insane, because I weighted like 130 pounds and even back then people knew how dangerous ephedrine was. How am I still alive, right?).

4. Anyway, I'm obviously still rambling, and last night I was going to split an apple with Ryan and on my way into his bedroom got sidetracked for 15 minutes putting my laundry away, and I'm fighting with every fiber of my being the impulse to make a Charlie Sheen joke right now. So based on all of that I'm starting do doubt the efficacy of Adderall, unless the goal is to keep you awake long enough to get more shit done. Not sure how that would help with forgetfulness, but I'm no doctor. Oh, speaking of doctors, the psychiatrist I saw kept asking me the same questions over and over again, and I'm pretty sure it was because he was making sure I wasn't lying about having ADD (because Adderall's a controlled substance and commonly abused I KNOW BADASS RIGHT?), but it's a little unsettling to be seeing a doctor who seems more forgetful than you are.

5. Damn, prescriptions are expensive. This is a fact you do not appreciate until you have a $3000 deductible.

6. Maybe if I ate something I'd fall asleep? I didn't have dinner (which is what reminded me about the Dexatrim, random I guess) so it would be that too-empty stomach situation so I might get a belly ache. Also, I'd have to brush my teeth and I would like my sink to stay clean for at least eight hours.

7. I need to make the chicken in the fridge. I could stick it in the crock pot, but (see #3) I won't be home until very late tomorrow, which is actually today.

8. I could go shovel the snow that's still coming down, but my boots are in my car which is on the wrong side of the snow from my bed; also, I am not wearing pants.

9. Winning, duh! Damnit, Beck...

10. Nutella. Got some at Target yesterday while I was waiting for my prescription. Nutella, then lying quietly for...three hours, really?...until I have to go to work. Done.


Good night, sort of. I hope.

(Bonus #11: Have you ever tried to proofread something you wrote at 3AM? Yikes. And I'm probably not catching all of the errors. I apologize in advance, although by the time you read this, it will actually be too late.)

Shaping up, Part 3

This is my last in this ad hoc series, because I don't want to become one of those people who constantly talk about their fitness regimen. It's really not that interesting, because I think on some level everyone is doing the same thing, or at least feeling really bad that they're not. So who am I to get in people's faces all the time and be like "Oh my god you guys, I just did so many squats, my glutes are solid FEEL THEM!"

(Side note: This recently happened to me. A friend invited me to feel his pecs. Awkward. It's not that I have anything against a congratulatory fondle, but it didn't seem like the appropriate thing to do in the middle of a crowded bar. Also, this may just be my weird sense of fairness, but I think touching someone's chest is an implied agreement that they get to touch yours.)

(Second-level side note, regarding the frequency of side notes as of late: I am finally going to see a psychiatrist about getting some Adderall. I have to wait over a month to see a doctor who's willing to prescribe a Schedule II drug, but...I don't know, something about gun control laws, probably. And outrage.)

And anyway, I haven't lost any weight yet. But something must be working, because I am hungry ALL THE TIME now. So maybe I'm growing muscle and I just need to ride this out for a couple weeks until my metabolism figures out what's going on. Still got chunky thighs, though, so I'll continue to soldier on.

They say (and by "they," I mean the health and wellness websites I read on my extremely-limited internet access at work) that a good exercise program should include aerobic, strength, and flexibility training. And I'm getting pretty good at the first two, but I've been putting off the last one, because I'm terrible at it.

Secret shame: I can't touch my toes. I've never been able to. It's why I never got a Presidential Fitness award in grade school (well, that and I couldn't be bothered to run for an entire mile). I've always blamed it on the fact that I have really long legs and a short torso, but I'm pretty sure that claim doesn't stand up to actual math, because my arms are long too. I'm just not flexible. At all. And it's really embarrassing, because who can't touch their toes? Everyone can, right? So I don't like to stretch at the gym because I don't want people to see that I can only get to about mid-calf without the fear of snapping some tendons, and not stretching makes me even less flexible, and it's a vicious cycle.

(There, now, that's all of my secrets. I'm an inflexible, weak girl with no sense of rhythm and flabby thighs. What do you say, fellas?)

Needless to say I am not ready to take a yoga class at the gym, but I do have a DVD. A DVD that I got a while back but haven't done yet, because of the shame. But now is as good a time as any to start, I figured, so tonight after dinner I loaded up the disc drive on the lapbook, cleared a Naomi-sized space on my bedroom floor, and did some yoga.


I'm not going to talk too much about the experience itself, because there are people far more interesting than me already doing that (and I use the word "people" loosely there), but here are a few observations:

• Either doing yoga makes me dizzy, or doing yoga immediately after eating a hot dog makes me dizzy.
• Controlling your breathing is harder than I thought it would be. I can do the "in for four, out for six" sort of thing, but coordinating it with a movement takes some practice. This may be the source of the dizziness.
• For a practice that is supposed to be relaxing, there sure is a lot to think about when you're doing yoga. Inhale into the pose! Exhale to your fingertips! Keep your shoulders open! Something about chakras!
• I'm not very good at visualization. At the end when you have to relax in the corpse pose (creepy name, by the way), I really had to work at it. Lower back, relax now! Butt, now it is your turn to relax! Shoulders, what the hell, you were supposed to relax three body parts ago DO NOT MAKE ME COME BACK THERE! Again, not very calming. I guess part of the purpose of yoga is to get better at keeping your mind calm. But then again, there are medications for that, and I'm pretty sure they don't involve bending at the waist.
• I didn't feel tired, or like any of my muscles were fatigued, at the end of the workout, so I'm interested to see if I'm sore at all tomorrow morning.
• I'm still feeling dizzy and a bit nauseous, and it's been like half an hour. If this turns me off from hot dogs I am gonna be pissed.

