Eight is great!

You know how some people have those scents that are just completely reassuring to them or remind them of home? For most people its like fresh baked cookies or apple pie. Fresh cut grass. Stuff along those lines. I discovered last night, in the bathtub, that mine is Noxema. I hadn't used it for a few months, because I have been using some expensive stuff that sucks and has made my face resemble a 13 year old boy, working at pizza hut, so I went back to my trusted Noxema. Man. Nothing smells as good to me as that. It could possibly be the only thing in my life that has been consistent since I was like 11. I'm so tempted to spruce up this blog with a photo, but I am too lazy to google to Noxema girl. She is a smokin babe though.

Yeah. I seriously just blogged about face wash. Next I should blog about how I really need to start eating 3 meals on a regular basis so that stuff like this doesn't make me sentimental...or maybe just mental?

I hear that you are an idiot.

Did you ever think about the line from the Christmas carole, Do you hear what I hear?:

"A child, A child, shivers in the cold; let us bring him silver and gold?"

This kid is FREEZING. He is hanging out in a manger, and according to all the Navity Scenes in the world, sleeping on itchy hay. Bring him a BLANKET. I mean, i would be perfectly happy to sleep under a layer of silver and gold, it would actually make me quite warm and happy. But, Jesus didn't care. He wanted a blankey like every other kid.

I am delirious.

History.

My blogs are becoming, irritatingly, like way too personal. But I can't seem to stop it. This morning, I did survive and actually enjoy breakfast. I spent the remainder of the morning looking through old photo boxes. I hadn't gone down in the living room section of the basement since I have been staying here. The house was robbed a couple of years ago, through the basement window, so my brother deadbolted the door that leads there. This morning, I figured I better make sure no homeless dudes were squatting there, and stumbled upon a great collection of history.

This is maybe a Valentine that my brother sent to me. Not sure what the year was, but he had to be like 7 or 8, so I was 4. I love the word order Katie: You I loved. It made me giggle. And the house? Probably the world's highest ceilings.

The next is a bunch of stuff from my dad. A photo, his father's Newman Club membership card, for 1929 to 1930. I like to think it was his firehall and that someday people will keep our cards. It also is a picture of a receipt for the Hotel Annapolis in D.C. The bill was only $16! and a really sweet note from my dad to his dad that says, "The best father a son could ask for. You have given much more than I merit and I thank you for it." I would love to know the story behind that. Its touching and sad at the same time.

There is this rare picture of my sister, Andrea. She died of Leukemia when she was like 5. Well before I was born, during my dad's first marriage. I didn't even know she existed until I was about eight. She wasn't talked about. But, now, here she is, looking happy and kinda like me, maybe?

And this is so sad because it was wrapped up together. But its my grandparent's wedding announcement. It doesn't give the year and I wish I knew. But it says my grandfather was on the editorial staff of the Messenger. Which is pretty cool. But, the morbid in me found it really, really strange that its paired with their burial plot info. Seriously, I see where I get most of my quirks. Its all hereditary.

And, just for fun, its blurry, but this is my in my first show on my old horse, Sparky. Pre-headgear. But I would still wear those boots.

So, I am sorry for the more personal nature of this post, but it was the most fun one for me that I have done yet.

You can fall for pretty strangers and the promises they hold.

I'm not handy girl, but when I go to make a bowl of cereal because the thought of the onset of osteoporosis sometimes makes me get out of bed at night and chug straight from the carton, and I open the fridge and the milk I just bought is completely chunky, I can surmise that the fridge is broken. It was really gross; I spent the night cleaning up that disaster. I also set up my Pandora station, which really is the only reason I am blogging right now, so I can occupy ma. (U2--All I want is you is on right now. Reality bites, Wynona Rider so so sad over a breakup that she just lays in bed and smokes. Awesome.)

I haven't seen one person outside of work who I know since Saturday. Usually this would freak me out, but I am going to embrace the aloneness. Tomorrow I am going to do a first. I have to get up early to take my mom's boyfriend's mother's cat (yeah.) to the vet. So, I am getting up, putting on a pretty dress and going to breakfast all by myself. I have never gone to a restaurant alone before. I get nervous just waiting for someone for more than 5 minutes. So, I am facing it, Holly Golightly style. Here's a pretty picture of my love, Audrey:





Really, Pandora has changed my life. Listen to Damien Rice. And Mia and Jonah: Smile. These songs/artists that I have just met have made me so happy and so sad.

and depressive

Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."


Who doesn't love some T.S. Elliot?

Manic

Too many blogs today? Probably. I am trying to keep myself occupied.

My co worker texted me on my day off to tell me a package arrived via priority mail. I asked if it was a resume, becaue I am hiring. She says it feels like a book. So, today, its on my desk. I open it and find this book.



Its a fasting calendar and contains the wisdom of the saints. Weird, right? Also enclosed, a resume. The cover letter: Dear Ms. M______: I think it would be fun to work at the the _____ in some capacity.

