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Category archive for: Social Life

If the Shirt Fits

I was reviewing Princeton’s graduate admissions page and saw this clever quip on the side:

Melville. A little heterodox in the matter of clean linen. Said Hawthorne.

-David Markron

I laughed and laughed when I read that. “Nothing like a good ‘ol Hawthorne joke to get me through the day,” is what I always say. Hahahahaha! Good one!

Once, I bought a school t-shirt in the Princeton gift shop, thinking I would apply there. The shirt fit me perfectly, so I knew the school would be a perfect fit for me too. In fact, I was right about to craft a beautiful application essay titled, “If the Shirt Fits,” about why I belong at Princeton. However, before going to the effort of actually writing the thing, I decided to check out the site, maybe pick a graduate school subject for which to apply*. That’s when I found the hilarious quotation above!

*Princeton Dean of Admissions, did you like my sentence? I _almost_ ended it with: “pick a subject to apply for,” but then I remembered it is poor grammar to end a sentence with a preposition, so I restructured the end of the sentence. Impeccable grammar is just one of the myriad fortes I offer your school. I am also a stellar typist, see yesterday’s entry.

Additionally, I have fantastic school spirit. For example, I own a Princeton t-shirt. If accepted into your fine learning establishment, I would wear the t-shirt.

I am also the President and CEO of imawkward.com, a progressive, nonprofit company.

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How I Stole Christmas

Twas the 24th of December, and in the living room
Were boxes of presents, wrapped beautifully in maroon.

The tree was lit up, full of tinsel and light
And there were glittering ornaments of silver and white.

Everyone was happy; music played in the air.
The merriest of songs were coming from our tape player.

We began opening gifts; I was quite excited to see
What Santa, or my mom, had bought for me.
I unwrapped the ribbon, with thoughtful care,
And peeled off the wrapping tape, so the paper wouldn’t tear.

I pushed off the paper to find a clothing department store box!
I giggled, I smiled, “Clothing from my mom always rocks!”

See I had been away at school, and didn’t have time to shop
Instead of going to the mall we would make midnight food runs to IHOP.

Plus, I needed new clothes, my old ones looked lame
Compared to those of my peers, who dressed less tame.

So I opened the box, and peered inside,
And gasped in horror, for what did I find?

A baby blue velour track suit, the whole matching set –
There were velour pants, a shirt, a jacket, all things I didn’t want to get.

It was hideous, and tacky, and why would she buy it?
I didn’t want to wear it; I didn’t even want to try it!

Velour track suits are for people who feel heavy; was she saying I got fat?
Maybe I gained a couple pounds, but I was fine with that!

I gaped and stared and thought for a while,
And then decided I should fake a pleased smile,

Because my mom was looking at me with a very happy face.
She was hoping I would love it; she expected an embrace.

“I was worried you wouldn’t like it, because it’s different than other clothes you wear,
But I saw it in the store, and I fell in love with the outfit there!
Then I bought it and brought it home for your brother and dad to see,
‘It’s a great outfit! Great color! She’ll love it!’ They reassured me.”

“I love it indeed,” I smiled at my very dear mother.
And then for a split second gave the evil eye to my dumb brother.
He’s my age, he’s young, he should have been aware
That this velour ensemble was not something I could wear.

I pulled him aside later, and gave him a verbal thrashing,
“What were you thinking!? Why did you approve it? I should give you a lashing!”

“What?! I thought it looked nice!” he said in his defense.

“Are you kidding me?! I thought you had taste! You’re making no sense!
It’s VELOUR and it’s baby blue and come on, the shirt has glitter-
Were you mad at me when you approved it? Did something make you bitter?”

“Well if you don’t like it, tell mom so she can return it to the store.
I’m tired of hearing you whine about it; you’re such a bore.”

I glared angrily at my brother, knowing I would take vengeance –
No more Christmas for him! No more cool new presents!

