Master Cleanse Day 1: The best laid plans

In a moment of collective health-consciousness (or collective crack smoking) some of my esteemed colleagues and I have decided to embark on the fabled "Master Cleanse", aka "Maple Syrup and Lemonade Diet". It's a group effort which makes the idea of drinking this crap (and nothing but) for 5 days slightly less noxious. And misery loves company.

My constitution decided to throw a kink into our carefully laid plans and I got really sick yesterday. I am sure this is due, in part, to my adamant declaration that "I don't really get sick." Because I am. I spent most of last night in bed weeping with a fever, body aches and a non-productive and extremely painful cough. Not even disc 1 of the Tudors could distract me from how miserable I felt.

I called out sick from work and had Morgan bring over the Cleansing Supplies for the others. But not before mixing up 2 Nalgene bottles of the stuff for myself. I have been dutifully sipping it in between naps and coughing fits and I have to say... IT'S NOT THAT BAD. Except that I put too much cayenne pepper in this batch, so it's not that bad except for the fact that my lips are on fire.

I'm not feeling hungry either. But not sure how much may be due to the fact that I feel absolutely wretched. Still, I'll take it!

Keeping it Great in Ought Eight

I've never been particularly enamored by the start of a new year. It usually goes something like: I really want to do something fabulous. Except I don't know what that is. So I end up not really doing anything and then feel let down.

This year I decided to not even worry about it. And I ended up with a bottle of bourbon (thanks, Peter!) and a really good night with some really good friends. And a whole lot of ridiculousness.

I'm actually oddly optimistic about the new year. My sister and I were saying how 2007 was kind of a let down, but 2008 seems bursting with potential.

Potential and of course stacks and stacks of applications that I should really be reading.

How To Throw A Surprise Party 101

First, make sure you involve as many people as possible. This will come in handy later when you are trying to remember all the ridiculous lies everyone told the party recipient. Second, make sure you come up with the most plausible solutions for why the surprisee can/can't be at a certain place at a certain time. Some of my favorites include, "No reason" and "I don't know." You will be making up all manner of outrageous stories in the planning process but make sure that you totally piss off the person who you are trying to surprise. It's technically not a surprise party unless the guest of honor is hurt/mad at you for excluding them from all manner of secret plans. Finally, it is essential that there be at least 2 false alarms where everyone leaps out and yells "SURPRISE!!!" only to discover that the person coming in was only stepping out for a smoke or something and is not the surprise party recipient.

A Brief Moment of Silence

On this day in 1965, Pop Tarts were created.

Now we return to our regularly scheduled time wasting.

I recently decided that with The Commodore lost at sea, it was my duty to revive seersucker.
I mean, any staple of southern gentlemen is all right by me!

In speaking of wardrobe, a lady that I work with stopped me last week to comment on my striped tights (worn under grey cropped pants). She said, "You look like..."
"A pirate?", I offered hopefully.
"An oompa loompa."
Now, admittedly, I may have an astonishing haircut, but I am by no means knee high. Nor do I accept payment in candy. (Though I have considered it in more desperate times.) And for fuck's sake, this woman has been wearing STIRRUP PANTS almost continuously since the mid-90's. I hardly feel as though she is in any position to comment on anyone else's outfit.

Oh, and I DID win the office Apple Pie Smackdown. Someone asked the secret to my filling: just a touch of bourbon. Oh, and 3/4 c. of heavy cream. 'Tis the season!

You Had Me At "Free Scotch"

On Saturday, I put on a kicky cocktail dress (ignoring the fact that it was 30 degrees out), grabbed Suzanne and headed to the "Johnnie Walker Journey" at the Boston Center for the Performing Arts. Now, even though JW and I go way back (Colorado, 2000, irrigation ditch) I wouldn't necessarily consider myself a huge fan. I mean, I'm more of a bourbon aficionado, and in terms of Scotch, I know more about single malts than blended whiskeys. But I am an apt pupil and always looking to expand my (whisky) horizons.

After sipping a cocktail (red label margarita, Grade: b+), and munching on some snacks (Turkish apricots with Gorgonzola, grade: a++) we were shown to our seats for the tasting/multimedia presentation/hour long advertisement for Johnnie Walker. Suzanne and I were seated next to a very animated (read: drunk) couple who kept shouting out references to how excited (drunk) they were to be there. Despite the obvious marketing scheme, the event was pretty nice (free drinks). They did some interesting things, such as serving the Gold Label ice cold and mixing the Red Label with "cola", and encouraging us to use the Green Label as cologne, ("Put a drop in your hands, rub them together. Now, smell it!).