This is the start of my third week of exercising, and isn't that how long it's supposed to take to form a habit? 21 days? That could be an old wives' tale. The important thing is that I'm still doing it. And that I can shut up about it now.


Also: Hey, the blog looks different now! That's pretty cool, right? Looks like someone learned how to copy and paste two or three CSS codes!

Shaping up, Part 2

A minor correction to part 1: I said I wasn't doing this for my health, but the more I think about it, I kind of am. According to my therapist exercise is a good way to manage ADHD without medicine. I'm not hyperactive, so I don't need to exercise to burn off steam, but I do have really poor impulse control, especially when it comes to ridiculous, moderately skanky clothing (e.g., "OMG sequined hotpants ON SALE!!!") So really, the least I can do is make sure I look decent enough to actually wear the things I buy.
 
I'm not putting too much effort into my diet yet (I'm eating girl scout cookies as I type this), but I have started going to the fitness classes at my gym. And I have to say, the YMCA, God bless it, is the best place to start working out if you have no idea what you're doing. Fact: I am no good at moving. I may be a musician, and I may have curves, but when I move there is zero sense of rhythm and negative grace. I have done the occasional step aerobics class, and some basic choreography in high school productions, but that is about it. But at the Y, that doesn't matter! Come as you are! We'll help you get fit, and we'll watch your kids while you do it! Heck, we'll even get your kids fit! Our prices our reasonable, our classes are user-friendly, and you won't feel ashamed to take your clothes off in the locker room because everyone looks the same as you or worse!

Even so, I was nervous about going to a class that would require a lot of coordination, so I started out last Saturday with Bodypump, an awesome class where you and a bunch of old ladies and moms do strength training moves, like lunges and chest presses, to music. Squats are a little unnerving when you already feel bad about your butt, but by the next day I could feel that every single muscle group we worked was sore. This is a great class: no complicated moves, no beautiful people who are better than you, lots of fun and immediate payoff. I went again today and I did more weight this time (two kilograms more, but it's a low weight/high rep thing, so I felt good about it.)

Then on Tuesday night, high off the successes of Bodypump, Ryan and I went to a Zumba class. Oh, Zumba. How can I begin to describe this? On Facebook I called it Jazzercise plus ethnic music minus leotards, and I think that may be all you need to know. Here's a video:

Now imagine what you just saw with the type of people who work out at the Y (the aforementioned moms and old ladies). Also, we were all Minnesotan, so there was no yelling, just some polite clapping at the end of each song (none from the Lutherans, I'm sure).

I had watched a few of these videos before class so I had some idea of what to expect; however, I was not prepared to walk into the fitness studio and see it completely dark except for a few strings of Christmas tree lights and one of those spinning colored light things. Because Zumba is a party, y'all! Except that with the few people standing around, waiting for class to start and making small talk, it looked more like a junior high dance (were those good exercise? I remember being sweaty and smelly but I think that was from being surrounded by equally sweaty and smelly teens. There was also the unknown, uncomfortable feeling in the lower abdomen from dancing too close to boys. I'm sure I burned a few calories praying about that.)

Once the class started, though, I realized the reason for the dim lighting. You can't see anything, including yourself. So, for example, while on some level I knew I looked like a Barrel of Monkeys character (a monkey, not the barrel) while we were doing snake arms to the Indian song, I couldn't see it, so it didn't matter as much. And that helped a lot. I was actually enjoying myself - still struggling, and a bit out of breath and confused, but for the most part having fun.

And then, about halfway through the song, something awesome happened. Proud Mary. Quite possibly the greatest song choreography of all time, and we danced to it. And from that moment on, I FRIGGIN' LOVED ZUMBA.

Here's another video. This time, imagine it with the moms, the old ladies, and me, with a big stupid grin on my face.

(Another semi-related story: The circles I ran in during college were such that I ended up at a lot of gay parties. One such party was at the apartment of a recent graduate who was a well-respected member of the drag scene which Ames, Iowa for some reason had. Late into the night, when I was too drunk to fully appreciate it, Proud Mary started playing and the host, apropos of nothing, got up and started doing his routine to it. He wasn't in drag, and he was probably just as drunk as I was, but his lip syncing and dancing were flawless. And when you see a large, drunk, gay man give a performance like that, one that Tina Turner herself would have been proud of, man, that's something that sticks with you forever.)

I went back to Zumba on Thursday and it wasn't quite as good as the first time, probably due to the fact that I was standing near a lamp so I could sort of see myself in the mirrors. But I think now that I've gone twice I know most of the steps, so I can start working on swinging my hips a little more. That should help with the awkwardness. And most importantly, now in addition to my short-term goal (get in shape for swimsuit season), I have a long-term goal: Get me a pair of Tina Turner legs.

Because I will buy a pair of sequined hot pants; it's only a matter of time. And I will most likely wear them somewhere inappropriate (a dive bar? a friend's theater production? church?). But if I can stick with this workout plan, at least I know I'll look good. Psychotherapy: It works, people. I am proof.

Shaping up, Part 1

Here's what's been happening. At the beginning of February, I went to Fort Myers, Florida with my mom. It was awesome. I almost never go on trips in the winter so I forgot the novelty of stepping off of a plane into weather that's 80 degrees warmer than when you stepped on, not to mention several orders of magnitude more humid. Florida is awesome in February.