I waited until the summer, when I was home from school,
And said, “Mom and Dad, I’ve been thinking, you know what’d be cool?
If this year for Christmas, we switched things up a tiny bit,
And were together for a fine meal, and then that was it.
No exchange of gifts, presents, or toys for each other.
For example I would get nothing from you and nothing for my brother.
We would focus on the importance of family and being together.
What do you say? Doesn’t that sound lovely, less stressful, and ultimately better?”

I could tell they liked the idea, but they were concerned
“Will your siblings like the idea? It won’t be spurned?”

“Naw they’ll love it! Big Sis will totally agree
And little brother will totally understand, we’ll make him see
That material things are not the things that really matter
It’s bonding, spending time, and eating delicious cake batter.
The holiday season has turned into a consumer celebration
We’re missing out on the feeling of real Christmas elation.”

My parents were delighted, and pleased with how I am so sweet and caring,
And they thought the no presents idea was hip and daring.

And sure enough the following Christmas we did not see
Any giant boxes of presents under our beautiful tree.

Instead we watched a movie after a fine family dinner,
And then we chatted delightfully over dessert, which was truly a winner.

And that velour suit, I kept it and wore it around the house once in a while
Even though it was odd and definitely not my style.
I specifically wore it around my brother to make it very clear
When approving clothes and gifts for me he should be full of fear,
Because if he makes a velour mistake again I will make him pay.

I’ll find another holiday to destroy for him, I’ll find a way.

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Going to the ball!

My brother has a company holiday party coming up, and he’s super single. What does this mean? This means I have a shot at attending an extravagent holiday party where the alcohol flows as freely as the birds fly, and the food tables continue for as far as the eye, especially my weaker one, can see.

Sadly, I apparently am not guaranteed the position as his plus one. “I don’t want to take my sister,” he replied, when I recommended myself. “I don’t want to be the guy that takes his sister every year. Plus the really attractive guys keep hitting on you. It’s so annoying.” I might  have added in that last part.

“But I’m fun,” I countered. “Who could be more fun than me?!” This is a rhetorical question, because the obvious answer is: no one. No one could be more fun than me.

“You’re not coming.” He ended the conversation.

A couple weeks went by, and he was concerned about who to put down as his registered plus one. I saw an opening: “Oh, put my name down. This way, if you get a date, you can say I was your back up when she sees my name. If your date sees another girl’s name, she’ll assume she was the backup. Then you’re in trouble for the night.”

“Good point,” he nodded. And so, step one was complete – yes, I am officially registered.

Last night, he took some ballroom dancing class offered by his company. He had a pretty good time, and he was excited about the dancing and wanted to show me some of his new dances. I knew what I had to do. I had to ballroom dance better than ever before in my life to prove as a formidable dancing partner who could, say, oh I dunno, maybe help him show off his smooth dancing moves during a big party, like, maybe a company holiday party.

Did I deliver?! Of COURSE I delivered! One and half years of ballroom dancing was not wasted on me! And sure enough, he said, “Okay if you come with me to the party we should practice a routine for the dance floor; it’ll be really cute.” My eyes lit up.

“IF!” he said.

“BEFORE!” I heard.

Wish me luck, blog. I’ve already picked out my dress.

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My Guitar Hero Stud

My boyfriend is totally awesome. He is super smart and the best at doing things. For example, he is the best at guitar hero. His fingers are so fast, you don’t even know. He can hit the red, green, AND the yellow at the same time. When I come over, he plays the really hard songs for me. “Hi! Watch me play!” he’ll say, picking up his awesome wireless Guitar Hero guitar.

“Is this song dedicated to me?” I’ll ask, beaming with pride at my Guitar Hero stud.

“Sure.” He responds. He’s such a romantic.

And he just recently got Rock Band. Rock Band is like Guitar Hero, except there are percussion, vocals, and another guitar, so four people can play at the same time. He was obviously the lead guitar, because he’s just so good. He immediately jumped to Expert, while we all struggled with Easy. “Whoa, you’re doing expert?” someone asked.