However, when the heavens opened and Johnnie Walker Blue Label rained down into my glass, I think I regained my faith in god (whisky). A swirl, a sniff, and it was like angels had wept tears of salvation into my snifter.

Hint hint... Christmas is coming.

I was warned about Brockton

I had a college fair in Brockton today. I thought it was Braintree for a while. Mostly because I think Braintree might actually be the best name for a town. I mean, come on! Brain Tree!

Unfortunately, it was not. It was Brockton, which Scott described to me as "kind of awful". It kind of was. At least the college fair.

Did you know that Brockton high school has around 4000 kids? And it's the 2nd largest high school east of the Mississippi? True fact! At least according to the chick from Curry College who was at the table next to me.

So, the only kids who talked to me besides the ones who thought I was "Clark Atlanta"? One was blind (admittedly not her fault and I am sure she's an amazing student) and the other hadn't taken her SATs yet. Sigh.

Halloween Conundrum or "The Lass Who Loved a Sailor"

Or at least the idea of dressing up as one.

The problem with Halloween, besides me not ever doing anything nearly as fabulous as I imagined, is that if you are a girl, most costumes revolve around wearing as little themed clothing as possible. Don't be a pirate, be a SEXY PIRATE! A sexy law enforcement officer! A sexy hot dog! I'd like something nautical without looking like well...

Oh, and Bee is already taken.

Letter to Albuquerque

Dear Albuquerque,

You and I kind of got off to a bad start. With that whole delayed flight from Denver, which was totally Denver's fault-with the bad weather and all. But Denver and I have a long and complicated history and no matter what happens, I will always hold a special place in my heart for CO.

Anyway, getting there late and coming within mere seconds of being stranded at the rental car counter didn't really do much to endear me to you. Neither did the whole fiasco with the hotel, although that did turn out well when I got my palatial corner room (albeit with no bed, just a pull out sofa. Or more correctly 3 pull out sofas. And a fantastic shower!). Oh, and that "joke" with the missing package? Not funny.

The college fair was pretty good, except just so you know, charging the admissions reps for snacks and beverages? TACKY! It was nice to be done at 3:oo though and have the afternoon to myself. Chapman and I did have quite a nice walk to Old Town. I never would have thought to put the PRISON right near the convention center, but good for you! It's a nice touch.

The awesome old guy at the ice cream shoppe was a nice surprise as well. Of course, he is originally from Colorado, so you only get partial credit. But that malt was pretty damn good.

One more thing, that whole rule about no alcohol within so many feet from a church? Not so much. And I'm from Massachusetts where you can't do anything fun. Ever.

So, Albuquerque, I don't have a whole lot to say about you, but I do appreciate the FREE WIRELESS at the airport. That part is awesome!

Perpetuating the myth

"Ok, so we just happen to show up at the coffee shop, looking completely fabulous, where Shifty is playing tonight..."
"Right. And I pretend that I just happen to be driving around listening to sea shanties on my iPod."
"Awesome."

Nautical, But Naked

Topic of today's group information session.

You know those nightmares where you realize you are in school/at work/speaking at the UN and totally naked? On the same theme, I have this paranoid fear of trying on clothes in store dressing rooms and then forgetting to put my pants back on and walking out into the store pantless. I've never actually done this. Or even come close. But I worry about it. A lot.

Today I had to give an information session to a group of prospective students and parents. Of course I was freaked out because the last (and first) time I had given one was over a month ago and surely I had forgotten everything I ever knew about Clark in that time.

Also, I realized that the pants I am wearing today make me feel naked.

I mean, they are just black, cropped pants (like pretty much ALL my pants) but the key difference is that they actually FIT me. I almost never buy clothes that actually fit. Mostly because they haven't made clothes to fit my body in at least 30 years. But also because I worry that if I buy clothes that fit I will gain weight or something and then they won't fit and I will be down one pair of pants. So I buy things that are too big. And then I buy a lot of belts.

So, I had on my naked pants and my nautical-themed shoes (which are the most awesome shoes EVER) and a striped shirt and my anchor/ship's wheel necklace that my (awesome) sister got me and a room full of people who were only mildly interested in what I had to say. And half of whom left early. And the rest of whom didn't find any of my "jokes" even remotely funny.

