Suburban Sweetheart

Quirky Weekend, Lovely Life

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Wed, 30 May 2012 12:00:00 +0000

There's nothing quite like a three-day weekend to refresh a slightly downtrodden soul. Nathan had to work overnight on Friday, so I spent the evening drinking PBR in a can & catching up on reading blogs. No photos are available because I was so tired & downtrodden that I became immediately drunk & fell asleep early.

When I awoke on Saturday, Nathan was home... & cooking breakfast burritos! They were supposed to be breakfast tacos, but, um, he bought the big tortillas. Whatever, that doesn't make them any less delicious. I like anything that involves chorizo.

There's a joke in "American Reunion" in which Kevin rags on ex-girlfriend Vicky for posting photos of her meals online. Nathan likes to mention this any time I snap a pic of our culinary creations, but Instagram beckons, y'all, & I do not want to disappoint.

My friends Jeff & Michelle came up from Boston on Sunday, & we were proud to show them around Portsmouth & show off our cute little town - you know, right before we vacate it. I took another food photo because after 15 months in New England, I finally ate my first lobster roll - & let me tell you, it did not suck. Thanks to The River House for selling "lob dogs," four-inch lobster rolls that aren't too overwhelming for first-timers like me. And for having a sweet deck overlooking the Piscataqua River that was perfect for a sunny Sunday.

And then we had the best cream ever in the history of ever and took awkward pictures in front of some shark graffiti.

On Monday - BONUS WEEKEND! - Nate & I decided to walk downtown, which is about a two-mile walk. Not far, but just far enough that we don't do it very often, mostly because I am the absolute definition of an indoor kid. We neglected to consider the fact that it was a holiday & that there might be a parade happening (& honestly, what parade happens at 1pm?) but alas, a parade was about to begin just as we reached the square. A couple hundred people lined the streets, anxiously awaiting... an ambulance, two bands, MacGruff the crime dog, & assorted other city folk. The whole parade was exactly the length of one James Brown song - specifically "Get Up Offa That Thing," which I know because we watched the parade from inside a pizza place, & that's what was playing as it went by.

Nathan recently described Portsmouth as "white people run amok," & nothing says that quite like a Segway tour. What were they even touring?! What is there to say?! This is just, like, a side street in suburbia. "On your left, folks, you'll see a parking deck to the left, with some spacious metered spots to the right, and a bank up ahead. Enjoy the sites!"

On our way home, we stopped to look for a cache in a cemetery near our apartment. In the process, we were thrilled to find a hidden little precipice overlooking the river, where Nathan capitalized on the opportunity to skip a few rocks. I would totally want to have a picnic here sometime, if we weren't leaving town in four weeks.

I found the cache & subsequently marveled over this photo of me looking much, much skinnier than I actually am:

On our way home, we spotted this headstone. Did I feel bad giggling about someone's grave marker on Memorial day? Unequivocally yes. Could I resist? Clearly not.

Photographic Interlude

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Tue, 29 May 2012 22:49:00 +0000

I just wanted to be sure you were all privy to this, the best & most expressive photo to ever exist, taken at my friends Jessie & Avi's wedding in March:

The Facebook conversation about it currently looks like this:

Micaela (second from left): this picture is so extreme!
Rebecca (far left): Kate's face is AMAZING.
Micaela: we literally look like we are all about to burst open
Me: I look like I am possibly in the process of already bursting.

You're welcome.

My Now-Defunct Little Black Book

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Fri, 25 May 2012 22:13:00 +0000

I told you guys you could ask me anything (you still can, BTW), & man, you really went for the juicy stuff. At least three people asked me what my dating life was like before Nate, & while I briefly pondered whether that was too personal & in the past, I ultimately decided that my stories were worth telling, if only because feel a lot of it is really relatable & rather funny.

I used to be fond of saying, "I don't date." I even wrote a whole blog post about it. Though I dated someone for six months in my mid-20s (which is a significant enough period of time that we were labeled by nearly everyone as "dating"), I refused to call him my boyfriend or to let him call me his girlfriend. For whatever reason, I always felt uncomfortable in relationships & using the terminology that accompanies them. And yes, I recognize that perhaps I need therapy.

Anyway, "I don't date" was mostly a lie. I felt convinced it was true, but in retrospect, I did a fair amount of dating. There was one bad JDate.com outing with someone who reminded me of my pal @MisterDisco but way gayer, & there was a friend with benefits who remains a friend but without the benefits. In fact, there are lots of stories to tell, many of them ending with my being unspeakably awkward. With my lovely boyfriend's blessing, let's recap some of the notables, complete with Tucker Max-style photos!