“Idiot!” I thought. “Of COURSE he’s doing expert. He’s so good. You don’t even know.”

But my boyfriend, he’s just so modest, “Yeah,” he responded.

On Sunday I came over and found out that he had spent the whole day on a Rock Band Solo tour, unlocking all of the songs on Rock Band. That had to have been like 20 songs! I asked him, “How did you unlock ALL of those songs? That had to have been like 20 songs!”

He corrected me: “Actually, it was 67 songs. I spent all day doing it. I didn’t shower or anything.” I was so impressed with his stamina and will to succeed! He continued, “I even got the hardest song of all. You should watch me play it. It’s like a 10 minute song. I did it on expert.”

“We might be late to the concert…” I said worriedly about a concert we had tickets for.

“We should cancel the concert! Who needs live music when you can watch me?!” He had a good point.

He’s just so great. Mastering all the songs at expert level on a solo tour for Rock Band wasn’t the end for him. He told me about this new awesome ability to hook up the microphone to the speaker, so he can play and sing at the same time. “I’m going to be so good,” he said, confidently, like a rock star, of course.

“If you’re going to be doing the solos, will our friends still be able to play? They really loved playing Rock Band,” I said.
“They can watch me play!” he replied. I was relieved he had thought it through, always thinking of others. Not everyone can play Rock Band at the same time, but everyone can watch him play at the same time.

That’s my guy. He’s the best.

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Sharing is Caring

BLOG, I have important news to share with you. Such news is of such great importance that I am shocked that I have been able to keep it from you for so long. It boggles the mind, blog, how long I have been able to withhold such valuable information. My ability to refrain from sharing a piece this significant is perhaps the eighth greatest natural wonder of the world.

Blog, I am in fact perplexed about why I was able to _not_ share that which I have not been sharing yet. I am deeply troubled, blog, by my ability to keep this morsel of noteworthy goodness from you. Are we not dear friends, blog? Do I not share everything with you? Why have I been so distant? Who knows?! Don’t take it personally, blog, it’s not you. It’s me. Maybe. Maybe it’s you, blog. Maybe you’re bad at keeping secrets. I told you about eating yogurt once, blog, and sure enough, next thing I know, a couple days later, one person asks me about yogurt. How could he have guessed I eat yogurt?! You probably blabbed, blog, you have no restraint. I can’t tell you anything.

What have you got to say for yourself?!

Whatever blog. I forgive you. I mean, technically the yogurt thing wasn’t a secret.

Anyway, like I was saying, I have some pretty big news.

I got a new cell phone. It’s sleek; it’s sophisticated; it’s sexy; it’s totally me. The ring tones that come with the phone are all inspired by rave music, so every time someone calls it’s like a party in my hand. Other people look on when my phone rings, enviously no doubt.

The phone also has a built in camera, so I am able to take pictures of a quality resolution when I feel inspired by something. For example, the other day I saw a good looking guy. I was inspired and took his picture and set it as the backdrop on my cell phone.

I also bought a kit with the phone that lets me treat it like a music player too. This way, when I am not using the phone to chat with my friends, or taking inspirational pictures, I can be listening to music.

The phone, dear blog, has also caught the eye of many of my peers and friends. I’ve heard people making admiring comments like, “Is that your new phone?” and “New phone, huh.” Sometimes I’m embarrassed by that kind of hullabaloo around the new phone.

“Yeah,” I’ll reply sheepishly. I don’t know why they make such a fuss about it. I mean I know why, because the phone is sleek, sophisticated and sexy and can take pictures and play music, but like is that stuff even important? I guess so. I mean, yeah, it’s pretty important. Who am I kidding? It’s really important. Oh blog.

It’s too bad you are not as cool as me with my new phone. Maybe that’s why I didn’t want to tell you. The truth hurts.

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We Have to Dance, You Know

I gone done somethin’ stupid.  I bought me a Halloween costume last night.  Reckoned it would be a good purchase.  Now, I tell you what, I’m regrettin’ it.  Ma would be so disappointed if she knew I done went and spent mah hard earned money on a Superman costume, cape and all.  

