checking out

I, more than most people I'm guessing, like staying in hotels. The mini hair dryers, figuring out how to work the remote, the burnt laundry smell of the starched sheets, I love it all. Except maybe the increased likelihood of a low-flow showerhead. But beside that, it's like a game: if I only wash my face with the mini bar soap, how clear will my skin be compared to my normal prescription wash routine? Should I leave the towels in the tub or be eco-friendly and reuse like the mini card asks me? Ordering room service comes with it's own unique set of pleasures; unveiling the poached eggs and soggy toast, the hollow sucking noise of whipping off the metal plate cover. Tipping bellboys. Unwrapping solo cups to drink from the tap. Stealing ballpoint pens. Requesting wake up calls. 

I know people who have to travel for business loath all of those things. My dad stays in a hotel maybe 14 days a month and could probably become a "tacky countryside scene bolted to the wall" dealer. But I don't know that I could ever grow tired of pushing elevator buttons and swiping card keys and dinette sets that no one ever sits at. Maybe I just like how sterile and tidy the whole experience is: no long term commitments, no kitchen sink, no four nearly empty bottles of conditioner left in the shower. It's all one day at a time. This is today's mini mouth wash, these are today's sheets, today's paper left in front of the door. No chaos in here; the windows don't even open. 

random thoughts

• Today I saw a BMW with a pizza delivery sign on the top. Love this economy.
  
• It is almost time for the Greek Orthodox Church of Lexington's annual bake sale. My mom treats this day the way some moms treat the day after Thanksgiving. I'm surprised she hasn't made me camp outside the night before just to ensure that we get every last piece of sticky sweet baklava. 

• I'm a little braindead because my job has required to me to drive either to Lexington from Louisville, to Louisville from Lexington or both everyday since Sunday. I saw once on "Talk Sex with Sue Johanson," that truck drivers use butt plugs to keep themselves awake and alert. Not that I'm considering them, just something to think about. 

• Mother's day has very quickly snuck up on me. Mama Strapless Living has requested the above window hanging from the Frank Lloyd Wright shop. The woman normally requests a vacuum at her most dull and a Le Creuset piece at her most frivolous so I think this shows excellent gift-receiving-growth. 

temper tantrum

This morning another assistant and I went to get coffee while my boss was in the shower without asking. This is my punishment.

P.S. Forgot to mention that there is a massive aviary in the lobby of the hotel. Every time I walk by the birds squawk uncontrollably. Apparently I am capable of attracting some form of living thing; small caged birds.

random thoughts

• Yesterday on my way home from work, (yes, I worked on a Saturday. TWO jobs actually: ACT teaching and personally assisting for Boss Lady) I was having a massive craving for a milkshake. So I veered into the drive-thru at Steak and Shake and proudly and without shame bleated my order for a chocolate milkshake and large order of cheese fries. While I was waiting at the window I noticed a curious things: people were queuing outside. For Steak and Shake? I know the economy is rough guys but the minute you put your name on a list to eat fast food, you've really thrown in the towel. 
• My boss is one of those people who says "Blessings," or "Have a Blessed day" at the end of her voicemails and e-mails. It's a bit much to swallow on a daily basis. Running to four different stores to find her correct brand of Diet Ginger Ale does not generally leave me feeling blessed.
• Posting will be sporadic next week as I may or may not be in Louisville the entire time with my boss in preparation for Derby. I am a big fan of "personal space," so we'll see how sharing a hotel suite with her goes.