(Quick semi-related story about this: I went to college in Iowa, and when it was time to go back after a break my mom would drive me down. We'd leave in the morning around 8 AM, drive straight through, and arrive right before noon. WITHOUT FAIL every single time we did this my mom would remark on how much warmer it was in Ames than in Bloomington, because, in her words, "it's in a whole different planting zone." Not because we were four hours into the day. Not because the sun wasn't up when we left. Not even because Ames is 200 miles closer to the equator than Bloomington. Planting zones. I thought about asking Mom how many planting zones Florida was away from home but really, why open that can of worms again?)

My goal was to spend as much of my time there in my bikini and I think I did pretty well. (Maybe too well, once you stop and realize you're essentially wearing the same spandex-y pair of underwear for five days straight. Whatever; I rinsed them out.) We went to the beach twice, kayaking once, and on a whole bunch of nature hikes (or as we call them in my family, "death marches." Guys, listen to me: Do not go on vacation with my mom) and if you've seen my pictures of the trip there I was in my swimsuit the whole time. As someone who hates pants and probably doesn't get enough Vitamin D, I'd say this trip was a huge success.

But here's the thing: Once you get back from vacation and you've had a couple weeks to distance yourself from the experience, you start to notice things. For example, I noticed that my swimsuit doesn't cover as much of my butt as it used to. And while I'd like to blame that on the repeated washings on the trip, I'm pretty sure that spandex doesn't shrink. So that means I've either got some fabric that's displaying properties it's never been known to have, or I put on some weight, and I'm guessing it's the latter, because fuck you, Occam. Fuck you so much.

Fact: Asses should not have double chins.

Now, I know that I am not overweight by any stretch. I weigh about 15 pounds more now than I did in college, and in college I was borderline underweight. I don't want to go back to that; I have boobs now, and that's pretty cool. But things are starting to expand, and I don't have the best habits (my idea of eating healthy is "maybe if you're going to have nachos for dinner again you should eat a piece of fruit, too). So now, faced with the prospect of a whole season of bikini-wearing; now, when I can make this a purely vanity-based project and not have to think too hard about my actual health, I have decided to start exercising more.

And now it's on the internet, so I have to stick with it. Otherwise I'll be no better than a politician, and I don't think I could live with that shame.


Okay, I just got back from the gym and I've sat here for too long without taking a shower. Stay tuned for part 2, in which I recount my first experience with Zumba (spoiler alert: It was awkward).

Sort of?

I did not make resolutions this year, because I figure I sort of screwed myself over by starting therapy the month before the new year started. What am I supposed to do to top that level of self-improvement? At any rate, this has led to a lot of minor, half-joking, situational resolutions. A short list:

This year, I have resolved to:

• make Limoncello, in honor of this tweet, and in honor of fruit-flavored alcohol being delicious.
• wear tall socks with heels, because if ever there was an absurd fashion trend for me to follow, this is it.
• take swimming lessons, because as I have mentioned before I can't swim. And, sidenote, this whole idea of black people not being able to swim, which I always assumed was some racist bullshit that slave owners used to say and it somehow stuck around, is actually a real and well-documented cultural phenomenon. And I guess it's true in my own experience, it was always my mom who took us swimming, Dad never even got in the water. Who knew?
• Spend less money on clothing, because I went through 12 months' worth of bank statements last week and apparently that's what I spent the most money on. I was kind of hoping it would be fast food, because that would be easy to cut out. 
• Joint resolution with Heather: Be sexy with each other, but not with each other (there is a suggestive eyebrow raise and raised inflection in that italicized text, by the way). I don't think there was any specific reason for this resolution other than we bought Groupons for the gym that has stripper pole fitness classes and we need to use them before they expire. 
• Apply for the Fringe Festival again. This one is not so much a resolution as an acceptance of the inevitable. The misguided, hilarious, half-written inevitable.

There you have it. I have seen the future, and it is now. And it is fucking ridiculous.

Christmas time lightning round update post

• I should be sewing right now. I SHOULD BE CRAFTING. I have presents to finish. Lots and lots, although not all due by the 25th. So I came downstairs to sew, then I ate some nachos, then I decided to update my blog, then I spent about half an hour reading TOVA test manuals, and here we are.
• I took what I am pretty sure was a TOVA test on Monday (do you see how I foreshadowed that in the previous bullet point? I am literary devicing the hell out of this post). It had numbers instead of little boxes, so it may have been a different brand than the one in the link. Anyway, it was horrible, and I don't have the results yet. The doctor said that generally if the person looks away from the screen during the (15 minute OMG it was so awful!!) test they have ADHD, and I read everything she had posted on the walls. But still, I'm worried that I failed the test, or passed it, however you want to look at it, and that's not what the problem is and then I'm back to square one of not knowing why everything about me is wrong or how to fix it. And I am just going to continue to freak out until I know exactly what I need to do, because I am irrational and this is how I do.
• Bell choir plays on Friday night at 11:00 for the Christmas Eve service and I have no idea how it will go because I had to cancel practice Monday because of the snow. Actually, I had to cancel practice via ad hoc phone tree from my car stuck on I94 in the middle of snowstorm + Vikings game gridlock. Monday was a stressful day, guys. 
• Ryan got me a photo book of all our Disney World food pictures, plus a shit-ton of chocolate and random wasting-time books. I am getting him an Arduino, which he asked for. I have no idea what it is, so I looked it up on Amazon, clicked on the first product that came up, and bought all of the "Frequently Bought Together" products. Total cop-out gift, I know. He may get something sewn too, if there's time, which there won't be, because I still have a few bullet points left in me. Onward...
• Speaking of the food picture book, I've noticed lately that a lot of pictures of me could be classified as food porn. Not food porn in the food-blogging sense, like "Oh, hey, the editor called, he was wondering if you could Photoshop a few of those water droplets out of the picture you sent over. That tomato looks a little too juicy." I mean in the actual sense of food and porn, like, there are a lot of pictures of me sticking phallic shaped foods into my mouth. Case in point, my current Facebook profile picture. What's that all about? And, more importantly, is there a way to monetize this phenomenon? Surely there has to be a fetish for photos of people eating food in an accidentally sexy manner? My knowledge of nontraditional sex is limited and I'm afraid to Google it.
• Holy crap, I just Googled it. Food porn (the blogging kind) has a Wikipedia page with a subsection titled "Actual Pornography." If this page had pictures (why wouldn't this of all pages have pictures!?) it would be the best Wiki article ever.
• Clicked over to the Google image search and was confronted with several pictures of women wearing bacon bras. HOLY CRAP AGAIN.
• This is probably a sign that I should get back to the Christmas presents. Here are a couple quick previews:

