The long and shorts of it

I don't wear shorts.

It's a thing. As much of a thing as the fact that I don't like eggs or that I love Lady Gaga. These are the truths that I find to be self-evident.

Sure, I wear shorts to sleep and to play volleyball, but that's only because a) it gets hot and b) you can't really wear knee pads with pants. The last time I wore real shorts was probably in high school.

A few months ago, when we were still in the middle of winter, I noticed a few girls wearing shorts with tights under them at the bar. Genius! It looked cute and was a fun alternative to jeans. Not too long later, I went to Target and bought a pair of black shorts. While getting ready for a night out in London, I put on my cute new shorts and a pair of patterned tights...and then immediately exchanged them for a dress.

A week later, back in New York and getting ready to go out yet again, I gave the tights and shorts situation another shot. My friend walked into my apartment to pregame, took one look at me and said, "Ooh, I like."

After a few more nights out and a few more compliments on my outfit, I've become a total convert to the shorts and tights look to the point where you will probably see me wearing these same black Target shorts every winter weekend from now until...I don't know when. I would say whenever this look goes out of style but I don't think anything I wear is ever in style to begin with.

Fast forward a month or 2, and I decided to do something totally crazy: I was going to buy another pair of shorts. One that I would wear...without tights underneath. This might not seem like a big deal to you, but if it doesn't then I assure you that you are not one of the many women who refuse to wear shorts because BLARG MY LEGS ARE TERRIBLE AND SHORTS RIDE UP AND ARE UNCOMFORTABLE AND A;ALSKDFASLKFJ and so on and so forth. Trust me on this. If you're a woman whose thighs don't touch when you stand with your feet together then YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND.

So anyway, I bought 2 pairs of shorts - some regular denim ones and some pink ones. I was planning on wearing the pink ones to Electric Daisy Carnival, which I did, but I panicked at the last minute and yet again put some tights on. Whoops.

HOWEVER.

Last week I went to Governor's Island with some friends for a picnic, and I wore my denim shorts. Without tights or anything on underneath them. We sat down at our picnic and I didn't have to sit with my legs awkwardly to the side or fear that I was flashing everyone the goods because SHORTS, YOU GUYS. I survived. I even kind of liked it.

After years and years of being a non-shorts person, it feels almost weird to have this whole new category of summer clothes open up to me, and I feel like I now need to invest in lots of cute tanks and t-shirts because after many many summers of only wearing dresses, I don't have much else. But it's kind of incredible to think that sometimes, the things we think are the core facets of who we are or what we like can just...change. Maybe not in the time it takes to flip a switch, but it only took me a few months from even entertaining the idea of wearing shorts to actually doing it. I still don't really like my legs, but...who cares?

I'm like a whole new person now. Bring it on, summer!

Travel and reindeer and glasses, oh my

Here is a random mishmosh of what's going on in my very exciting life, including stuff that you guys asked for. BECAUSE YOU CARE! (No sarcasm). I feel special.

Right, so. I dyed my hair red (again!). Here is a pic.

I've never gone this dark before but I love it. I would like to keep my hair this color forever. Moving on.

I have 2 big trips coming up! This is fantastic because I don't travel very often and I haven't left the country since May 2009. So..YAY.

At the end of April I'm headed to Seattle for a wedding. I've never been there and when I'm not at the wedding I'm going to spend my time drinking delicious beer, browsing the Pike Place Market, going up the Space Needle, and downing a shit ton of Starbucks. A friend, who is originally from Seattle, asked me to smoke a huge legal blunt on the street on his behalf. I will not be doing that.

More important than my trip to Seattle is my trip to London, which is at the end of March/beginning of April. I will be gone for 11 glorious days and I am going to snog the shit out of as many hot British blokes as I possibly can. Which, knowing me, will probably be about zero to one hot British blokes. I guess I will also go see Buckingham Palace or something. AND EAT SO MUCH CADBURY'S ALL THE CRUNCHIES IN MY MOUTH.