Sigh.

Must go home and cobble together a pizza in a (probably) hopeless attempt to redeem myself after the Great Paella/Biscuit Disaster of Last Weekend.

What The Kids Are All Talking About These Days

Me: Rockabilly Vampire?? I want my boyfriend to be a Rockabilly Vampire!
MiniSchooligan: I know, right? It's perfect! Sleep all day, rock all night!

I Should Really Know Better By Now

With the temperatures getting cooler and the air getting crisper it's prime apple pie and bourbon drinking weather. There's nothing quite like a cool night and a good glass of bourbon to make you feel warm down to the tips of your toes.

While bourbon sipping goes quite well with porch sitting and conversing with friends, it does not necessarily make cooking easier, although it does frequently make it more delicious. (See: bourbon balls, bourbon pecan pie and sauteed duck breast with bourbon cream sauce. Hmmm. There's an idea for a dinner party...) There may have been a slight biscuit disaster following the aforementioned bourbon sipping. (Note: "grease pan" is not a mere suggestion.) However, I was able to perform some damage control by dousing the whole debacle in cheese gravy. Cheese! It's good for covering up mistakes!

Answer: Who says Percherons can't pull?

Question: How do you start a bottle fight at the Sterling fair?

This Sunday, my sister and the lovely Serena (adjunct family member) and I went to the Sterling Fair. I like this fair for many reasons, the least of which is not that it's totally free. Prizewinning vegetables + ample amounts of fried food = One really great time. (Insider's tip: When assembling your vegetable cornucopia, make sure your cucumbers are the proper size. The judges this year were totally frowning on over sized cukes.)

I may have been born in Worcester, but I am totally a down home girl at heart. There's nothing like some draft horse competition and cute boys with Skoal rings on their pockets to make me want to grip a piece of hay in my teeth and sheepishly kick a dirt clod with the toe of my boot.

Everyone is nicer in Minnesota

Especially lumberjacks. But also hipsters.

Spent the weekend in Minneapolis visiting Slevy, drinking, and going to the State Fair. I have to say that I'll know I've made it when my face is carved into a hunk of butter.

Categorizing People Isn't Something We Do In the Buffet Line

Today was the "Fall Kick Off" reception at President Bassett's house. I pretty much went for the free beer. And hors d'oeuvres. I had sort of forgotten that I would have to mingle. With professors that I had like 10 years ago who totally didn't remember me.

I did meet a cute English professor who mistakenly sampled a beet and watercress appetizer. And a guy who ALSO likes olde tymey baseball and penny farthings. And another native-Worcesterite who has no accent. Oh, and I didn't drink or eat too much or say anything stupid to the President. A rousing success!!

I did however agree to run a 5k in September. But I did that BEFORE I started drinking, so I must just be a colossal idiot. Instead of a drunken idiot. Shit.

The Object of My Affection

Is either in the glass in front of me (gin) or on my lap (Underfoot).



Ok, so I have been working at Clark for about 2 weeks now. I only feel vaguely more knowledgable than when I started. But lucky for me, no one seems to notice.



Actually, I am really liking my new gig. I feel, for the first time EVER, like I did something positive career wise. It still doesn't quite seem real. I work with people my own age! I make decisions! I have no time to research weird things on the internet!



Ok, well, today I had a little time between 4:30 and 5, and suddenly remembered the live action Popeye movie with Robin Williams and Shelly Duval circa 1980. So I went to IMBD and looked that up. Man, what a kick ass movie. I mean, when I was like, 4, it was my absolute favorite! I decided to put it on my Netflix queue, but am sort of scared that watching it at age much-older-than-4 that it just won't be the same.

The Tax Man: You just docked?
Popeye: I has.
The Tax Man: Ah ha, let's see here, that'll be 25¢ docking tax.
Popeye: What for?
The Tax Man: Where's your sea craft?
Popeye: It ain't no sea craft, it's me dinghy and it's under the wharf.
The Tax Man: Ah ha. ahh-ha. This your goods?
Popeye: They is.
The Tax Man: Yeah. You're new in town right?
Popeye: If you call this a town, yes.
The Tax Man: Well, first of all, there's 17¢ new-in-town tax, and there's 45¢ rowboat-under-the-wharf tax, and one dollar leaving-your-junk-lying-around-the-wharf tax, so all together, you owe the Commodore $1.87.
Popeye: Uh, who's this Commodore?
The Tax Man: Is that the nature of question? There's a nickel question tax.