There are more, things that aren't far enough along to have photographed. But I've got the rest of the weekend, really. How does Santa do it, one is culturally obligated to wonder at this time of year.

Okay, back to work. But one more bullet point I just thought of.

• "Lightning round" is a pretty inaccurate title since it implies some sense of speed and I took about half an hour to write this. But what would be better? Potpourri, or something like that? Miscellany? Clusterfuck? That last one is the most accurate but I had a swear word in the title of my last post so I need to self-censor this time around.

Ugh. Time to try to salvage some productivity out of the night.

That at least explains all the dick jokes

So I've been going to see a therapist. It's been okay, really. She's nice. She's also an ordained minister, which is kind of cool, but also weird, because you know, am I allowed to talk about sex? Because all of it thus far has been premarital (not that I have any specific reason to talk about sex, it just would be nice to know how awkward I should feel if it were to come up). But she is a Lutheran minister, so at least I know she doesn't think I have demons. We are a demon-free people, on the whole.

I've been learning a lot of interesting things, mostly about myself, things that I already knew because somehow I have managed to become really self-aware, which I think is part of the problem, because I'm critical. Anyway, they were things I already knew about myself but didn't put together as a cohesive whole, because I have a serious thought maintenance problem. They're just...in a cloud or something. A big electron cloud, and my head is the nucleus, and Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle is directing the show. Is that too esoteric? Is quantum physics not an appropriate topic to use in an analogy? Because I have thought long and hard about this (critical self-awareness, you see) and quantum physics is the best I could come up with. My thoughts are wave packets and it is impossible to know where they are and what they are doing at any given moment. (That's not exactly what the uncertainty principle is, but for the sake of the metaphor it works. Also, the electron cloud of thoughts is hazy and green. Obviously.)

So we have been discussing what it means to have hazy green negatively charged sub-particle thoughts, along with a lot of other, non-bastardized scientific terms like "working memory" and "executive function," and oh, hey, it turns out I have like all of the symptoms of ADHD. What?? Come on.

To be honest I kind of expected it, and a former therapist recommended I get tested for it, but at the time I was busy trying to keep myself from wanting to die, so I forgot about it, then I remembered it again but put it off, and so on for five years, right up until the point a few weeks ago when I was convinced I was getting stupid and about ready to become a recluse. Because that is what I do. With everything. And, also, it's always better to err on the side of blaming yourself for things like this. I didn't want to come across as a victim or an excuse-monger, you know.

So next week I'm going to take the test, which I'm scared to death of, because 1) it's long, and I'm afraid I won't be able to concentrate long enough to answer questions correctly, and 2) I'm afraid I won't be able to think up good examples for the questions I'm asked. But maybe they've factored that into the test already? I don't know. I do know, not on the subject at all, that Ryan was overjoyed that I told my therapist I hate movies because they're too long. Because that is totally what I'm going to focus on fixing, Ryan.

But regardless of how the test turns out, I already feel better. This is validation in a way, this idea that something is wrong, yes, but it can be fixed. I remember it was the same way with my depression a few years back - I didn't start to get better until I had read a ton of research on depression and convinced myself that it was an actual, medical problem, not just my ability to fix myself. Plus, just having a term to search for on the internet is cathartic, really - today I found an article that had a 10-step guide to using a day planner to make lists and OH MY GOD THAT IS THE BEST THING EVER.

Seriously, I told my brother to get me a planner for Christmas. I'm pretty excited about this. There may also be color-coded post-it notes.

Bottom line: Things are gonna be okay, I think. They're about to get expensive, because next year my deductible goes way up, but I'm not taking classes next semester (I *may* be on academic probation...another warning sign I guess I missed...) so this is what I'm going to work on. Organizing. Color-coding. Paying bills in a timely manner and filing them in an easy-to-access-come-tax-time spot. Oh, and not being so hard on myself. In that vein, all future references to "bullshitting my way through life, desperately hoping I don't get caught" will now be referred to as "developing and maintaining effective coping strategies." I'm no expert at either, but I think cognitive-behavioral therapy and public relations may be the exact same thing.

There you go. I probably have ADD. So I'm not stupid. I'm just an 8-year-old boy.


Edit: OH MY GOD I JUST REMEMBERED THIS! The greatest South Park episode of all time!

Timmy 2000
Tags: SOUTH
PARKmore...