The Non-Boyfriend was a friend of a friend who I initially met through work. When I won a free happy hour at a skeevy bar on Valentine's Day of 2007, that mutual friend invited him to join us, & we kissed on the dance floor, which was plenty embarrassing because, hi, you're not in college anymore. Though he had very well-coiffed facial hair & was very nice, he was also very boring, & I stayed with him only because I knew we probably wouldn't ever speak again if we broke up, & I liked spending time with him. When I broke it off, though, he somehow turned the tables & made me feel like I'd been broken up with, telling me I was too distant & that he just wanted someone to, like, hang out in pajamas & watch movies with. The one time I saw him after that, he was with his now-fiancee (who has the same name as him) on the Metro, & he pretended like he'd never seen me before. Also, I later found out that none of my male friends liked him.

The Stoner-Turned-Soldier worked at my college dining hall & used to wink at me from across the room in our psychology class. We went on a few dates, whatever that really means in college, & then I became too unspeakably awkward for any of it to continue. Like, literally. You know how some people are so cool that they intimidate you such that you become unable to be yourself around them? We tried again when he moved to D.C., where I learned that he'd morphed from a pot-smoking hippie into a suit-wearing Patrick Bateman type, though just as charming as he was before. He wasn't interested in being in a relationship so much as he was interested in being aloof & stringing me along & pretending like he didn't have any idea that I was super into him. When he deployed overseas with the army, I wrote him a long, rambling letter detailing All Of My Feelings, & he never spoke to me again because I was a creeper.

I met Johnny Fajitas at a bar after an inauguration party. I was wearing a dress & everything! His friends & mine initially began chatting about a bear-sized man passed out on a barstool between our two groups, & we hit it off from there. He was far too attractive & vain to be interested in the likes of me, but we had similar senses of humor & endless conversational topics because we had just about nothing in common. He was essentially a southern frat boy - tan skin, boat shoes, Nantucket red pants, & all. We never identified as anything but people who hung out together on weekends, & when he learned that I'd been seeing someone else at the same time, he left my apartment in a fit of rage at 4am & never returned. No, really - he moved to Utah the next week, & I never heard from him again. He's now a successful TV news anchor. I told you he was attractive.

The Bike-Riding Hipster is the only guy I ever met from OKCupid in real life because I am too afraid of being abducted to trust Internet people. We went on The Best First Date Ever, to a bar & then to an impromptu Wheat show, but after a few dates, I did that thing where I became unspeakably awkward thing (see above), & he was like, "OK, no." We tried again one other time, but he was always out of the country for work, & eventually I started dating Nathan & moved away. I also forgot to mention that he looks a lot like my dad did in the '70s, so that's weird.

I approached The Wise Man at his birthday party, which I attended with our mutual friends, & the next day, he proudly told his friends he'd gotten my number, when really, it was the other way around but he had been too drunk to remember the details. He was way into me, & I was way awkward, & though we literally tried to date for maybe three years, it just never worked out. One time I broke it off in an email because apparently I am a cowardly asshole. The night of my going-away party in D.C., he told me that my inability to accept affection & be in a normal relationship taught him that he is, essentially, capable of better & more. I cried myself into dehydration when I got home that night, & he proposed to his girlfriend the next week.

If you read all of that, congrats: You have a champion attention span & are now an expert on my D.C. dating days. I should note that I still count those last two, The Bike-Riding Hipster & The Wise Man, among my current friends, because I'm a firm believer in hanging onto good people when you find them, even if not in the way you initially thought you might.

And hey, did I mention that I'm really lucky these days?

I believe it was John Mayer who said, "And when I look behind on all my younger times, I'll have to thank the wrongs that led me to a love so strong."

If You See Something, Say Something

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Mon, 21 May 2012 03:07:00 +0000

My pal Joey & I went geocaching on Friday evening, in search of a cache near my mom's house that Nathan & I couldn't locate last summer. This particular cache is in a very public area, right at the corner of the entrance to my neighborhood & a busy, highly trafficked main street, so we knew we would probably look like crazy people in our attempt to unearth said cache, but we went for it anyway. I'm not afraid of looking like a crazy person, in case you hadn't caught on to that yet.

For 15 minutes, we upturned rocks & scoured street signs, looking for any possible place that an "easy to find" cache might be hiding. Admitting defeat, we were just about to throw in the towel when it occurred to me that someone's comment about the cache, "It was lit up like daylight," could be a clue. Sure enough, there it was: a teeny, tiny canister Velcroed to the back of an electrical box. Victory!