So, basically, last night I bought a Superman costume.  Out of all the available costumes, I liked the Superman one the most. It was either that, or a sexy nurse.  But I was worried if I bought the nurse costume, and an actual emergency did arise, I would feel kind of silly in the presence of real nurses, aka real superheroes.  At least if I’m dressed like Superman, there is  very, very little chance the real Superman shows up, and I have to go through that whole conversation, you know:  “Well this is embarrassing! We’re both wearing the same thing! You have to change Superman, because I was here first.  You may be immune to bullets, but you’re not immune to party rules!” 

Now let’s move on to current events, shall we?  Today is the birth day of one of the company execs.  Do I wish him a Happy Birthday?  Do I order a bouquet of flowers and have them delivered to his cubicle? Do I compose a rap song about his merits as an exec and perform it in front of the office? Who knows? Who knows what brilliant homage I will come up with to adequately commemorate the birth of our fearless leader?  

On a more personal note, guess who is going dancing tonight? Me! Guess who listened to someone talk about the importance of dancing yesterday? Me! I’d like to tell the story: 

My co-worker and I decided to go to the ice cream shop after a fine meal at Chipotle yesterday. In the shop, a woman behind the counter with a lovely accent asked us what we would like to order. My co-worker said, “Hmm, I think I want one of those coffee smoothies. Oh! I love this song! It’s such a great song to dance to!” The song my co-worker loved was none other than Wham’s pop sensation “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go.”
The woman behind the counter, who had already been swaying along to the music, lit up.  “YES! It is so important to dance!” She said excitedly.  Then she continued, with a big smile: “There are so many troubles, and the men, they think they are the kings, but they are terrible.  We have to worry about the children, cooking, keeping the house clean, the money, always the money! We are so worried! But the men, they do not care. They are kings! They go out and come home at 2am, and you ask them, ‘Where were you?’ and they yell, ‘NONE OF YOUR FU**ING BUSINESS!’ and they beat you.  And the next night they come home at 4am, and they beat you, you know?!”
 

I stared.  She said all of this with a really big smile.  

My co-worker laughed heartily and said, “Yes! You know, they say there are Four F’s for relationships: Fidelity, Finance, Freedom, and French fries.” (Actually, I could only remember two of the ones she listed. I found Freedom in a google search for the words, and then made up French fries.  I didn’t want my co-workers to catch me googling things like ‘Why marriages fail.’ That would be odd.)  

So then the woman behind the counter replied, “YES! YES! It’s true! We have to always worry! Always worrying!  But we can do it, because we are strong. God made us strong. And we have to dance you know!” She threw up her hands and wiggled. “We must remember to dance!”  

And my co-worker and I laughed and nodded in agreement.  

As we went to order our desserts, the next song that came on was strangely appropriate Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.”  

Alright, that’s all I have to share. Have a great weekend!

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The BIG Day

Today’s great adventure involves a trip to the cell phone store, where I plan to renew a two year agreement with my current cell phone provider and to acquire a sleek, new phone. I’ve been looking forward to this for months. In fact, I picked out the phone I planned on purchasing on Mother’s Day, back in March, but it had only been on the market for a week then, so I decided to wait six months so that consumer reports could come out on it. That’s how seriously I take consumer reports. I do not make decisions on my own.

Coincidentally, today is also the big game!  It’s the World Series, and one of the most exciting yet as the Rockies and Red Sox face off in what could be baseball history if the Rockies win. I, for one, will be cheering for the Seibu Lions, a team in Japan full of heart. If you hit a home run for the Seibu Lions, you receive a stuffed toy lion. What does a Rockies player get if he hits a home run against Beckett? Trick question! Such a thing is impossible.