• Finally, I'll leave you with the above shoes. Do they or do they not look like straight jackets for your feet? Just looking at them makes my feet sweaty. from anthro.

vom

I'll be the first to admit that I don't eat a very healthy diet. Today I had: 2 Quaker's Oat chocolate chip granola bars, 1 bottle of Smartwater, 2 diet ginger ales, half a donut, a HUGE pizza sub, and a banana. Servings of vegetables: 0. Servings of fruit: 1. Servings of "oh my god I'm going to barf if I don't stop eating this sub but it's SO good:" 8. But even I wanted to die when an ad for the following popped up on my computer:

why, god, why?

indelible ink

am at that single girl point where seeing this makes me morph briefly into a Cathy comic strip. 

photo from here

bang bang

Today I was attacked by the most gigantic horsefly known to man. Which I guess is still only like, an inch long.  Anyways, the buzzing was incessant. I was hoping it would just drop dead or leave the room but no dice. I bludgeoned a spider on my floor (I swear I'm not dirty, I just live in the country) with a book about Benjamin Franklin and the buzzing stopped. I assumed the fly, not wanting a similar fate, had fled the premises, and so returned to what I was doing only to have the noise return a few moments later. At that point, I picked the Benjamin Franklin book back up and prepared for battle (if one were to wage war in pink mini boxers from La Senza and a sample of Dior under-eye cream from Sephora). Preposterously, the fly would not land. After stalking it unsuccessfully for five complete minutes, I decided just to randomly swing at the fly in a manner reminiscent of a drunken t-baller. It dropped dead mid-flight. I am a bad ass. 

photo from here

what is my [working] life

Guys. The new job is killing me. I mean, it's not like physically dangerous or anything (although I do spend a lot of time driving in the rain with tires that aren't completely bald but at that point where they need to let go of the combover), it's just exhausting. Which is actually sort of good since I have been so painfully bored for the past year. My body and brain are just like "AGH. WHAT is going on?" since they haven't had to work this hard since I went on a month-long pilates kick and took collegiate finals, respectively. I hate that I'm going to write about my new job in this frazzled mental state because there are some seriously amazing gems of ridiculousness to be exploited but since it doesn't seem like I'm going to get a day off in the next three weeks I better get used to it. We'll begin by introducing the acting players:

• Boss Lady: hat designer. extremely high strung. pack rat. has huge collection of books and cassette tape classes on things like "Lighting His Fire." expects me to read her mind and often forgets that I started working for her three days ago. compulsively drinks diet ginger ale with a straw.
• Asst. #1: bleached blonde. into to alternative medicines. has a sugar daddy boyfriend. is graduating from UK this year and is going to be a psychoanalyst (god help us). referred to the first day of her period as the first day of her "girlie day," which caused me to ask if she had gone to the spa or something. doesn't say curse words because saying them and "other negative things disrupts your inner vibrations." nervously smiles after ever sentence; clearly her proven method for distracting the men in her life from the fact that her sentences are nonsensical.
• Asst. #2: mother of two. survivor of tragic car accident in 2006, the gruesome details of which were revealed to me within an hour of knowing her. stupid but sweet.
• Salesgirl: extremely patronizing. appears to shop at dress barn. or my closet from when I was twelve and going through that phase where you want to look "cute," but also "unique," and come across as neither. calls me honey even though I am fairly certain I am older than her, or at least the same age. when asked if she needed help carrying something she said "you get the lighter thing. I was raised on a farm honey!" at which point I had to pinch the skin in between my thumb and forefinger to keep from saying something along the lines of "that must be why you look so masculine."

So now that you have the cast list, I'll work on providing some actual stories soon! As soon as I run to the grocery for more diet ginger ale. And straws.

photo from here

things that will always be sexy no matter how cliche they may be

A little car nooky (nookie?). Any boy that knows me well enough to be getting in my pants knows that shifting from third to fourth gear gets me a little turned on. Every time. The surge of RPMs required to make the change on hilly country roads puts just enough pressure on my lower belly to remind me of a boy settling his weight there. Just can't get the same feeling on public transportation. 

photo from here

announcements

• I got a job! Thursday evening I received a phone call from a woman whose Craigslist ad I responded to seeking a personal assistant. She asked if I could interview that evening. I didn't really have anything else to do, so I said I would. Two hours later I was sitting in her living room, half hired, while her main assistant was lying on the floor, her feet on a vibrating pH balancing machine, discussing her brief stint as a professional DJ. The story of how I became the personal assistant to a Derby hat designer, and the tale of my first day on the job each deserve their own post but at the moment I'm too tired to write them up. They will, however, be coming soon, in a weekly segment called "what is my [working] life?"