Anyway I'm sure it's pretty clear that I have never been to London. I'm pretty pumped. And glad I have a friend there who can take care of my itinerary so that I do not spend the entire time eating candy and awkwardly hitting on men. Also we are probably going to spend a few days in either Ireland or France and all this makes me want to do is talk about more things I want to put in my mouth. Interpret that as you wish. BA DUM BUM.

Related to these two great awesome trips is the fact that I did my taxes yesterday and because I was on unemployment for most of last year I owe the government no less than eleventy billion dollars. So I'm glad I spent all this money on trips because I was already pretty poor from that and now I am EXTRA poor. Great.

Kate, who I had lunch with the other day (yay!), wanted to see a picture of the reindeer headbands from Christmas. ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE. You will also notice the dreidel headband. Because the chosen people are always represented here.

NEXT. I am presently obsessed with this song.


Macklemore is legit. And he is from Seattle. THIS BLOG POST IS COMING FULL CIRCLE.

That made no sense, I know. I'm really tired.

And finally, I decided to get my eyes checked today for the first time in 6 years (making my lifetime eye exam total...2). I've had a pair of glasses since my first eye exam and while I used to wear them occasionally, I haven't put them on in at least 2 or 3 years at this point. I don't think my vision is bad at all but I do have some trouble with distance so I wanted to get that shit checked out.

YOU GUYS. My eyes are apparently pretty bad. Like the woman there was honestly shocked that I see okay in a glasses-less world. The doctor checked out my current glasses and told me they're fine for me to wear even though they probably aren't as strong as I need them to be. She said I should probably wear them..all the time. Because my eyes suck. And are OVAL SHAPED. I believe the proper word for this is "astigmatism" but I'm just going to walk around saying that I have weird shaped eyeballs. It sounds funnier.

Anyway, I will not be wearing my glasses all the time because I'm not ready to completely change how my face looks for the rest of my motherf'ing life. But I will try to at least wear them while on the computer.

So here's another picture! I call this "It is Friday night and I am very sleepy."

Where the fuck are the tissues???

Look friends. I've been going to pharmacies for years now. I probably go into CVS or Duane Reade or Rite Aid or Walgreens or whatever more often than...well, than something that happens really frequently. It's late and I'm not feeling creative right now.

The thing is, I never know where to find the god damn tissues. It's like, boxes of tissues aren't that small. Especially not when you have an entire display of them. So why is searching for tissues like trying to find a needle-sized holy grail in a haystack?

I'm pretty sure every pharmacy puts the tissues in a different place. And as the saying goes, it's always in the last place I look. So I end up wandering through the cosmetics, the hair products, the stationery, the groceries, and every other freakin aisle until I find the tissues either near the paper towels or the tampons or the diapers or the cold medicine or some other place that makes no sense. And the reason it makes no sense is because there's no natural home for tissues. I mean, what do they REALLY belong next to? Nothing. Because tissues are versatile creatures.

Whenever I need to buy tissues (frequently, seeing as I must be allergic to something at my job because I sneeze about 15 times a day), I should just start buying multiple boxes at once and save myself the 20 minutes of aimless wandering the next time.

LIFE IS HARD, YO.

You know what else is hard to find? Q-tips.

End rant.

Leave a message after the...never

I'm something of a social coordinator. I like to keep up with what's going on in NYC and I pretty frequently send out emails, to anywhere between 1 and 30 people, trying to see who wants to join me for what (note to my friends: for every email I send there are at least 2 things I decide not to try to organize so be thankful I don't send MORE than I already do).

In actuality, I'm kind of the worst social coordinator ever, because only a small percentage of my grand plans turn into anything. It's not so much that the things I want to do aren't fun (heavens no!) or that my friends aren't fun (except sometimes that IS true, nerds), so much as I find it more or less impossible to get in touch with some people.

The problem? People have stopped reading emails.

You know who still uses the phone? My grandma. And no one else. (Note to self: call Grandma tomorrow, it's been too long)

I am a pro-emailer. I email like nobody's business. I see an email, I take care of whatever needs to be done in it, I respond in a timely fashion if necessary, and delete that shit so it's out of inbox out of mind.