Brilliant, no?

Two things I will not miss about working here

(D-bag edition)

My coworkers took me out to lunch yesterday. At the Sole Proprietor (fancy-pants fish restaurant) no less. So much awsum!!!11!one!! I was actually surprised that they were all so misty-eyed at my upcoming departure. I was also surprised that they kept wanting to talk about climbing.

I was not, however, surprised that TSV made the following comments to me:
TSV: I'm really surprised you are eating bacon.
Me: delicately nibbling my bacon wrapped scallops Are you kidding me? Why is that surprising? (*note: I will eat practically anything wrapped in bacon.)
TSV: Well, I just thought you were healthier than that.
Me: thinking And I thought we could get through lunch without you making some jackass comment.

Later on that day, at around 4:58 pm to be exact, another coworker (who I genuinely like and who surprised me with his douchebaggery) came over to chat with me about me leaving. I had to explain, yet again, where I was going and what I am doing. ("So, you are the Assistant to the Director of Admissions?" "No, I AM the Assistant Director") Then he gets into a long winded and hopelessly irritating conversation about his son and the value of a college education that goes something like this:
Him: Yeah, so it's really important to have a college degree these days.
Me: Mmmhmm (looking at clock)
Him: Do YOU have a 4 year degree?
Me: Yes
Him: My son didn't want to go to college, blah blah blah, I told him he really needs to get a 4 year degree in this day and age to be able to blah blah blah, I mean, even a degree in English would be better than nothing!
Me: HEY!
Him: Oh. Is that what you have a degree in?
Me: Yes.
Him: *turns red*

For the last time people, WE CAN'T ALL BE ENGINEERS!!!

No More Cock For Me

(At least not while I'm working...)

As of July 27th I will no longer be working at The Cock. On August 1st, I start my new jay-oh-bee at the lovely Clark University. I had off-handedly asked my brother to let me know if there were any openings and lo-and-behold the Admissions Office was hiring. I had worked there as an Undergrad (and helped my brother get a job there) and the woman I used to work for emailed me and advised me to send in my resume. Which I did, after many many agonizing days trying to make it look like I have some legitimate experience. (Thanks, Slev!)

I figured that my status as an Alum and a former student worker would probably get me an interview, which it did. On the hottest day of the entire summer. At least they probably thought I was sweating because it was hot, not because I had no idea what the hell I was doing in their office. I felt like the interview went... all right. At least until I started thinking about all the (probably) really dumb things I said.

Apparently they were all the right dumb things because I found out last week that I got the job!

Two Things I Will Not Miss About Working For Cock:

1. Conversations like this one:
TSV: I won't be in Friday.
Me: k.
TSV: I am having a colonoscopy.
Me: o_o
TSV: It's my 2nd one. (pause) You know, they really aren't as bad as people make them out to be.
Me: thinking Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

2. People who insist on using Comic Sans in presentations and expect to be taken seriously.

7 Deadly Something or Other

Today I was trying to remember the 7 Deadly Sins. I'm convinced that each passing day brings my brain closer to complete mush, so sometimes I test myself to see just how many things I have forgotten. Among the forgotten are Wrath and Sloth.

Wrath I can sort of understand, I tend more towards extreme annoyance. But Sloth? SLOTH? How could I, the person who was seriously freaked out each and every time (approx. 812) I watched Se7en, forget about SLOTH?

Dear Sloth, after all those nights when I couldn't fall asleep because I was thinking about you and all the times I had to leave ALL THE LIGHTS on in my house just so I wouldn't accidentally stumble upon your atrophied limbs while making my way to the bathroom, how could I ever forget you, Sloth? You had an integral role in the Hearts games I played when I should have been doing something more productive on my computer and figured prominently into many many games of "Would you rather?" I even took you on my wagon train in Oregon Trail II. (You died of dysentery. Sorry.)

I guess it's just fortunate that extreme forgetfulness is not a mortal sin. Or is it? I can't remember.

People at the (yoga) party hot hot hot!!!

Yes, I know that it's better to yoga in a warmer room because it keeps your muscles loose and what not. But I also know that it's impossible for me to concentrate on my breathing when I am sweating so much that it looks like I peed my pants.

Honestly. Can it plz be gin and tonick time now?
Kthxbai.