Just as we began to sign our names to the log, a police car pulled up. BUSTED. "Can I ask what you're doing?" the officer inquired, & I tried not to look too embarrassed when I told him we were geocaching. "You're what?" he asked, flummoxed, & I tried to explain: "It's... like a scavenger hunt... on the Internet..." (So much for not being embarrassed.) I guess that was a convincingly nerdy explanation, because the cop just said, "OK. I got a call that someone was messing with the box," & then drove away.

Dude. How often do guys in madras shorts & gals with Zooey Deschanel bangs hack electrical boxes in broad daylight? Good looking out, neighborhood watch!

Fame Monster

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Thu, 17 May 2012 02:21:00 +0000

On my rapidly expiring list of 101 Things to Do in 1,001 Days is "Fly first class." Of course, flying first class is spendy precisely so that riffraff like me can't afford to fly first class, so despite my recent spate of air travel, I've yet to make this one happen.

But today, as I checked into my flight home to Ohio, I realized that the cost of flying first class was only moderately higher than the cost of checking my bag - & included a free bag check! I thought, "Why not?" & just let it happen. Spontaneity! I haz it!

There's something so beautiful about boarding first. About having extra leg room. About not fearing that you'll be seated next to an infant. About drinking complimentary cocktails & eating free snacks & wearing a snappy blazer & reading a People magazine. About taking it easy. About living the high life - for real.

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Wed, 16 May 2012 16:52:00 +0000

I am blatantly thieving an idea from my friend Chaviva of Kvetching Editor. Is it still thieving if I give her credit & admit that it's stolen? It's not my fault that I have smart friends with good ideas.

I've been insanely busy lately. I started a new job in April that has me struggling to keep my head above the proverbial waters. Nathan came home from his final deployment, and we're now planning for our big move in July, including securing an apartment in Red Bank. And I'm headed to Ohio today for a week at home - and then again, almost immediately afterward, for my college best friend's wedding. Needless to say, my head isn't exactly in the game (High School Musical reference, I love you Corbin Bleu!), even though I'm constantly trying to come up with content.

That's where you come in.

Have you ever wanted to ask me something but didn't want to feel like an anonymous jerk? Here, I'm welcoming it! I mean, I'd still prefer that you didn't be a jerk, but you can use this space to ask me questions that I'll answer on my blog or turn into whole blog posts, if the topic is interesting enough. Ask me my favorite color, ask me to tell you a story, ask me something totally absurd. Submit your questions here.

Of course, not all questions will be answered publicly on the blog. But by filling out this form, you acknowledge that you have given me permission to post and publicly answer your question. Fire away!

We Become Them

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Sun, 13 May 2012 22:37:00 +0000

I don't look like anyone in my family; when I was younger, this bothered me a lot. Of course, it didn't help that when I was in elementary school, a friend's mother insinuated that I might have been adopted. From there, I spent years agonizing over whether I was truly my parents' daughter, requiring my mother to show me photos of her while pregnant and with me in the hospital after my birth just to appease my fear that I was secretly someone else entirely.

I don't look much more like my parents now than I did then, though my hair, blonde and stick-straight in my childhood, has now grown dark and wavy in my late 20s, which brings me a bit closer to looking like I may belong to my mother. My father passed away when I was nearly 11 and everyone else on his side of the family has either passed away or broken off ties, leaving me no real metric as to what looking like that part of my family might actually, well, look like. My mom, bless her, is just under 5' tall, with coarse hair and dark skin, neither of which I inherited; I also didn't get her broad nose or her deep-set hazel eyes.

Just before Mother's Day this year, my mom and I got into an argument. We didn't talk to one another for nearly 48 hours except to exchange some angry text messages; for an only child and a single parent with a relationship as close as ours, this was an eternity. I moped about my apartment for the sum of the time, periodically shouting exclamations on both sides of the spectrum, from "I'm so mad at my mom!" to "I just wish I could talk to my mom!" I was unsure whether I should call her on Mother's Day, whether she would want to hear from me, but ultimately, no mother should go unrecognized on the holiday meant to honor them, and so I called.

She was with my aunt and uncle, her only siblings, all gathered at my grandparents' house for the weekend. It was no happy occasion, though. My grandfather passed away in 2008, and in the wake of my grandmother's death last month, the three of them have spent nearly every other weekend there, sorting through her belongings, divvying up her art, settling her paperwork, and preparing to sell her house.

"I'm sorry," my mom said, almost immediately, when we connected. "I'm so sorry." And I was sorry, too, of course. From there, we discussed the incident that had stemmed the argument, born of my mother's concern for my health and weight. "I'm just so worried all the time," she told me. "It's like, as soon as Grandma died, all of her worry transferred onto me."