Not everyone is as good as I am at email and to those people, I say: HOW THE CRAP DO I GET IN TOUCH WITH YOU?!?

At my dodgeball game last week, I asked my friend if she was coming to Bootie NYC. She had no idea what I was talking about.

"Dude, I sent two emails about it."

"Oh..umm...yeah I'm bad at reading emails."

WHAT THE F. I mean, I'm just at a total loss.

Look, everyone. I'm not going to call you. I hate talking on the phone most of the time. And especially if I'm trying to get in touch with multiple people, or I want to talk to you regarding something way in the future, it makes zero sense for me to call. Or text message. I email. And so does everyone else. IF YOU DO NOT READ EMAILS, IT MAKES IT HARD FOR ME TO BE YOUR FRIEND.

I remember over the summer sending an email to some people about lord knows what, and a week after the event I got this response: "Oh sorry, I didn't see this because I don't check my email when grad school isn't in session."

At that point I pretty much just up and died because did that REALLY happen?!? Yes, apparently it did.

How is it that in a world where we have more ways to get in touch than ever, where it is becoming increasingly more difficult to disconnect for even a hot second, that it is somehow also becoming more difficult to get in front of people? Do I have to somehow get a Youtube video of myself to go viral in order to get everyone to get the messages I want them to get? Because really, as awesome as I am, I just don't see the rest of the world being that into me sitting in front of a camera going, "Guys, there's a crazy dance party in Brooklyn on Saturday and we should go. Also, one hour of open vodka bar and if we get there before 10 it's only $5. YES I KNOW IT'S BROOKLYN BUT SERIOUSLY IT'LL BE FUN PLEASE LET'S GO OKAY THANKS."

Blah. Friends, help me help you...do awesome stuff in New York. Okay? Okay.

The odd woman out

I am now going to write about a very important topic. I hope you're ready.

At some point during business school, over the many weekends that I stayed with various friends in NYC, I realized something very strange. I noticed that one of my friends puts her bras on upside down and backwards. She clasps it in the front, then turns it around and flips it up and puts it on.

I saw this go on (without seeing any boobs, for those of you who are wondering, hello any men reading this) and was all, "Are you 13 years old? Put your bra on like an adult." I thought it was totally crazy that a grown woman would still do this. I put my bra on the way it's supposed to go on. I clasp it behind my back and it takes me all of 3 seconds.

The next time I was out at dinner with the girls, I took an informal poll as to how people put their bras on. And you know what I found out?

EVERYONE PUTS THEIR BRAS ON UPSIDE DOWN AND BACKWARDS.

Further polling has given me similar results.

I mean, what the fuck?

I was flabbergasted. Everyone was all, "wah wah it's easier, it's so hard to do it when you can't see." PEOPLE! Do men not take bras off without seeing? I mean sure maybe it's easier to open than to close but some guys can do it with one hand and my friends, I most certainly cannot clasp my bra with one hand so I'd say we're about even. Me and the men, that is.

Also, I do this every day. Most men probably don't deal with bras every day. And if they do, well, lucky them.

For realsies, though. Am I the only woman out there who took the time to struggle through putting a bra on PROPERLY, much in the same way we struggle to learn to tie our shoes? Sure, at first it's a little slow but after doing it like, 10 times you get the hang of it. I swear, I will race any chick out there who puts her bra on backwards like a 12 year old and I'll win. Even with one of those bras with 3 clasps.

Okay, the idea of this race is pretty weird, so feel free to not hold me to it. But you get the idea.

What is this world coming to when women refuse to learn a simple task? Dear women out there: if you have an itch on your back, let's say, right around the spot where your bra usually is, can you reach back and scratch it? Can you write legibly between the lines on a sheet of ruled paper? If you answered "yes" to both of these, congratulations! You are both flexible enough and have strong enough fine motor skills to be able to put your bra on without all the twisting and whatever else. Try it out sometime.

Is anyone with me on this?

Rethinking the Guinness World Records

This morning, I read this article about the man who holds the Guinness world record for holding the most Guinness world records (how meta!).