• I'm going to Montreal! I finally scored a semi-affordable plane ticket to visit my soon to be graduating friends from university. The following things will occur while I am there: I will drink too many absinthe martinis and declare I "am totally zenned out right now," I will eat my weight in Tim Horton's bagels, I will insult someone who actually speaks French with my non-humorous mockery of the language, and I will spend way too much money at corner stores on things like cadbury cream eggs. 
  

• Oh, and one more thing. The job is only temporary, until the end of May. Because after that, I'm taking off. 

That's right. I am officially, for real, not shitting you, getting out of Dodge. The hen is flying the coop. The frog is leaping from the lilypad. The snot is leaving the nostril, the milk the carton, the toothpaste the tube, and so on. I know some of you have heard this before. But this time money has been saved, budgets written, roommates secured, and balls grown. Not too mention there is an actual date of departure: June 2. And a city: Nashville. My best guy friend is moving down for the summer with me, sort of an enzyme acting as a catalyst, providing enough energy for me to really get down there. It's like Striking-Out-On-Your-Own-Lite. We're both committed to getting a house with a porch and spending all summer drinking beer, avoiding setting goals, and bringing back afternoon snacktime (sliced apples for me thanks). Sure, I have some job leads. Sure, I'll have panic attacks every hour on the hour for the first month. But if I stay in Lexington anymore I'll combust. All the potential energy I spent the first twenty years of my life cultivating is starting to rot. Making me cave in like a tangerine left on the counter too long. 

I recognize that a physical change isn't a chemical one. I won't instantly re-inflate like a collapsed lung TV doctors are always stabbing with steak knives. Neither will I test this theory by stabbing myself with a steak knife. Anyways, a new city. A new season. A new place to write mixed metaphors and talk to people I don't know like we're best friends. It's going to be good.

announcements

I have so many things to tell you. Seriously, it's going be like blog Christmas in April. But I am literally about to fall asleep (at 11:31pm, could I be more of a grandmother?) and this entry will require grace, style, bullet points, and a hot towel. So come back on Monday for all sorts of exciting news!

photo from here

ticking time bomb

I have sleep issues. (I am currently rolling my eyes and sighing out loud at how cliché that is.) I can't fall asleep. I can't stay asleep. Once I fall asleep I want to sleep until 1pm. It's a hot mess. Sometimes having another person in my bed makes this better, sometimes worse. Usually worse. Rhythmic noises like a ticking clock or snoring will make me leave the room and sleep on the couch. Cold feet and apathy will keep me awake until I go get socks. I'm thirsty. I'm hot. I hate this pillow. The snoring light on my powerbook is distracting. The blackberry gonged. A boy sent me a text. Worse, a boy didn't send me a text and I just jolted awake because Delta e-mailed. (I promise to start putting the blackberry on "phone only" before bed. Tomorrow. Next week. When I grow out of my patheticness.). I have to pee. Did I brush my teeth? What am I going to wear to that thing in two months? Should I cut my bangs? Did I feed the dog? How much money is in my bank account? Oh god, that can't be right. Am doing complex mathematical calculations mentally; fuck, what is my interest rate? The rain is too loud. Did I roll up my car windows? Definitely not. Now that I'm drenched with rain I can't fall back asleep. Too lazy to change pajamas. Wet pillow. Never getting a good night's rest. 

photo from here

things that will always be sexy no matter how cliche they may be

Mixed tapes. Not because I long for the 90s or because I am too hip to merely collect vinyl like every other NPR listening, savings-bond-from-grandparents holding, child of libertarian parents hipster. No. Mixed tapes because there is a Tower of Power cd stuck in my car stereo, those b-side songs are such teases (and it's so gratifying when you finally get to them), and I like the way the tapes sound when you toss one into the pile in your center console. Knowing these three facts? Very sexy.