Sad part is, that's my favorite book...I was totally yelling "It's a gold car! It symbolizes money!" at my screen the whole time... :)

Naomi Beck, Tiny Playwright

My brother is in town this week so yesterday we all got together and went to the buffet at the casino, because we are a classy bunch of people who appreciate the option of eating multiple portions of pig in a single meal. After brunch we went back to my mom’s house, where I was cajoled/guilted/forced into going through some of my old things which are still in her basement. I moved out almost six years ago but I’ve never been motivated to dig through the piles of books and papers, mostly because I knew I’d end up sitting and reading everything. But faced with everyone’s prodding I finally agreed to spend 15 minutes cleaning out an old nightstand.

It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Most of the things I found I threw out right away - old magazines, homework, more stickers than I care to admit, that sort of thing. But I had plenty to keep, too. Old music flash cards (this was out of pure laziness - I assume that someday I will need to teach someone notes and key signatures, and I will be happy that I don’t have to make my own flash cards), a few letters from my dad (he used to write one to my brother and I at the start of each school year), some school awards, a letter I wrote to a former teacher but never sent, decorated with the aforementioned sticker collection (confession: I have had a crush on every male teacher I’ve ever had since junior high. I kept the letter more out of embarrassment than anything. I don’t think I can even read it!), and, probably the best thing that I forgot I had/did: a play I wrote when I was seven.

Yeah. I wrote a play! See, when I was little, I had a ton of career aspirations, but the one I remember having for the longest was writer. Or more accurately, a flight attendant, so I could see the world and meet a lot of interesting people to write about. I was a practical child. I remember writing stories all the time, but as far as I can remember, this was the only play.

So here it is: The Big Trip, by a seven-year-old Naomi, transcribed with spelling/punctuation/style errors left in. A few notes:

• Tania was my best friend at the time and Aubrey (spelled incorrectly throughout) is her older sister. I believe we performed this for the kids in the nursery at church. As I recall, it was a total flop.
• The parts are written for the performers rather than the characters, which I guess shows that I was writing it from a directorial perspective. It should be pretty easy to figure out who the characters are, because they usually introduce themselves. In the scenes on the planes, I'm the flight attendant.
• The Peabody is a real hotel in Orlando, Florida. My family had gone to Orlando the previous summer and seen the duck march there, and I was absolutely enchanted. As far as I know, the catch phrase was of my own invention.
• At the top of the first page I had written and crossed out "Daddy and Naomi's Big Adventure" (supposed to be a play about the time Dad and I took the car to the shop and rode the bus home) and on the back of the last page I have "The Mystery of the Lost Items" (no idea what that was supposed to be about). Even back then I couldn't finish things :/
• I still do not know the difference between a scene and an act, so I can't comment as to whether that is correct or not.

Enjoy!

The Big Trip
by Naomi Beck
Naomi, Tania and Aubry
(written March 1992)

act one Tania’s House - T.A. office

Tania: This house is getting very dull. I think I shoud go on a trip. I’ll call the Travel Agent right now. (Tania dials the phone)

Aubry: Travel Agent office. Miss Conolly speaking.

Tania: Hello, I’d like to go to Florida and reserve a hotel there, too. Do you have any?

Aubry: Yes. I have a hotel and a flight for you. The hotel is the Pebody and I’ll get your flight pass ready for you. You can pick it up tomorrow.



act two Travel Agent’s office

Aubry: Here is the pass. Have fun packing!

Tania: Oh, Thank you! I’ll have fun!

Aubry: You don’t get it. Bye.




Seven Weaks Pass
Act three on the plane

Tania: Wow! This is neat!

Naomi: Buckle your seatbelt. This plane takes off in five minutes.

One Hour Later

Naomi: Here is your meal. Enjoy.

Tania: This is good!



Act four the hotel

Naomi: Pebody, Pebody, Pebody! May I help you?

Tania: Yes, can I get the key to my room

Naomi: Here it is. Have fun.



Act five Tania’s room

Tania: This is a nice room! (Tania relakses then gets her swimsuit on)

Aubry: Hello, I’m the maid. I’ll clean your room for you.

Tania: All together, this is worth all the money I paid.



One Week Passes
Act Six on the plane

Naomi: Well, it’s nice seeing you agin!

Tania: It’s nice seeing you to!



2 Hours Pass
Act seven Tania’s house

Tania: Wow! Was that ever a good trip!

Aubry + Naomi: Well Tania, was your trip good?

Tania: I just said that. Come on, let’s go! I’ll tell you all about my trip.

(Everybody walks away.)

The End

The annotated coffee shop visit

3:55PM I'm not sure why I came here. I could've just gone to the computer lab at school. Really, it's too late for coffee. I'll be up all night. Maybe I'll ask for it half decaf.

3:58PM Well, I just made a fool of myself asking if it was okay to charge a dollar coffee. Best not to make a bigger fool of myself by admitting I can't handle caffeine after noon. I'll just drink half of it. It's on sale, at least.

4:05PM Who do I sit facing: creepy guy with laptop, or two creepy guys talking near the "fireplace"? Oh, laptop guy is leaving. Problem solved.

4:15PM Is this coffee burnt? Seriously, not worth a dollar.

4:30PM I just used my student email for the first time in over six months and managed to somehow email myself instead of my teacher. How does that happen?

4:35PM I should leave. I already smell like old coffee. I should go to church and work on bell choir stuff. Wait, no, I should resend this email first.

4:37PM Guess I can't work on homework until I get a response, right?

4:38PM Mindless internet surfing

4:50PM Ooh, it's Cyber Monday! Gotta get Christmas presents while the shipping's still free.

4:54PM I hate Christmas music. Seriously. So much. Better Facebook about it.

5:00PM I have very little knowledge of modern American literature. Better Twitter about it.