I have no problem with the idea of world records. Fastest 100 meter dash? Tallest building? Sure, why not.

The thing that bothers me, though, is the creation of records for the sake of creating records. The pride and glory that people apparently get from holding Guinness records make them do things that no one would ever bother doing in real life.

For example, a few of the records that Mr. Furman, the ultimate record holder, has are: clapping his hands for the longest period of time (50 hours), longest distance covered by continuous somersaulting (12 miles), and the most apples thrown in the air and sliced with a Samurai sword in one minute (27 - okay, that's kind of awesome, but only because I wish I could slice even ONE airborne apple with a sword).

If people can think of the most arbitrary things in which to hold records, doesn't this diminish the importance of the Guinness institution? Am I the only person that thinks so? I know that Guinness doesn't accept every record application it gets, but still. Largest gathering of people dressed like characters from the Wizard of Oz? WHERE DOES THE MADNESS END?

All of this being said, I actually helped set 2 Guinness world records during my semester abroad in Sydney - the largest gathering of blondes in one place, and the world's longest tequila slam (a line of people all taking a shot one after the other). Both are pretty amusing stories, but I realize how utterly dumb they are, even as I feel some sort of solidarity with my tequila-guzzling peers. The blonde thing was a little bit of a stretch, even though I AM a natural dirty blonde. In more ways than one! HIYOOOO.

For all I know, one or both of those records have been broken by other groups in the 7 years since they've been set. I wouldn't be sad about it, to be honest. Until I can do something meaningful better or faster than the rest of the 6 billion people on this planet, I don't think I really deserve any recognition.

Finding a challenge

For a long time I used to say that I'm the kind of person who thrives on being busy. While that is definitely true, it's not the full picture. What really excites me isn't so much having things to do, but being challenged while I'm doing them.

I think for a long time I didn't really recognize that distinction. Just because you're busy, even if it's to the point of being stressed because there aren't enough hours in the day to accomplish everything on the to-do list, doesn't really mean there's a challenge involved. Time management is a fact of life, not an activity in its own right.

What I've also come to realize is that, while I love a challenge, I'm terrible at challenging myself. I need to be accountable to someone or something, or at least have someone pushing me.

This is why I loved being in school. Aside from the obvious fact that I wouldn't have been able to teach myself all the things I learned, I wouldn't have had the motivation to do it anyway. Having to study to pass tests and be prepared for class discussions was just the kind of external push I need in my life.

This is also why I love playing in a volleyball clinic every Tuesday night. After 13 years of playing there's still a ton I have left to learn, both strategically and physically. Getting to work with a coach and a ton of other really talented players makes me become better at the game because I have no choice. This week we focused on diving. While I certainly could have looked up instructional Youtube videos on how to dive for a volleyball and started rolling around on my kitchen floor, there's no way I realistically ever would have done that. There's also something really gratifying about getting banged up from launching yourself at the ground in a sport that's usually pretty contact-free.

It doesn't even have to be anything big. There was a period of about 2 weeks when Dan used to email me links to Wall Street Journal articles and asked me what I thought of the issues at hand. Even though I still don't know why he started doing that (or why he stopped? What happened, yo), I liked that I was being forced to think critically and even do some research about topics ranging from free trade to Sun Chips. This is also why I'm happy that I now have a book club in my life. Ordinarily I would just read a book, finish it, and move on. But having to discuss it with Lacey and others makes me take the time to think it through a little more and to develop opinions beyond "I liked it" or "I hated it."

As examples of how much I suck at motivating myself, things I have been terrible at following through on in the past include: learning to speak Spanish, learning to play the guitar, learning to solve a Rubik's cube. And probably a million other things.

The question now is how I go about incorporating more people into my life who challenge me and help me grow as a person. Thoughts?

Dropping that third grade knowledge

I am giving you all a grammar lesson. Remember when I taught you all how to use the STRIKE? This is like that, only...not.

The following is a general rule. Many of you will say, "Oh pish posh, Arielle. We don't do that silly thing." And I say: "YES YOU DO." Ready?