photo from here

classifieds

Wanted: Wardrobe staple for attending renaissance fairs. Pattern/coloration should be post-dark-ages but pre-pirate-wench. Design that hides mud splatters a plus. Should show off toned calves from years of strolling minstrel work. Must have sleeves large enough to billow mysteriously during magic tricks or Ophelia impersonations. Must have enough excess fabric to conceal growing baby bump as a result of one night stand with faux-bard. 

anna sui dress available here

alela diane

Okay, I know this is not a music blog. But I would be doing you a disservice if I didn't tell you to listen to Alela Diane. I have a massive girl crush on her for the following reasons:

• she has the ability to play guitar and sing at the same time. I can do this only if the song uses the chords: C, G, D, Emin, or A. No others. 
• although I believe she, like most girls, could benefit from a side part, I'm very jealous of her west coast style. It makes me wish I didn't cling to oxford shirts like security blankets.
• when I saw her play in Nashville with Blitzen Trapper she wore the shortest skirt I have ever seen. And my friends say they instantly think of me whenever they hear the nair jingle. So I know short skirts and I applaud her bravery. Especially since she was on stage with her father (who plays the mandolin. just like mine).
• oh, and the girl is a musical genius. If listening to her doesn't make you want to move to the country and sit on a front porch and never own a microwave again nothing will. 

hear more of her music here, read her occasionally updated blog here, and if you want to start a fan club with me, just let me know. oh, and picture from here.

reasons why i'm not cool

Seven and a half years ago I unwrapped a small box from Santa and found an Apple logo staring back at me. I'm not a big technophile. I'm not a huge music geek. So it made no sense that I was the first person I know to receive an iPod. I didn't even know what an iPod was at the time it was given to me. I mistreated it. Left it in the pencil pocket of my backpack for weeks. Barely defended it against naysayers who scoffed "you have to buy CDs anyways, why not just use your discman?" My iPod predates iTunes for Windows. I had to use some RealPlayer variation to upload "playlists" onto it. It doesn't play videos. It has an address book. It has Pong. It clicks and whirs like a hard drive starting up when you turn it on. The wheel (a physical, turning, wheel) hesitates now and doesn't like to turn counter clockwise. It's scratched within an inch of its life. But it works. So it works for me.

photo from here

agreed

I think this is going to be my new catch phrase. 

photo from here

defined

Sucker Punch [suhk-er puhnch] -noun: tragically, not a tropical beverage from concentrate with tootsie pop garnish. instead, a shocking blow administered to an unsuspecting party. Can be delivered physically, via jab to the temple or math book to the skull, but often consists of verbal attacks. Inviting your ex to coffee to tell them you're engaged? Sucker punch. Telling your overbearing mother-in-law she won't be getting grandchildren anytime soon because her near-psychotic parenting style has given her son performance anxiety? Sucker punch. 

photo from here

things that will always be sexy no matter how cliche they may be

Plaid shirts. Flannel in winter, plain jane cotton in summer. Beard in winter, buzz cut in summer. Wear it with jeans, wear it with chino shorts, wear it with a speedo. Put your hand on the small of my back, be familiar with all the bourbons in my dad's liquor cabinet, and I will make out with you. 

photo from here

random notes

• It snowed today. Um, hello, it's April 7. Below the Mason Dixon line. Spring has sprung. Cut that shit out.
• Yesterday I applied for a random office job. The ad seemed to be looking for someone to do exactly what I did as an intern a couple years ago but for real so I sent in a shoddily put together cover letter and a resume. A couple hours later I received a phone call from the head of the company. Turns out it's a macroeconomic research firm run by a VERY famous economist and his son (hint: he pretty much founded modern conservative economic tax policy. you guys are all salivating aren't you? I know). I haven't actually thought about economics since graduation and this guy wanted to talk serious shop with me. I managed to string about ten words together about supply side economics and my views on the free market to pass for a right winger. I failed to recognize his obvious name drops. He said he was very impressed by my school and some of the professors I had had. I refrained from telling him that none of those professors knew my name. He told me that if I loved Obama I couldn't work in their office because I would be socially ostracized. Basically the best way to start Job Search 2.0 EVER. [ed note: this anecdote is meant to be sarcastic; sorry if there was some confusion. me working at a right wing economics firm would be like George Bush working for Planned Parenthood.]
  