That's it. I love reading resumes. Hate doing interviews because I find it hard to take myself that seriously. And other people being nervous makes me nervous. But, I have never recieved a gift and I feel awkward about it. So overtly religous. Isn't that a huge no no for an interviewer? Strange.

I'm probably going to blog again before the night is through. Maybe twice. Take that, blogger slackers.

Tiny men

This is a secret from postsecret.com I had completely forgotten about this, but I thought the same thing. I also thought that fire whistles were ghosts, crusing around the street. I'd never look out of my window to prove myself wrong, because if I did, the ghosts would see me and burn my house down.

Anyone else have really stupid things they thought as a kid?

brown chicken, brown cow.

Who blogs at 9 a.m. on a Sunday morning? This girl. Because I woke up at 7 a.m., missing my Sunday morning hangover and in a pissy mood.


I've talked about my love for National City before. It doubled on Friday. I was in the drive thru, listening to the mixed CD of girly dance around songs that Michelle sent me in a care package this week. It was probably a little louder than it needed to be, but I didn't think much of it. Don't stop believing was on. I was zoned out thinking about the Sopranos ending, when I heard a male voice on the bank's intercom sing, "Hold on to that feeeeel-iiiing!" The most awesome-est bank teller ever was really belting it out. So, i giggle and turn the music down, he tells me to turn it up. We had a pleasant moment with journey. He gives me my money and says, "this is really cheesy, but don't stop believing!" Cute. Then I went to get my eyebrows waxed and the waxer gave me an entire run down of my personality based on my birth date and my parent's signs. It was the most pleasant conversation I could have had while having hair ripped out by the roots. Scorpios are nuts, we really are.

And, Ramie, you will enjoy this. Because of the apparent sign on my back that says "All creeps, this girl will not want to hurt your feelings if you were brave enough to talk to her, so have at it," I had the biggest dozy of a pick up line last night. The boy tramped HARD on my foot. Like, today I have a faint bruise. So I yelp and balance on one leg while inspecting the pain (I don't know why humans do that, if something hurts on our body, we like to hold it at awkward angles) and he's all, "Oh, I am so sorry. I'm Chris. Do you want to exchange insurance information?" Totally did it on purpose. He must have just watched the pick up artist. Then he's like, "you know what's weird? Girls don't ever buy guys a drink (okay, so abuse my foot and then ask for a hand out) why don't you buy me one and i will buy yours," and I am like, I'll get my own drink if I want one, and he says, but then we won't have a connection. Now I KNOW he's a student of the pick up artist. I saw him at the end of the night, being pushed, almost carried by a mob of other boys, right out the door. Apparently, some other girls are much less tolerant of the foot tramp than I am and had their boyfriends handle the mess.

So, from now on, this is my brilloface and Ramie, you are my wing girl:

Also, you guys are pretty safe if we ever get stuck in a blizzard. There is only a 39& chance I would eat you for dinner. Its not so much that I don't think you all would taste delicious, its more the blood and guts factor. Thanks, Brandon, for that website. Its a big hit at the office. On Thursday, people would just pop up from their cubicles and say, "19! I could take on 19 five-year-olds in a fight, that is amazing!" One staffer was so excited. He got 25.

Totally going to get some McDonald's breakfast!

Talk about a woman scorned.

He's taking her with him.

Man's coffin kills wife on way to cemetery
A traffic accident hurls coffin against the back of woman's neck

SAO PAULO, Brazil - Police say a woman has died on the way to a cemetery when a traffic accident hurled her husband's coffin against the back of her neck.
Police said 67-year-old Marciana Silva Barcelos was in the front passenger seat of the hearse when the accident occurred Monday in the southern state of Rio Grande do Sul.
Barcelos died instantly.

Her 76-year-old husband, Josi Silveira Coimbra, died Sunday of a heart attack while dancing at a party.
The driver of the hearse and Barcelos' son suffered minor injuries.

Not the Cheryl Crow version

I feel like today is going to be a day that I sit around and don't do much of anything at work, since I have already put in a full 15 hours of actual work this week. So, I will probably blog a lot. About nothing.

Last night I watched, for the first time, Leaving Las Vegas. I always thought I had checked it out already, I realize now I was confusing it with Con-Air. I am not sure why. Anyways, this movie was so incredibly sad. It was like watching two hours of the show Intervention. Only with attractive people. Nic Cage is a raging alcoholic. And not in the fun sort of way. Elizabeth Shue is a hooker. They fall in love, she takes care of him. He can't quit drinking, she understands and accepts him-- DTs, sweaty pits, falling through glass tables love. You have to understand, I usually bubblegum my life up with love stories like Atonement and The Notebook. I would say this tops both in the love department. Anyone can love a babe like Noah Calhoune but, really, I think this is more of the love story that is more commonplace in modern times. Hookers and alcoholics.

I'm off to vote in a little while. I hope they let me. I never changed my voter ID out of my maiden name. Because I am lazy. I might have to call CNN's hotline.