DO NOT USE MOTHERF'ING APOSTROPHES WHEN PLURALIZING THINGS.

See what I did there? "Things." Not "Thing's."

WHO TAUGHT YOU CRETINS TO DO THAT?

I realize that my grammar is far from perfect and you are more than welcome to hate over on this way if your pet peeve involves ending sentences with prepositions because I love doing that even though I know better.

Seriously, though. Why has the apostrophe managed to sneak its way into our plurals the way that "LOL" has snuck into the lexicons of wayyyy too many people my age. (P.S. if you are a dude who says "LOL," I will never date you. Truth.)

Here are some examples of how to properly pluralize:

Machete --> Machetes
Popsicle --> Popsicles
Mojito --> Mojitos
Deer --> Deer (tricky, that one!)

Do you see any apostrophes? NO YOU DO NOT.

The only time where it is maybe acceptable to use them is where it would otherwise be confusing.

Instead of...

I got straight As.

It is okay if you say...

I got straight A's.

One reason why this is okay is because you might get confused otherwise and be all, "Girlfriend, straight as what? First of all you don't know when to capitalize letters, and second of all you didn't finish your sentence."

You call me "Girlfriend" because you're sassy.

The other reason why this is okay is because Wikipedia says so.

Okay, everyone. You have been schooled. Go forth and make me happy.

Very important question

I am taking a poll. A supremely important poll. Dealing with something I've been wondering about for a long time. And by that I mean, for about the last 5 minutes.

As I've mentioned before, once upon a time I used to wear pajamas everywhere. That time was called "college," and even though it was pretty normal to walk around the Tufts campus in your flannel pants with little sheep on them, I still kind of look back on that time and think, "Wait...really?" I mean, I met with professors in pajamas! Who does that?

Full disclosure: I wish I could still do that. But I won't.

Anyhoo, I'm wondering about another one of my habits and whether or not it is horrifically socially inappropriate, along the lines of wearing pajamas outside the house. Because it seems all fine and dandy to me, but since I pretty much always look like a hot mess, maybe I don't realize that I shouldn't be doing it.

My question, friends, is about going outside with wet hair. Yay or nay?

Note: I do not own a hair dryer. I know, I am officially kicked out of being a girl. But really. I strive to have the most low maintenance getting ready regimen that I can and who has time for that? Drying my hair turns it into an 80's style puffball and if you think I'm going to blowdry my hair and THEN spend the requisite 40 minutes to straighten it (yes, I own a flat iron. Last time I used it...unclear. And actually it's a wet-to-dry flat iron which eliminates the need for the hair dryer but I am still wholly unwilling to spend time using it), you...don't know me very well.

The point is, I either go outside with wet hair or I wait inside until it dries which takes about 6 millennia on my hair and I got places to go, man!

Am I going to one day look back upon this time, as I currently look back upon college, and think to myself, "Holy Jesus what was I doing?" Or is it okay for me to show my wet locks in public? I mean, at least this signifies to the world that I shower, right?

Admitting defeat

You know what's impossible? Folding fitted sheets.

This is particularly unfortunate for me because fitted sheets are the only kind that I use. I grew up in a flat-sheet-less household and to this day I have no idea what the flat sheet is for. You are welcome to use the comment section to try and sell me on the flat sheet idea, but I promise you, I will never become a flat sheet user.

Seriously, though. How on earth do you make something look nice when it has crinkly elastic around the entire border? Every time I wash one of my sheets I put in a concerted effort to folding it and it always comes out looking like a big pile of ineptitude.

You find me someone who can properly fold a fitted sheet and I will find you Santa Claus or the messiah or someone else who simply does not exist. Or my grandma. While I happen to know that my grandma uses sheets that are fitted only at the corners and are thus much easier to fold, I bet she could fold one of my sheets. My grandma is the best folder I know. She is lightyears ahead of the second best folder I know, which is me. Every time I come home, my mom asks me to fold the laundry because I'm so excellent at it. True story.

I could probably get my grandma to teach me to fold my fitted sheets, except for the fact that she is far more patient and meticulous than I am and I am simply not prepared to spend the requisite 45 minutes that she would in order to get that sheet folded. So instead, I will live my life with fitted sheets that look like this:


Oh well.