Needless to say, that's not exactly the sort of torch you hope to see passed down through the ages.

It got me thinking, though. It got me thinking about all the many ways we become our parents, or versions of them, and of everyone who's ever influenced our lives in a meaningful way. Of how we take on their burdens, carry them as our own, and bear not only their positive traits but also their negative ones.

I am my mother's daughter. I may not have her stature or her eyes, but like her, I am resilient and adaptable. Like her, I enjoy solitude almost beyond being social, and I am more comfortable in a good book than a large crowd. Like my mother, too, I am sometimes messy and absent-minded, sometimes too emotionally fragile, sometimes unable to verbally express myself even when I most want to.

I am my grandmother's granddaughter. I believe in social justice and dedicating myself to the causes that matter most to me. I believe in politics and staying educated, if only so that I can hold my own in an argument. I believe in talking to strangers, sometimes even when they'd rather I didn't. For better or for worse, I also believe in sometimes being a nag in order to get things done, in harping on my points until the subject of my harping gives in and does it my way.

So much of me can be attributed to my father and grandfather, too. My dad's sense of humor, but perhaps also his temper. My grandfather's charisma , but also his depression. Though our family pictures may not immediately belie my heritage, I am a product of these people who so lovingly made me their own, who ensured that I grew into a unique individual who also comprised the very best that they had to offer - along with some of the bad parts, too, because we are human, and that's how this works.

I never needed to look like anyone in my family. They've been within me all along.

(And Happy Mother's Day, Mom. You're my favorite person.)

My Life in Hamburgers

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Thu, 10 May 2012 03:15:00 +0000

In playing the classic drinking game "Never Have I Ever," my old standby was, "Never have I ever eaten a hamburger." I'd sit in smug satisfaction as I watched people's reactions: "What? Never? Are you a vegetarian or something?!" & when I told them no, never, & yes, I do eat other meat, I couldn't help but smile as their mouths fell open in surprise. Apparently, meat-eaters who don't eat hamburgers are HUGE FREAKS.

I don't have a good reason for why I never tried a hamburger as a child beyond this simple one: I just didn't want to. Hot dogs appealed to me. Chicken nuggets appealed to me. And yet hamburgers... just never appealed to me. I'm not kidding when I tell you that I used to order grilled cheese from McDonald's. Yeahhh, that's not on the menu.

Flash forward to June 2011, when I decided that the time had come. I wanted to eat a hamburger. I don't know where my inspiration came from, but it had finally come, & after all these years, I wasn't about to deny it. On a visit home to Ohio, Nathan & I made a special trip to Swenson's, a local chain once voted "America's Best Burger" by Forbes. Everyone said my first burger absolutely had to come from Swenson's, & as a loyal Ohioan, I wasn't about to forgo my roots.

It was... fine. It definitely wasn't the meaty nightmare that Childhood Kate imagined, but Adult Kate didn't really feel the need to eat another burger ever again, either. I had tried it; that was enough.

And then, this March, I traveled to Phoenix for my friends' wedding. At the afterparty (it's the remix to ignition, hot & fresh out the kitchen), someone's dad popped by with a box full of In 'N' Out Burgers of varying topping arrangements. In 'N' Out, the West Coast's holy grail of hamburgers - how could I resist? It had been nearly a year since my first & only hamburger, & I decided I couldn't let this unique opportunity pass me by.

It was better than the first one. Like, way better. Sorry, Ohio. But was that just because I was post-wedding buzzed? (Which is to say, actually buzzed?) I couldn't tell; I had to know. The next day, on our way out of town, my coworker Sean & I made a stop at In & Out's drive-thru, where we shocked the employee who served us by admitting that we'd never been to an In & Out before. "We're from the East Coast!" we insisted by way of explanation. Sean ordered his burger animal-style; I ordered a plain old cheeseburger, & boy, was I excited to eat it.

That day, it became official: I became a person who eats hamburgers. Since then, I have indulged in Shake Shack & McDonald's burgers, too, & most recently, Boston Burger Co., where my friends & I agonized over which burgers would be best. After much debate, I settled on the Mac Attack, topped with four-cheese macaroni & cheese & a heap of bacon. This was the healthiest thing our group ordered, if you can believe it.

Guys. It's official. I'm a hamburger person now - & damnnnn, it feels delicious!

Oh, When the Saints Come Marching In

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Thu, 03 May 2012 03:01:00 +0000

Who says nothing exciting ever happens in small towns? Sure, I haven't ridden the Metro with a chicken here, like I did in D.C., but that doesn't mean I don't see quirky, quaint things every day in downtown Portsmouth.