5:14PM The wifi in here was working perfectly right up until the EXACT MOMENT I tried to make a purchase. WTF. This had better go through...

5:15PM Email....from teacher...oh well.

5:16PM Email from Barnes & Noble, awesome. Although I just thought of another book I need to buy. Damn. Hope the coupon works for more than one order per person. Or I could get Ryan to buy it for me. Could I convince Ryan to buy his own present? Am I that clever/devious/good at lying? I'd probably forget all about it by the time I got home.

5:20PM More Facebooking. Some texting. I really should leave soon.

5:21PM A couple of teens just sat down at the table across from me (formerly occupied by Creepy Laptop guy) and preceded to very loudly eat their Subway sandwiches. Like ridiculously loudly. On the order of livestock. I am 10 feet away and I can hear the chewing. Also, I'd like to point out that WE ARE AT CARIBOU. I hope they can feel the hatred I am beaming at them.

5:25PM Still chewing. Still beaming.

5:30PM The eating has ended but clearly I've lost focus. The homework isn't done, the coffee is only 1/3 done, and I am going to be smelling gross old coffee on myself for hours. And, as I look around, I'm noticing that most of the people here are teens, and they're very loud. I don't care if you're studying for your ACTs, or doing your group projects about the Industrial Revolution, or whatever, you kids need to keep it down. Seriously, don't make me come over there. And stop drinking Caribou Coolers or whatever they're called. They're not real coffee; they're basically ice cream. And caffeine makes you skinny, girls. It's just like nicotine, but D.A.R.E. won't get all up in your face about it.

5:36PM That was totally an old person rant. I'm ranting about teens now. On my blog. Ours is a strange generation, the Millennials.

5:38PM New rule: Finishing a blog post counts as finishing something. I'm out of here. If I hurry, I can get to church in time to play the organ really loud for a few minutes before people start to show up. Yeah, I do that for fun.

5:40PM See you tomorrow, Caribou.

Unwelcome cachet

(Transcript of a phone conversation yesterday, as verbatim as I can get it)

"Hi, I'm wondering if anyone at your clinic is taking new patients?"

"That depends on what time you'd like to be seen."

"Mid-afternoon? Between 3:00 and 5:00 would be best."

"No, we don't have anyone available then. The only times we have free are between 10:00 and 2:00."

"Hmm, that probably won't work. Do you know if any of your other clinics have openings?"

"I can check. What is your primary reason for this visit."

"Um, I guess that would be depression."

"Oh. [pause] I can get you in at this clinic on Monday at 4:00."


So about a month ago I came to a shocking realization: I am a huge fucking moron and a total failure at everything I do. Out of nowhere! I can't finish anything, I can't start anything, I can't do anything. I'm not smart, not funny, can't communicate in any meaningful fashion, can't behave like an adult. I used to be so good, so awesome...and now I'm a horrible asshole. A huge fucking moron. I totally shut down, because when you are stupid and awful there's not a whole lot you can do anyway, right?

I thought about my problem long and hard and came to the conclusion that one of four things must have happened:

• I somehow suddenly and inexplicably lost 26 years of intelligence and social graces;
• I was always without intelligence and social graces, but somehow suddenly and inexplicably lost my ability to bullshit my way through life;
• I was always without intelligence and social graces, was never able to bullshit my way through life, and was just now realizing what everyone else knew all along but was too polite to tell me; or
• Adult-Onset Asperger's

When I finally got around to researching my predicament online (in the precious few moments I had between sleeping all of the time and being immobilized by my sense of worthlessness), I found out two things: First of all, there's no such thing as Adult-Onset Asperger's. And second, the symptoms of being a huge fucking moron are exactly the same as the symptoms of depression.

Seriously. Depression. What the hell.

Because here's the thing: I've had depression before. In a big way. The pills, the therapy, the overnight in the psych ward, everything. And I worked my ass off to fix myself and rebuild my life. And now it's back? Again, what the hell.

But then I realized, if it is depression, that means I failed to keep myself un-depressed. So either way, I'm right. I'm a failure. I win! And that tiny bit of cognitive dissonance was enough to overcome my denial and make me call a clinic, resulting in the above conversation. And they apparantly think I'm in such bad shape that I won't survive past the weekend. I win again! I win at having incredibly poor mental health. Gotta take your victories where you can, right?

So here I am, waiting for Monday. Already I feel better, smart enough to have figured out what was really wrong, accomplished enough to schedule an appointment. In control of my life enough to fix the broken parts. I am okay, or good enough, or working on it. It varies minute to minute.

For now I am just going to keep existing and see what happens.

In it for the long haul

How to Survive a Snowstorm:
1. Put on your warmest sweatshirt. Bonus points for irony. Extra bonus points for irony and veracity.

Puns = Fashion

2. Put on your tallest socks, because seriously, fuck pants.

Source

3. Make sure you have plenty of warm beverages.

Premium Taste!

4. Make sure you have plenty of other beverages, too. Gotta have Vitamin C; it's cold season after all.*

Make sure you're getting your RDA of garnish, too.

All of this would have been greater comfort had I not actually had to go out in the storm today, but I had class, and for whatever reason my teacher decided that we really really needed to turn in and present our projects today and it just couldn't wait until next week. So I bundled up, dug my car out from underneath the (unnaturally heavy) snow, and five minutes into the trip realized I had left my phone at home. And that maybe psyched me out a little bit, because about half an hour later, when I was almost to school, my car spun out and I ended up perpendicular to the road stuck in the unplowed snow between the lanes.