The price of beauty

Women do the most ridiculous things in the name of beauty. We wear shoes that hurt our feet, stockings that restrict us from breathing, and put chemicals...pretty much everywhere.

I recently sent a text message to Lacey because she had mentioned that she had a product for her nails and cuticles to make them nicer, and I wanted in. I asked her what it was, and she responded with, "Healthy Hoof. It's what trainers use on horses."

Now, considering that people use Preparation H to reduce the appearance of under-eye bags, I shouldn't really have been surprised by the absolute absurdity of what she said. But I was.

I mean, really? We've gone as low as putting horse cream on our hands? My nails may not be the nicest ever and I may have shredded cuticles from unintentionally picking at them, but when I look at my hands I certainly do not think, "Man, these mitts of mine sure do look like horsey hooves."

Naturally, I had no idea where I was supposed to go buy this horse cream. So I asked, figuring I would have to purchase it from some weirdo horse groomer supply website. But oh no, Lacey told me I could find it at any drugstore. "Where?" I thought. "The barnyard aisle?"

I went to CVS and found it by the rest of the nailcare things (obviously). So I guess this pony stuff has become a bit more mainstream and I can rest easy knowing that my friends don't actually go and use real horse products. And while I am mildly reassured that the tub does say that it's intended for nails and cuticles, it also says quite blatantly that it contains "the original equestrian formula used by horse trainers." Is this supposed to make me want to use it more? Because last I checked, horse things are not typically meant for people (this includes PCP, AKA horse tranquilizers. People, don't take weird animal drugs, please).

While it hasn't been long enough for me to tell whether or not my new hoof cream is doing any real good, my cuticles do feel pretty soft. So I guess I'm okay with this new, slightly absurd addition to my beauty regimen. And when the next ridiculous thing comes along, I may just hop on that bandwagon too. Gotta look gorgeous somehow, right? Right.

My super power

If I could have any super power, I would want to be able to fly. Hands down. None of this being invisible garbage, flight is where its at.

Sometimes I think about the more realistic super powers that I would like to have. Like being able to sing really well. It's not normally thought of as a super power, but seeing as, you know, people can't fly, stuff of that nature is really all we have to work with.

As much as I'd love to be able to belt it like Whitney, the power I think I would want most in the world would be the ability to fall asleep anytime, anywhere. I know tons of people like this (the men in my family, sorority sisters, other assorted friends), and they probably take it all for granted. But let me tell you, when you are NOT one of these people, you OH SO WISH you were. Planes, bus rides, anytime I happen to be bored..if I could just close my eyes and drift off to sleep, my life would be that much better. But no, I suck at sleeping at random times.

I do, however, have a power that I think a lot of others would be envious of. And it's sort of related to the power I wish I had.

I am really good, and I mean REALLY good, at functioning on little to no sleep. I know people who are all "OH GOD WAH WAH if I don't get at least 8 hours of sleep I just want to die the next day." But not me! And I do it all without caffeine.

The other day, I went to bed around 12:30, for no reason other than I was doing important things like watching The Colbert Report and playing Rock Band on my iPod. I got up at 5:40 to be at work by 7, got home from work at 2:15, ate lunch and checked my email, then left at 3:30 to go to work AGAIN. I got home at 11:30 and though my feet hurt like a mofo, I realized that, at no point during the day did I ever feel tired. Which is handy when you're running around like a crazy person trying to appear chipper for what amounted to a grand total of 13 hours on my feet.

This is pretty normal for me. No matter how many hours of sleep I got the night before, I'm out of bed within 10 seconds of my alarm goes off and by the time I'm at the bathroom to brush my teeth I'm alive and alert. I might be hating my life for having to wake up when it's still dark out because WHY IS WORK ASKING ME TO SHOW UP AT UNGODLY HOURS WITH AN INCREASING FREQUENCY but at least I know I can make it through the day, no matter what.