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Lookin' Cute Never Seemed so Hard

Sh*t really hit the fan this morning. I got dressed, looked in the mirror, and yelled out in shocked anger. The exact sound coming from my room was: “AH! Yuck! Oh no!!!”To my absolute dismay, I realized that my boyfriend looks better than I do in a t-shirt that we both happen to own. Well, we don’t “both happen to own” it. We bought the t-shirts at the same time at a concert a couple weeks ago.

Anyway last Tuesday, I asked, “What are you wearing Monday?”

He said, “I was thinking about wearing this,” pointing to the t-shirt that we both own.

“Oh, but you’re wearing it today. I wanted to wear it on Monday,” I replied.

“Okay, you can wear it Monday,” he responded. I am very good at negotiation.

This morning I excitedly threw on the shirt, and then threw a fit. The shirt was not flattering at all to my phsyique or my complexion. I thought about calling the whole thing off. “I’ll just tell him he can wear the shirt today. I’ll pretend like I had a change of heart. He’ll think I’m the best girlfriend ever, letting him wear what he wants, when I allow it.”

But then I thought, “No. Surely he will soon realize there was more to my change of heart. He will know.”

There was only one thing to do – ACCESSORIZE! I promptly threw on a necklace and a headband. I also added some intellectual glasses. I thought about braiding my hair and then decided against it. Pig tails are risky and should only be used in times that require extreme cuteness. Then I thought, “You are being absolutely ridiculous. This IS one of those times. If this isn’t an ECR (Extreme Cuteness Required) moment, I don’t know what is.” I braided my hair, more fiercely than ever before in my life.

So there I was, heavily accessorized, in braids, still not looking fabulous, and rather looking borderline absurd, in the t-shirt we both happen to own. But if it weren’t for me, we wouldn’t both “happen” to own it! It _certainly_ wasn’t luck that made it so we both owned it. I rued the moment I told him, “I want that t-shirt too.” I sighed heavily, staring at the mirror. I remembered that moment like it was a couple weeks ago.

After realizing it was getting late, I threw on a jacket and then headed to work. Now here I am, sitting in my cubicle, looking not-as-good-as-he-does in the t-shirt we both, you know, happen to own.

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Yogurt Fiasco

At work on Wednesday someone – other than me – ate my yogurt.  I sauntered over to the office refrigerator, opened the door, and noticed that my fruit bowl was not sitting on top of my yogurt. I didn’t panic right away.

First, I reviewed the contents of the rest of the fridge, thinking maybe my yogurt had been moved to some other shelf. 

However, my search soon ended in vain, and I realized that the unthinkable had occurred.  My nonfat, blueberry yogurt was sitting comfortably in someone else’s tummy!  I knew what I had to do. I took a casual stroll around the office to review the contents of everyone’s trash bin.  I soon found the culprit – the empty yogurt container was in the first bin I passed to get back to my cubicle.  Torn between confrontation and passive resistance, I sat down at my cubicle to think about how to approach such a, dare I say, awkward, situation. I imagined many scenarios.   Confrontation Scenario 1:

Me: Hello! I notice you have eaten my organic, nonfat, blueberry yogurt.
Him: Yeah, what of it?
Me: Uh, nothing, I just wanted to let you know I’m very observant. 

This scenario was awful. I promptly imagined another.  Confrontation Scenario 2:
Me: Hey, uh, I’m sorry. There seems to have been some confusion.  I probably should have labeled my yogurt, but I’ve been eating it every day for the past two years, so I thought every one here knew that was my yogurt.
Him: Wow.
Me: Yeah, so, it’s no biggie, but I’d appreciate you not eating it again.
Him: There’s other yogurt in the fridge.
Me: I can’t just eat other people’s yogurt. What is wrong with you?  

 This scenario was an improvement, but then I thought about emailing the entire office.  Confrontation Scenario 3:  

Dear Office,  Every day my mom packs me a lunch of fruit and organic, nonfat blueberry yogurt.  She puts a lot of time into picking out a fresh container of yogurt for me, and it is very important that I eat it.  It is delicious, it ensures timely bowel movement, and it provides me with my much needed doses of calcium and vitamin D.  (Insert picture of the yogurt.) So you see, when you eat my yogurt, you’re not just eating my food. You’re killing me slowly.  

