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Month: January 2008

This Blog is The Real Thing

“The last time I freaked out, I just kept looking down. I st-st-stuttered when you asked me what I’m thinking ’bout. Felt like I couldn’t breathe. You asked what’s wrong with me. My best friend Leslie said, ‘Oh, she’s just being Miley.’ ”

-Miley Cyrus, artist extraordinaire with catchy lyrics that hold a magnifying glass up to my soul. Or just catchy lyrics and synthesizer dexterity. Either way, she’s good.

We are in exciting times, Blog. I watched most of a football game Sunday! It was almost as thrilling as that time I watched a baseball game in its entirety. That was especially impressive, because if there’s one sport I think moves slower than football, it’s baseball. Were you thinking I would say golf, blog? I don’t count golf as a sport. There, I said it – golf is not a sport. This blog is officially controversial. You know what that means? We’re going to be more popular now, Blog. Get ready for increased hits, scathing comments, and incensed readers. “Golf is not a sport” is just the kind of bold statement I needed to make long ago to put this blog out there – really set it apart from all the other media available.

While I’m out there, making statements, I’d like to throw in that coffee is NOT addictive, and right handed people are less attractive than left handed people. There we go. We were all thinking it, I was just brave enough to put it out there. Wikipedia editors, copy and paste this: “ is a real pioneer in forthright blogging. Controversial, cunning, and candid, the imawkard blog challenges the everyblog paradigm. A beacon of intellectual progress, the blog is a beautful orchid growing amidst a field of cliche roses.”

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Real Chutzpah

Forgive me blog, for I have sinned. It has been over 24 hours since my last entry.

My New Year’s resolution to lose five pounds has already been re-issued to my Resolution Committee for review. They will take into account my affinity for buffets, Brazilian steakhouses, and greasy foods. Additionally, they will take into account the adversity I face on a daily basis in my struggle against weight gain. I will submit to them the following experience.
Yesterday I was having dinner at Chutzpah, a New York style deli. After dinner, our waiter asked what we would like for dessert. I said, “One piece of your marzipan, please.”

“Well the pieces come really small, they’re sold by the pound,” he informed me.

“Okay that’s perfect. I only want a small piece.” I replied eagerly.

He replied, “One piece is not enough, you’ll want two.”

I replied, smiling angrily, like a crazy person, “No I think one will be good.”

“One is very small,” he held his index finger and thumb close together to explain what small meant. “You’ll want two.”

I could not believe this was happening. I wasn’t up for negotiating!

“Haha, no that size looks perfect, I’ll just have one.” I repeated, laughing, but clearly not amused.

“I’ll put you down for two.” What chutzpah he had!

“No, you’re not my mom. You can’t tell me what I want,” I thought defiantly.

But, “No, I really just want one,” is what I pleaded.

“Ohhhkay,” he said, like my mother does when she thinks I’m making a mistake. I felt so bizarre. The waiter was like a 20 year old male who could have easily been on a football team. He looked nothing like my mother, but he was still trying to overfeed me against my wishes.

And then, to make matters worse, the cake was totally delicious and I _did_ want another piece. However I have some self respect, so when he smugly told me,

“You want another one, don’t you?”

I smugly smiled and responded, through a full mouth, “No, thith waths perfect.” I kept my dignity, blog.

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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, a progressive, nonprofit company.

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I Type So Fast

Few things impress me more than how fast I type. Blog, I type so fast. I just received an email, read it, and then responded super quickly because 1. I knew the answer 2. I type really fast. My fingers just flew across my keyboard and words, my words, appeared.

Sometimes when I’m typing I think, “Look at me go! I’m typing so fast!”

There are many things I’m a jerk about, blog, and typing is totally one of them. When I see people staring at the keyboard trying to find a letter, I make it a point to gape, rudely.

Just the other day, my boyfriend’s mom was telling me about how good her son is at typing. I nodded as though I was impressed, but really, I was relieved. I can’t be seen dating a slow typist. What would people think? Seriously. It would be humiliating. How would I even go about explaining the slow typing to people? I wouldn’t. Instead, I would insist on typing all of his correspondences _for_ him if we were in public. “What’s that honey? You want to try out this laptop in the store by typing things in to the search engine? Here. Let me type it for you. I insist. Step away from the keyboard.” Then I would crack my knuckles and procede to wow anyone nearby with my keyboard dexterity.

In other news, yesterday my wacky “aunt” called and reminded my dad that robots are going to take over the world in 2028. She backed up this theory by recounting a vivid dream she had one night in 2003.

Obviously, I do not believe she is actually my aunt. At the least she is certainly not related by blood.

Also, I do not believe robots are going to suddenly take over the world in 2028. I do suspect they are going to actively undermine my personal social progress, and they have already begun.

I will share my evidence by recounting a horrible occurrance from just yesterday. I sent a text message. It was a great text message, naturally, because I wrote it.

Here is what I wrote:

Haha! Funny picture 🙂 It’s very festive and really brings out the holiday spirit! I pretty sure he’s going to kill you though. Seriously, I’m talking murder. (JK).

Do you see the (JK) blog? It stands for Just Kidding. That is KEY. It means I can say anything I want, and it will be totally harmless as long as it is concluded with a: “JK.”

And here is the message I got back, from my cell phone provider:

Messages sent to non-VZW customers with graphics/tones/formatting and/or 160+ characters are sent as plain text with only the first 160 characters.

This means they cut out my “JK.” So now, rather than send a funny message, I have sent some sort of bizarre death message.

What could I do to rectify the situation? Send a follow-up text message that said, “He won’t really kill you. I was kidding.” ? No, that would take me too much time, and it would look suspicious. So I let it go. My friend probably thinks he’s going to die now, and that’s my cell phone provider’s (technology’s) fault. When he gets over his fear of being killed and realizes I was – JK – he will hate me, and I will be down one friend.

So as you can see, the robots have already set on their destructive path. I’m not even JK*.

See how that works?

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Happy New Year!

Happy New Year!

It’s a new year, blog, and a new year means a new me. Every year, I re-invent myself. It makes for interesting family reunions, work conversations and relationship conflicts. Last year I swapped genders.* This year, maybe I’ll use blue ink pens instead of black ink pens.** There’s really no telling what kind of whimsical change I’ll embrace next.***

*I didn’t really swap genders.

**Or not. I don’t like blue ink pens. Never have. I find them repulsive.

***Yeah, actually I’m not going to change. I don’t really ever reinvent myself. I’m awesome as is. This entire first paragraph is actually a huge lie. I was low on material. I’m sorry blog. I”ll never do it again.****


Blog! I’ve been staring at spreadsheets all morning. I’ve been highlighting different fields to signify different things, and now I have a colorful spreadsheet, but I have plum forgotten what the colors signify. What makes this an even greater tragedy is that I didn’t even choose aesthetically pleasing colors! The spreadsheet looks hideous. I’m very disappointed with what I’ve done here. How am I supposed to explain this to my boss!?

“Hi boss, here is a spreadsheet in which I have seemingly randomly highlighted some of the boxes. It took me four hours. No labels or anything! Just colors, boss. Just colors – and lots of them! As you can see, I used the whole color palette available in Excel!”

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