I'm pretty thankful for this super power because I see how tired other people are. Not only that, but I really can never get myself to go to bed all that early. Even when I was working or last year when I actually went to school every single day, both times I had to be present and ready to go at 8:30 and I still never went to bed before 11:30 (at the earliest). My roommate wakes up around 8 to go to work and for real, that girl is in bed by 9. If she's still alive at 10 when I am undoubtedly settling in to watch TV I remind her that it's past her bedtime and she laments that she really should have gone to bed forever ago.

So there you have it. My useful but not that exciting super power. I'm still holding out for someone to discover the power of human flight, though.

My life is beyond awesome

It really is. If you don't believe me, let me walk you through an average day:

- Wake up around 10 AM
- Eat breakfast, check emails, attack Google reader, etc
- Go to the gym
- Eat lunch, shower, read the Wall Street Journal
- Maybe do some reading or other homework
- Run errands (there are ALWAYS errands)
- Some combination of dinner, watching TV, puttering around doing nothing
- Read (for leisure!) and go to bed around midnight

If you're smart, you might be wondering "Aren't you a student? Shouldn't there be classes in there somewhere?"

The answer to that is that yes, I do go to class, but not on the average day. Why? Because my school week starts at 7 PM on Tuesday and ends at 9:30 PM on Wednesday. In that 26.5 hours, I have 3 classes. And then my 5 day weekend begins!

I also work occasionally, but the catering business is super slow this time of year, so getting as many shifts as humanly possible means I'm lucky if I get 2 shifts a week. Once things pick up again in March, I hope to work at every free possible second because damnit, I need that cash money.

Sometimes my days are peppered with social things, like finally seeing Avatar or hitting up Thirsty Thursday. Sometimes not.

As if my life weren't awesome enough, I love LOVEEEEE my classes. So even that part of my week is fabulous. More on my classes later.

I am legitimately sad because my life is never going to be this great ever again. Le sigh.

I got soul but I'm not a soldier

A few months ago, I wrote a guest post on Lacey's blog about hip hop dance classes and the things you can expect to find in them. I also briefly mentioned the fact that I have no flava. This is a topic worth exploring in more depth since, during my wonderful NYC winter break, Lacey and I went back to our old stomping grounds, Broadway Dance Center, for a hip hop class.

Let me first clarify something. I am NOT a white girl who can't dance. I can dance. I fully admit that I am not, by any stretch, the most awesomest dancer who ever lived, but I am definitely coordinated and I possess at least some measure of rhythm.

The thing is, I do not look cool doing hip hop. I'm pretty sure this would stay the same even if I dressed like the other people in the class. Which is to say I would wear baggy sweatpants with one leg rolled up, hair down, huge earrings, an off-the-shoulder top, and boots that are definitely not sneakers.

During my senior year at Tufts, one of my sorority sisters joined the all-female a cappella group on campus that sang songs "from the African diaspora." I use quotes to show their phrasing, not to make fun of the African diaspora, obviously. You have probably already realized that the bulk of the people in this group were (and probably still are) black. My sorority sister, on the other hand, was decidedly not black. She was, in fact, very white and very from Missouri. Though she definitely had a great singing voice, she lacked the soul necessary to really pull off a lot of the songs the group sang.

I am the white girl in the black a cappella group. I lack soul.

At one point in the recent hip hop class, the instructor told us to put some "stank" into it. Seeing as the majority of my dance background comes from being in competitive gymnastics which is on par with ballet as far as prim-and-properness is concerned, I did not have any stank to put into the move. Not even a tiny bit. I am stankless. Which is unfortunate, because I really enjoy hip hop.

I wonder if I can somehow gain some stank. What do I need to do? Can I buy it? Do I need to start listening to even more rap music? Tell me WHERE OH WHERE CAN A WHITE JEWISH GIRL FROM THE SUBURBS GET SOME STANK?

Suggestions welcome.

A different anniversary

Today is the 10th anniversary of when I got my knee surgery.

I have no idea why I remember things like this yet I can't tell you what happened in the last book I read, but there you have it.