Now, it should be noted that I survived (obviously), without injury to myself or my car, but spinning out is a harrowing experience nonetheless. My car stalled, since it's a manual, so I had to restart it, then fight my way through the snowbank, hoping that no one else was coming down the road, because they sure as hell wouldn't have been able to stop. Fortunately I was only stuck for a few minutes before I broke free and was able to get my car turned around, then I found a parking lot to turn back around in and drove back over the exact spot where I'd just spun out. By the time I got to class (25 minutes late) my nerves were so frayed I didn't even feel nervous standing in front of everyone to present my project...although, that could have been due to the fact that only about ten people actually showed up...

So to recap: We are less than 24 hours into winter and I'm already over it. But I have 99 more tea bags, the rest of the bottles of tomato juice and vodka, and at least one more ironic sweatshirt (remember the Burger King Kids Club? My chest sure does!). Come find me when it's April, okay?


*Apparently Vitamin C doesn't actually do much to prevent or cure colds. I found this out a few months ago, and it's been seriously messing with my worldview ever since. All those fortified cough drops...the oranges...the gin and tonics...were for nothing? I guess I can take comfort in the fact that I've while I've had numerous colds over the past 26+ years, I've never once come down with a case of scurvy.

I did a thing on the internet

If there is one thing I'm passionate about, it's critical thinking. If there's another thing I'm equally passionate about, it's not paying attention to what I'm doing while I'm at work. Fortunately the Internet has given me a way to combine both of my loves: skeptical podcasts.

And now, in gratitude for the countless hours of thinking-but-not-about-the-task-at-hand they've provided me, I'm paying it forward. Last week I did a bit for the Amateur Scientist Podcast. Check it out; it's pretty awesome. But don't take my word for it. (Seriously, don't. I haven't listened to it because what if I'm terrible? And what if I hate the sound of my voice? And anyway, I haven't synced my iPod yet.) And when you're done there, go to the home page and check out the back catalog. I can definitely vouch for the awesomeness of the shows that don't feature me.

Regardless of how it actually turned out (and really, I'm sure it was fine) I had a ton of fun recording it, I learned how to use Skype, and doing research for the sketch forced me to learn more about the WikiLeaks scandal (guys, it turns out things in the Middle East are not going so well). So thanks, Brian, who does not read this blog, for having me on your show. I look forward to providing you with a short bio for your website in the near future.

The less serious update post

Contrary to the bitch-fest I just posted, I have been having a decently good time at life lately. Read this bulleted list to find out more:

• I'm teaching myself how to use CS5 because for some reason my Document Design class is not. Which is weird, becuase you use the programs in CS5 to design documents. State school education; what can you do? Anyway, I like pretty things, and I love being a perfectionist, so I'm really digging design. I'm not very good at it naturally, but it seems that a good portion of design is seeing things you like and incorporating them into your own work in a manner subtle enough to not be considered stealing. Oh, and Before & After Magazine is awesome. The smiling, soft-spoken man in the videos has taught me more about design in the last week than I've learned all semester.

• Halloween! I was going to go as a sexy octopus, but then Paul the Octopus passed away, so I think any sexiness in the costume would be in poor taste. Now I'm going to be a somber, introspective octopus who spends his days contemplating the capricious nature of Fate. While getting drunk and not wearing pants. Obviously.

• I'm making these travel jewelry bags for my church's craft bazaar. I am a crafty church lady now. I think we all saw this coming. 

• I made what was supposed to be a business card in Photoshop but it may have ended up as a masthead for this website instead. And next semester I'm taking a web design class. So look forward to that, alright?

• Not two hours ago I recorded a thing for a podcast I listen to. It was a little strange, like talking back to my iPod (not that I don't do that already "Awww, Prince, that is so sweet of you to say. I would die 4 U 2, you know.") But fun. And, of course, hilariously out of character. I am KICKING ASS at my New Year's Resolution this year, guys.

I think that's it. Soon everything will be in a finished enough state that I can post pictures.

Oh, one more thing: Last weekend I went to a 20s-themed birthday party (actually, it was a Great Gatsby-themed birthday party, which was bullshit because the birthday girl was NOT turning 30, like the main character did in the book and it was kind of a huge deal plot- and character-development-wise. But whatever, don't worry, I'm sure Nick Carraway had a bunch of really cool stuff happen to him when he turned 25, too). Anyway, I made a flapper costume out of a little black dress from Kohl's and a bunch of fringe. Now, when I was young I loved Kohls. Probably 2/3 of my wardrobe was from their juniors section. But 10 years, a set of hips, and a desire not to look trashy later....man, you can't go back. You really can't. I don't think I've ever felt older than I did standing in the middle of a "Britney Spears for Candie's" display full of clothing for skinny 14-year-olds with daddy issues. Okay, now I feel older, now that I've complained about "kids these days." :)

The serious update post

It's that time of year, the time when it gets cold and dark and shit starts getting real in school and it's somehow already time to start thinking about Christmas music even though it isn't Reformation Day, and oh shit, is that this Sunday already? Where did I put that postlude on Ein' feste Burg that I played last year for Reformation Day? Yeah, the I'm-freaking-out-under-the-stress-of-it-all-and-thinking-in-stream-of-consciousness-rants time of year.

Or as some people call it, Autumn.