• Does anyone else feel the need to smell every bottle of shampoo/conditioner/lotion/etc. in the aisle before making a selection? How awkward is that when the stock boy is trying to refill the shelves and witnesses you spending fifteen minutes to pick out the same shampoo you bought last month?

photo from here

pity party

Who hasn't wanted to be this girl at some point in their life? Who hasn't seen girls like this and consoled themselves with the thought that "they're probably really unintelligent and dull conversationalists," only to hear them vibrantly chatter away about the evolution of hip hop or neo-colonial behavior in the middle east, at which point your scrunch up your mouth and think "dammit!" Who hasn't had their phone ring with her potential suitors begging for her number and a positive recommendation?

Today is my first day of real unemployment. Somewhere deep in the recesses of my brain there is a neon light flashing "HURRAY!" but at the moment it is shrouded in 30 degree fog and tornado warnings, a migraine leftover from Saturday, and a drug induced haze used to counter the aforementioned migraine. So while this post should be all "resumes for everyone!" and "slept until eleven!" it's really just a pity party. Sorry for being the mopey, not as cute, doesn't smoke friend to the girl in the photo above. Bells on for tomorrow I promise.

last day of work

My dad has stacks of  books like this for identifying trees and berries and birds and paw prints. Back when I was a blonde and under four feet tall I would sit in his lap and he would hold a leaf while I poured through the book to find it. Back then, even before my neuroses had developed into compulsive straightening of photos and color coding, I found this to be very soothing. Start at point A (mystery leaf), go through the steps: what color is it? how many veins does it have? is it symmetrical?, and presto! answer (oak tree). The book never asked you how you felt about the leaf, or whether you could empathize with the leaf, or if you felt the leaf was morally upstanding. You never had to assign rights and responsibilities to it or decide if you wanted to invite it to your wedding. You never had to wonder, "but will this leaf being an oak tree leaf making me happy?" 

This penchant for logical progressions continued past adolescence: geometry proofs in high school, constructing IKEA furniture and rewiring my oven light in college. People who dine out with me and know I have to sit facing the door won't believe this but I have mellowed a little. It's a work in progress. As far as I know, there are no paperback flow charts for adulthood but I'm assuming that if you take the arrow from "move home" to "quit your job" you'll find a hand scrawled editor's note written in red ink: [to be filled in at a later date]. 

ffffound it

Is anyone a member of ffffound? I like scrolling through their photos but am not sure I fully understand the concept of "hearting" things as a member. Anyone want to explain/invite me? I'm not sure how I could repay you, maybe write something snarky about someone you hate? I'm really good at eye rolling so if they need to be "brought down to size," we could probably work something out. Other than that all I can really promise is that I won't continue to ask you to invite me to other things, like your lunch table or anything. Okay. Awesome. Thanks so much. 

textual

Because a 140 character message can concurrently feel so important and like it doesn't exist, I would like to start receiving them in this tangible, concrete manner. 

photo from here

open letter

Dear New York Times,

The following article appeared in your paper's style section recently:

"SIMPLICITY — harumph! We all know the world is complicated. Why fight it? Even the old jewelry maxim about “one good piece” feels a little threadbare. And with so many gorgeous gold and silver bands in the shops — many of them comparatively inexpensive — why limit yourself to one? Not to mention, one idea, one motif — or even one metal. A whole handful of rings and styles (and a mix of a gold, silver, platinum and diamonds) suggests a brash lightheartedness toward style that says, “I fear the future not.” Furthermore, a stack of rings means that everything isn’t riding on that one good piece being so very good. Fairly or not, a multitude of rings subtly suggests that you have endless sympathies (and contacts) with interesting people around the globe. One gold band? It suggests sympathies and contact with but one fellow — and he’s local. [list of rings in photo, some "comparatively inexpensively" costing as much as $4,920.]"

Please go kill yourself.

Love,

Hannah