For 10 years I've had a pretty big scar on my knee that for a few months caused me to be pretty self-conscious. After another few months I grew into accepting the scar, and now I flat out just don't notice it until people point it out and ask me about it (which, for the record, I am totally cool with). I do notice other peoples' scars, though, and then we bond over being ACL buddies. 4life.

When the surgeon went in to repair my torn ligament, he saw that the cartilage was so messed up that it was beyond repair. And so he took it out. I now have no cartilage in my right knee, which means I am strictly forbidden from running and taking stairs unless I want to have arthritis at 30. I don't. This, along with the fact that there is a tiny spot on my knee that never regained feeling after the operation, and the thankfully very rare bout of pain, are really the only ways in which the surgery affected me. So hip hip to that. Plus, I like to think that the scar gives me character.

If I'm going to have an "injury" for 10 years (as I am forever saying I have a bad knee, because it's sort of, kind of technically true), this is a pretty good one to have.

And in case anyone cares, I tore my ACL doing hurdles at a high school track meet. After I hobbled off the track, I started crying. Not from the pain, but because I was in the lead when I fell and I would have won. Not that it really mattered, since even though I had only competed in one meet, I did well enough (i.e. I came in first out of all 3 schools competing) that I still lettered in track that year. God I'm awesome.

Single service friends

It's been probably 8 years since the last time I saw Fight Club, but I will always remember the concept of the single serving friend (which over the years I have somehow adapted into calling the single service friend).

We've all had them. The people we meet and with whom we spend anywhere from an hour to a day. We part ways, often knowing the intimate details of each other's lives, yet we know we will never see these people again. It's kind of a crazy concept.

Those of you who know me know that I am pretty unfriendly. I'm generally cold, hard to get to know, and wholly uninterested in other people's lives. Yet I've had some really amazing single service friends in my day. People who I wish I could have gotten to know better, and who I often wonder about - where they are, how the life events they told me about ended up, and whether or not they even remember meeting me. Here are a few:

- I was on the Amtrak from NY to Boston during my freshman year of college. The only available seat was at a table with 3 strangers - 2 guys and 1 girl. We got to talking, and found out that we were all college students (2 Northeastern, 1 BU, and me). We bonded over a box of Krispy Kremes and shared drinking stories and other assorted tales of college debauchery. We all exchanged numbers with the promise to party together soon. We didn't.

- During my semester abroad in Sydney, a friend and I took a 10 day trip to New Zealand. We were staying in a hostel, and the guy on the bed across from me asked me about the book I was reading (no idea what it was). We got in a conversation about philosophy and sociology and life and lord knows what else, and he recommended that I read Ishmael, by Daniel Quinn. As soon as I got home to the U.S., I read it. And its sequel. They were both amazing, and I always wished I had some way of finding that guy so I could thank him and discuss the book with him.

- Over the summer, I was at a bar in NYC with the blogger formerly known as Dan Mega (or I suppose I should say, "the former blogger known as Dan Mega"), who was in town visiting. I didn't know anyone else at the bar, and while he was catching up with a friend I started talking to the girl next to me. Within half an hour we knew each other's life stories and counseled each other on love life problems. We sat on a bench drinking beer, pointing out hotties, and more or less ignoring the people who brought us to the bar in the first place. When I realized I had to get up in 6 hours, I was legitimately sad to say goodbye to my new friend.

- On Friday (clearly the reason why I thought to write this post) I started my job bartending for a catering company. The event had 99 tables, and each table was to have 4 bottles of wine on the table when the guests arrived. As we stood around opening bottle after bottle after motherf'ing bottle to the point where my hand started bleeding all over my corkscrew, I started chatting with the other bartenders. And we kept talking throughout the rest of our shift, interrupted only by moments of frantic drink-making. By the end of the night, one girl (Jess) and I made a promise to go into business together. Another bartender drove us home, and as we got out of the car, Jess and I both wished him a heartfelt goodbye and goodluck, as he's heading off to the army next month. Jess and I then hugged, promised to be in touch, and went our separate ways.

Writing these stories made me think of so many other times I really feel like I connected with someone who I only met once. Anyone else have experiences like these?