Friday, December 31, 2010

Why I hope this decade will be better than the last

Another new year is upon us, it seems. Can you feel my enthusiasm? I plan to celebrate by never leaving the house and going to bed at 11:30. So, basically like any other day. God, I hate the holidays.

This time of year is all about self-reflection, which is where I tend to get into trouble, as I probably spend way too much time self-reflecting as it is. But in the interest of learning from past mistakes, I thought it would be useful to reflect upon things that happened in 2010 that I do not wish to repeat in 2011. Which, as it turns out, is most of them. But I particularly do not wish to repeat:  

this

this 

definitely not this 

oh god, and this 

this too

and I could definitely do with less of this 

Well that was a fun walk down memory lane, wasn't it?

In the interest of not being a total downer (too late!), let's end things on a more positive note, shall we? And so, here are the Things I am Looking Forward to in 2011:

finishing school (again)

getting a job

and this:
I leave in one week, and will be meeting my fabulous travel-partner-in-crime, Jamie, for one extra-long weekend of west coast fun. I have already scoured the archives of my favorite San Francisco-based (and formerly San Francisco-based) bloggers, taking careful note of their suggestions. But now I pass it to you guys--have you ever lived in or visited San Francisco? Is there anything I absolutely must do or see (or eat) while I'm there? Anything I should avoid? My only goals so far are to 1) eat great food, 2) walk a lot and see some stuff, and 3) maybe taste some wine. Anything beyond that would just be icing on the cake.

Cheers, all. Happy etc.  

Monday, December 20, 2010

Why I'm not a superfreak

Oh, why, hello! Are you still there? If so, why? It's true I've been a tad neglectful lately, leaving you for days on end with tales of nose-biting and empty fluff as filler. I've been waiting out the semester as it wheezed its last, dying gasp. And it's true what they say, you know, about how the semester ends: not with a bang but a whimper. And now, finally, the pages of my day planner are marvelously, refreshingly white and clean, much like the newly fallen snow outside, and I find I have nothing in particular to do, and nowhere pressing to go. I've always been slow to catch on to transitions, however, and so I find myself wandering around my house in a muddled haze, sure that there must be something I am forgetting to do. And then, finally, I remembered--blog! Yes, I have a blog! So what shall I blog about today, self? The exciting adventures of how I went to get an oil change and absolutely nothing of consequence happened? No, perhaps not, then. How about the time I sold back my textbooks to a guy in a tent (which should have been my first clue), and then later stupidly realized that I could have traded them in on Amazon for, oh, roughly 150% more American dollars than tent huckster ended up giving me? No, not scintillating enough for you? Man, you people are tough. Alright, how about this: later, I plan to make muffins. Muffins, people!

Sigh.

But wait--they're cranberry. Cranberry muffins. No, still not good enough for you? I give up.

Ok, look, here is what I was about to subject myself to for your amusement, people. So, you remember this video, right? I figured if Ally McBeal could be a superfreak, in all her spastic, skinny glory, then there was no reason why I couldn't either, right? This is how much I love all of you, because I was planning to post a video of myself dancing, on the Internet, for all to see. And I had every intention of actually doing it, too. Until, you know. I viewed the evidence. Which shall be destroyed, obviously. Here were some initial thoughts:
  1. This song is really hard to dance to, guys. Surprisingly hard.
  2. I hate my stupid hair.
  3. Oh my god, that...right there...I have no words.
  4. How did Calista Flockhart make this look so easy? It is not easy, people. It is not.
And some closing words of wisdom to my future self: Never do that again. And fix your hair. Gah.

And so, sadly, I do not have a video to post for you today. Against my better judgment I haven't entirely given up on it altogether, though. In the immortal words of Ally McBeal, "I'm practicing." But I'm still not convinced it can be done. I tell you what, though, maybe a little moral support would help. A little solidarity, you know? I'm throwing out the challenge right now; if just one of you guys makes your own Superfreak dance video and links to it here, I promise I will post one of me doing something (I hesitate to call it dancing), no matter how ridiculous it looks. Pinky promise. 

Lights, camera...ba dow dow dow...da dow...da dow. Get ready to get your groove on, people (da dow...da dow...

Monday, December 13, 2010

Why the girl's a superfreak

Old re-runs of Ally McBeal have been on heavy rotation in my Netflix queue, lately. Can I help it if I love everything about that show? A show where people spontaneously break into song and dance, long before Glee came along and made televised musical numbers socially acceptable. Plus, oh, the sweeping views of Boston, and every time the red line train sweeps over the Charles River in the opening scenes, my heart goes aflutter with nostalgia. Ally's downtown office building that is not unlike my old downtown office building, except for, you know, the corner office views and unisex bathroom antics. Plus, it's hard to ignore the obvious: the maladroit and perpetually lovelorn thirty-something stumbling through life, searching for happiness. 

And then every once in a while, there's a moment of ultimate recognition, of seeing yourself from the outside, and it's not always a pleasant sight. It's times like these when I'm reminded again of why it is that skinny people should never, ever dance:

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Why I'm as graceful as a giraffe on rollerskates

Internet, have you ever experienced a moment of such complete maladroitness that moments later you are still not exactly sure what in the hell just happened? In life's routine and mindless motions--walking, eating, giving someone a hug--there will inevitably come a moment when suddenly, unexpectedly, things break down. Though walking is generally an uneventful process, in the millions of steps that you take in a lifetime it is nearly guaranteed that at some point you will trip and fall. Feeding yourself seems a similarly mundane task, but if the stars are out of line you may once in a rare instance surprise yourself with the sharp tines of a fork in your face instead of its intended target. And sometimes, if the circumstances are just right, you may be absolutely astonished to find that in the process of giving an acquaintance a hug, you have inadvertently ended up with their nose in your mouth. 

If you are lucky, there will be no one around to bear witness to your ineptitude, and you can laugh it off and continue on your way. If you are unlucky, however, there will be a crowd of people from whose perspective it appears that you have just kissed your friend's wife. (Your friend's wife!) But actually, you will soon realize that it is even worse than that, because as your face accidentally, horrifically collides with hers, it appears that you had been in the process of saying something (of utmost importance, no doubt), and so your mouth is, unfortunately, open. The next thing you know your teeth are colliding with her adorable, helpless nose, incisors first. Your eyes go wide and you retreat with gasped apologies and an unstoppable, hysterical giggle burbling up from inside, ready to erupt. She is nicer than nice and totally nonchalant, brushing it off with a dismissive wave of the hand. "Oh, I'm used to it," she shrugs. "My husband is always messing with my nose." And then she kindly shows you to the door and wishes you a good night. And not a moment too soon, because once outside you find yourself on the sidewalk, staggering and doubled over in helpless, horrified laughter, thinking, I bit her nose! I bit D's wife's nose!, hoping that no one chooses that precise moment to look out the window.