This scenario was a tad extreme. I decided against it.   On Thursday, I ate my yogurt first thing in the morning, so no one could eat it before me.  Then, when a co-worker casually asked me what I was having for lunch, I said loudly, “I eat yogurt for lunch everyday!”  The co-worker stared. I continued, “Yup! Blueberry yogurt!”
The co-worker looked around: “Okay. Uh do you eat anything else?” 

I replied, still articulating loudly, “Sure sure, but the nonfat, organic, blueberry yogurt happens EVERY DAY.”

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The Story of the Belt

I have just returned from Starbucks, a friendly little cafe that serves fine expresso and other such caffeinated beverages. I ordered a venti mocha, skim, with whipped cream. Venti is the equivalent for large. They use non-standard words for their drink sizes. It’s really quite charming. For example, tall means small. They picked tall because it rhymes with small, I presume. Isn’t that clever?! Everyone should be so lucky as to have a Starbucks nearby, but alas, that is probably not the case. It’s unfortunate that not every town is as privileged as mine to have such a delightful mom and pop coffee shop.

On my Starbucks cup there is a quotation from Joe Cristina: “Worldwide, nearly 40 million people are living with HIV and AIDS. Over 12 million children have been orphaned due to AIDS. Six hundred thousand children are infected with HIV each year. And 25 years into the AIDS pandemic, no vaccine or cure is in sight. The numbers speak for themselves.” It is a very depressing quotation. Next time, I will order a tall (small) so that they cannot fit such a long, sombering quotation on my cup. Or I’ll just say, “Give me the cup that doesn’t have an AIDS quote, please. I’m having a rough enough day as is. Do you have any cup that talks about flower patches?”

In addition to purchasing coffee, I have been on the lookout for sweater vests. Remember? I talked about this earlier. I have not been able to find any. I did, however, purchase a belt. I saw a mannequin wearing the belt, and I thought, “That belt looks good on the mannequin, and it would look even better on me.” It’s quite an interesting story, the story of my belt. Let me tell it.

I was at The Gap, a friendly boutique-esque shop that sells clothes that are appropriate for both work and casual events. They have clothes for men and women. I was reviewing the mannequins and spotted an ensemble that struck my fancy. It was a pair of wide-legged, pin-striped pants, a brown belt, and a blue, loose fitting sweater. I immediately headed over to the rack with the pin-striped pants and picked out two sizes to try on in the dressing room. Unfortunately, neither of these sizes fit well, so I asked the friendly staff to bring me a smaller size. This is where the plot thickens. The friendly staff member returned, but with the wrong pants! I said, “No. I’m afraid there has been a terrible mistake. These pants which you have brought me are not the same as the ones I saw on the mannequin.” She set off again in search of the pants, and returned, luckily this time with the correct pair and size. I tried them on, and they fit. So I decided to buy them.

However, something was missing. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, so I returned to the mannequin, only to immediately realize that the belt was just the accessory I needed to make these pants a truly wonderful addition to my warddrobe. Off I went, in search of the belt on the mannequin. I found all the belts, but could only find my particular mannequin belt in a size large. Again, I turned to a friendly staff member for some assistance. I pointed to the belt, “I would like this belt.” They nodded. “But I can only find it in a large on the rack,” I explained. Then I took it a step further, “Surely this actual belt on the mannequin is not a size large.” I said it in a very suggestive tone. I might as well have taken the belt off of the mannequin myself.
To my dismay my suggestive tone was not suggestive enough. The staff member was quick to reply, “I’ll go check in the back.” For two minutes, I stood there, really concerned I was not going to get this belt that would surely look absolutely fabulous on me. I thought about what I would do without the belt. I wondered if I could ever be truly happy wearing the pin-stripe pants without the belt. I suspected I couldn’t.

Luckily, he was able to retrieve an appropriate size from the back, and I bought the belt.

And there you have it.

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