I like being busy. But I also like being un-crazy, and it seems lately that the two have been at odds. Also, I've been a bit miffed about the whole anti-bullied gay teens killing themselves, for reasons I can't fully explain without sounding like an asshole. It's a little bit like how I felt when the American public magically transformed Obama from a biracial man to a black man, except substitute "understanding what it's like to not know which ethnicity box to check on a survey" for "attempted suicide"and "so that we don't seem racist" with "so that we don't seem homophobic." Again, complex and asshole-ish. But basically, watching an issue close to my heart being reduced to a cause célèbre is tricky. Maybe that makes it sound more reasonable. I should probably write something more well thought out about this later (and the fact that I haven't written anything yet makes me simultaneously mad at myself and really grateful that I deleted my LiveJournal blog).

Seriously, Barack, you were raised by your white relatives and everything. Show some love for your high yellow brothers and sisters!

So, back to trying to remain un-crazy. Turns out it's way easier to go to a mental health professional now than it was the first time I was depressed. Thanks, Stimulus Package! (Seriously, that's how little this country values mental health, the only way we could get the insurance parity bill passed was to sneak it into the bill designed to keep the country from imploding.) It also turns out there's a ton of psychiatrists in Uptown. Hipsters got problems. So now I just have to find one that's taking patients. That's my goal for tomorrow, along with getting my car tuned up and finishing my Halloween costume and one of my class projects, etc..

Also, if you think you have a mental illness: get help, but STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM THE INTERNET. I thought I was being smart, I only went to reputable sites like Mayo Clinic's and NIMH's, but you start reading things, and you start clicking links, and all of a sudden you're not just wondering if maybe you have ADHD, you know you do. And you have Borderline Personality Disorder too, and you might be bipolar, and holy shit AM I AUTISTIC? I THOUGHT I AVOIDED EYE CONTACT BECAUSE I WAS SHY!!

So where I am right now in a nutshell: possibly depressed, probably not anything worse, still sane enough to blog.

Internet, I am back

Although in a way, I never left. Because I have The Twitter on my phone. And absolutely no filter.

PHOTO MONTAGE BEGIN!

IVEYS! This is my homemade dress. Check it out! At some point I will make a tutorial for the dress, but I'm taking this instructional design class about e-learning, so posting an online tutorial that won't affect my GPA is pretty low-priority right now. However, the dress did lead to some pretty interesting conversations about the role of underwear in a women's life and wardrobe, so it's already doing good.


Oh, and you're seeing that right; that's Miss Freaking Minnesota we're all talking to. She wore her crown the entire night. It was weird.

DISNEY! Don't look now, Ryan, but there's something magical behind you.

God, I hate myself for typing that. Seriously, Disney is a cool place, and a lot of fun, but it takes a lot to suspend disbelief. I mean, how magical is something that gets replayed day after day? And I'm sorry, but fireworks get less cool with each passing night. Who knew blowing shit up could have diminishing returns?

FOOD! All different types, in mass quantities. This is me eating a cloudberry horn from the Norway pavilion in Epcot. A brand new berry! It kind of tasted like, you know, every other berry.

BOOZE! This is me drinking a black and tan. It was a real stretch for me, as most beer I consume either looks/tastes like piss or has a slice of fruit in it. So really, this photo could also be called LEARNING!

I think that catches us up to speed. I am in the midst of learning how to use Photoshop and Illustrator. Maybe I will blog about that in the future. Until then, I'll be around Twitter, probably talking about where my pants are (spoiler alert: not my body).

An intimate evening with Naomi and Ryan

Naomi: "Ugh, I am so greasy from eating those chicken wings. I'm covered in chicken grease."

Ryan: "Well it's your own fault for getting the wings instead of pizza."

Naomi: "I didn't say it was a bad thing. Maybe I like being covered in chicken grease. If I had to be covered in something, chicken grease would be at the top of the list."

Ryan: [pause, suggestive look]

Naomi: "Yeah, that's way below chicken grease. Like, around number five."

Ryan: "Really?"

Naomi: "Yeah, One, chicken grease. Two, pretty clothes. Three -"

Ryan: "Chocolate-peanut butter sauce."

Naomi: "Of course. Three, chocolate-peanut butter sauce. Four, um...self-confidence. Then that."

Next Sunday Ryan and I are going on vacation to Orlando. Or that's the official line that I give to people. Privately we are going to DISNEYWORLD!!!DISNEY!!!MOTHERFUCKING!!!WORLD!!!YEAH!!! Because we are EXCITED. Ryan is way into Disney stuff. I think it's because he never went as a child. I personally am way into trips that don't require much effort, and an amusement park resort fits the bill pretty nicely. The Disney bus picks you up from the airport and takes you to the Disney hotel, then another Disney bus takes you to a Disney theme park, then you go on Disney rides and eat Disney food, and at night you take another Disney bus to a Disney night club, then back to your Disney hotel room. Disney, everywhere, non-stop. You sell your soul and a good portion of your brain, but it's so worth it.

Also, they brought Captain EO back last year after Michael Jackson died!! This is the greatest exploitation of personal tragedy since Memorial Day!

So now that we're within a week of the trip, the excitement levels are off the charts. We went on errands today, but not just any errands, Getting Ready For A Vacation Errands. Which, as you may know, are the best errands ever. Travel-sized toothpaste! Sport band-aids for blisters! Ponchos! Antacids!! No bread, because we already have enough bread for the next week!! Snacks!! Less than three ounces of various liquids!!! New tennis shoes, or is it too late to break in a new pair, because you don't want to be breaking them in on the trip because we only got the small box of blister band-aids!!!

And on it went, until we found ourselves at the deli counter of the Bloomington Walmart, where I made the fateful decision to get chicken wings instead of a slice of pizza, resulting in the above conversation. And then we went back to talking about Disney World.

So, just to recap: The only non-Disney related conversation Ryan and I had this afternoon was a lame bukakke joke.

We are the coolest people we know.