March 2009

At my bridal shower this weekend my Grandma read an article I wrote for my family newsletter (which has survived despite what this economy has done to family newsletters nationwide).  I was 19 when I wrote this, and it was basically a checklist of things I had failed to do before I turned 20, one of which was to marry Fred Savage.

What?  I don’t even remember being in love with Fred Savage.  What if I forget about Richard when I’m 39?  My heart has the worst memory, apparently.

My column in the family newsletter was called “What in the World?”  I was thirteen when I started writing it.  I remember letting my grandfather read my composition notebook filled with sample columns as if I were on a job interview.  My riff on Aunt Mare’s jello salad was what won me my first of five Newts (the family newsletter industry prize — it was a pretty big deal).

I read these  after a full day of feeling sorry for myself for not accomplishing everything I had planned, and watching the new cycle of “America’s Next Top Model” online.  It really put life into perspective for me.  If I were going to give a speech at a college graduation, I would probably just recite these (swiped from “Poetry is About Feelings”):

“Greetings from the Mid-20s”

Part one in a three part series,  based on emails exchanges between three friends of mine who are experiencing the world from slightly different ages.

(this is by request:  a poem about omitting all of the stupid jobs I have/had and the lifestyle choices I am living with from my totally non-representative pro resume, while I try to find a job that will hire me for grownup employment on the grounds of the small handful of sort of legitimate, low-paying work that I’ve done, that is vaguely related to “professional life” when looked at sort of out of context, that itself I was somehow “fortunate” to have been initially hired for on essentially no professional grounds whatsoever, and how this resume will eventually land me in the employment of a person who has no actual fundamental understanding of what I can do or who I am, but how this doesn’t  matter because I will do my work well regardless, because any idiot can do 95% of all jobs. “Greetings From My Mid-20s”)

Shall I cut off my ponytail?
Shave my face?
What price thou, paycheck?
Thou sweet, elusive paycheck.
For thy sake I will
Drag myself into a Banana Republic
And pick out some chinos.
Chinos aren’t too dorky, right?
And at thy service I will
Eventually stop getting wasted
On Tuesdays.
(I don’t think that now,
But I will learn.)

“Greetings from the Late 20s”

“Look I haven’t been for-real in love in years.
Finding a girl these days has nothing to do with warm feelings inside,
It’s more like doing a jigsaw puzzle and
Trying to find a piece that fits.

The only girl I’ve had super warm fuzzy feelings for
in years
is that girl in my department at  work and she’s unavailable too.

Plus she wouldn’t even fit.”

“Greetings from Just About 30”

So, we watched How I Met Your Mother the other day
17 episodes
I can’t tell if I have accomplished enough that i deserve (many) days like that, or if i will look back and curse the Sundays I wasted.

Either way it was awesome.

I just listened to the Doobie Brothers on Pandora.


But on a side note, “ANTM” is just as crazy.  One of the finalists is an epileptic, and the first episode included strobe lights.  TYRA KNOWS THIS.  She is trying to kill people!  And we’re just watching! Occasionally.  Online.

She took some time off to work on her Etsy store, but now Claudia is back and Poetry Is About Feelings has been updated.  In the words of Dylan Thomas, “Ugh, finally.”

Seeing Morrissey in Richmond was so unusual and out of place, but awesome, like eating birthday cake in a bathtub.   I was a little nervous about the concert because people are so into Morrissey that he is the kind of public figure who gets shot.  Nothing like that happened, though.  We saw the show with Jess, who is an old pal of Richard’s and also my height.  Tall men kept making a point to move three feet closer to the stage by standing in front of us.  When that wasn’t happening we were constantly being swept aside to let through a stream of people who couldn’t sit still for one second.   Short girls are the drawbridges on society’s river.  Just move through us, aholes, it’s not like we’re watching some beefy Irishman sing some songs.

Jess won a special place in my heart when the umpteenth person stood right in her way and she shouted “Really?  Come on!” and he immediately startled, apologized, and moved.  Then she maybe/maybe not accidentally poured the rest of her drink down back of another guy.

It was a good show.  If Morrissey played ten minutes away from my house again I would go.

I like to think that “where’s the beef” is what my thousands of readers ask their Google reader buddies when they are upset that Burgerphone hasn’t updated lately. I know that I offer a valuable service, mainly giving Internet searchers for “fat girls” and “powhite goat” a satisfactory link to read (I did actually address, and then later kill and eat, the goat).

Here is the beef: my associate no longer thinks that I’m funny. My only recent jokes have been “How about someone being convicted of a Fonzie Scheme — how cool would that be?” and chuckling to myself while thinking about that Gas-X commercial where the guy says, “your son Rip is on line toot.”

I cannot be “on” all the time. I’m not a joke machine. I’m not a staff for a comedy show. Sometimes (for instance, all of the time) I just want to kick back and play Freecell and shop online and not worry about entertaining anyone.

While at David’s Bridal with my sister helping her shop for  a wedding dress, I overheard another woman tell her friend, “I don’t know what’s harder to believe: that you’re getting married or that you’re going to spend $600.”  It could be said about the best of us.

Since I was under-budget on some of my own wedding things I treated myself to a pair of Campers.  I have wanted them forever, and actually forgot that I have wanted them forever until I came across them online.  They were super cheap (for Campers) and the type of little brown shoe that I have pictured on my feet while we stomp around on our honeymoon.

camperThey are simple and comfortable.  However since my feet aren’t that big and these fit so close to the foot so that they’re practically leather socks, they make me look like I have baby feet.  When I walk it looks like the shoes that would be put on a puppet that was being made to walk.  I like them anyway, I just wanted to point it out before everyone made fun of my tiny, puppet feet.

In other (and probably more significant than shoes) news, we had a quick trip up to Williamsburg to see my new favorite people AP & Bret.  They were awesome and gave us dinosaur cookie cutters.  Amanda was at William & Mary to read from her book “It Still Moves,” which is a fun (and informative!) history of Americana music and what it meant then and now.  It’s also a rough guide for some of the places I want to visit when we go to Tennessee, so I was doubly excited to read it.  We also ate a fancy dinner on William & Mary’s dime and got to watch cable.  All elements of a successful weekend.

Okay, back to shoes.  During my agonizing (for the Internet) search for fancy shoes I looked for multiple brands/styles on endless, zappos, shoes and found that was always the cheapest.  Take that, everyone!

Also it’s snowing.  A lot.  But you guys probably already knew that.  And I really wish that I had eaten the pineapple that was put out at the reception after Amanda’s reading.  Why do I always chose free wine over free pineapple?