Take last Friday, for example: I was leaving my favorite tchotchke shop, Macro Polo, when I heard the music. Literally. Big-band music, live, coming from somewhere nearby. I rounded the corner & found that on the town square (yes, the town square - three cheers for small towns!), a rag-tag band had assembled, made up of members of varying ages. Some were wearing costumes & others wearing their everyday duds, but all were wearing smiles. They had no sign identifying them, no bucket out for collections, & no apparent purpose other than to make passersby happy.

My personal favorites, of course, are the barefoot young girl in the tutu & the spirited, middle-aged majorette. Happiness mission totally accomplished.

Jesus Sent Me a Chain Letter

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Sun, 29 Apr 2012 06:09:00 +0000

This came in the mail last week:

Naturally, I was wary of opening it. I considered tossing it out with the rest of the junk mail, but how could I resist opening such a dramatic envelope? Inside, I found all kinds of goodies:

A sign from the Lord about my future? Well, heck! I want to know what it is! This is like being mailed a fortune cookie, except probably junk mail doesn't taste very good. Then again, fortune cookies don't either.

I spent awhile trying to figure out exactly what the purpose of this mailing was, & as far as I could tell, it was about a prayer rug. Now, I don't know what a prayer rug is, but it sure seemed to helped Y.G. in Maryland in, like, 1973, based on this photo. Who needs Publishers Clearing House when you can just... have a prayer rug?!

I'm down for just about anything that promises to net me $46k, so I read on. The next page didn't explain much, but I started to put the pieces together. Basically, I got a chain letter from a church, but don't worry, it's not the "Death will befall you" kind. In fact, it's very upfront about the benefits: "SOMETHING GOOD IS ABOUT TO HAPPEN."

It reads, "Please do not open this prophecy until after you have placed your prayer page ... & the prayer rug back in the mail before sunset tomorrow or the next day." I wonder why the sunset part matters...? But more importantly, I now know that I am just one page away from my very own prayer rug!

Yeah, I didn't read the next page.

I'M SO CLOSE TO MY PRAYER RUG.

So I broke the seal, & there it was.

Well, this just got creepier. What exactly am I supposed to do with this? What was I expecting a prayer rug to look like? Of course it's creepy.

"Soaked with the power of prayer," huh? Yesterday I accidentally soaked a birthday card to a friend when I spilled a Pabst Blue Ribbon on it, & it was totally destroyed. Either prayer is not very wet or my prayer rug is indestructible.

I considered sending the prayer rug back, as Saint Matthew's Churches requests. I mean, why not?

And then I remembered why not: I don't want this church preying (praying? No pun intended!) on poor people who might actual fall for some chain mail "prayer rug." So, you know, I'm blogging about it instead. That's basically the same as mailing it back, right? I'm paying it forward!

*IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER: You guys know I'm Jewish, but I sincerely hope this post doesn't in any way offend my Christian readers. I have nothing but respect for people of other faiths & of no faith. Please recognize that poking fun at this weird chain letter is not the same as poking fun at the things you believe in. I am not freaked out by or disdainful of your religion - just by this prayer rug.

G-L-A-M-O-R... Eh, Forget It

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Tue, 24 Apr 2012 04:18:00 +0000

(Disclaimer: This is not a beauty post, I swear. Bear with me - even you, dude readers.)

I get Birchbox & MyGlam every month, & I love them mostly because I'm a fariyl lazy individual. I'm lazy in that I don't like shopping for beauty products, & I've never gone to Sephora to ask for a makeover, & I prefer reading funny lifestyle blogs to ones about nail polish & moisturizers. I wore the same eyeliner (not the same pencil, just the same brand) from 8th grade through my sophomore year of college, & my overall beauty routine is still largely the same as it was during those formative years. Because I am lazy.

All that to say that I really like it when Birchbox & MyGlam send me stuff every month that I'd never find on my own. It's how I've discovered lots of great new products - but this post isn't about those great new products. This post is about how sometimes, beauty-by-mail companies get it wrong. Way wrong.

Like when Birchbox sent me these:

Yeah, that is stick-on eyeliner. The little bubble up in the corner says "Lasts up to 16 hours," which really slays me, because of course they do, they're stickers. That's like if, when you went to the pediatrician as a kid & the doc handed you a Power Rangers sticker at the end for being good, he also added, "This sticker will last up to 16 hours, little Johnny!" because, hey, that's how stickers work. They're sticky.

Bur that gal on the cover of the package looks pretty glamorous, & hey, I might like to look glamorous, too, so let's give these a go!

Uhhh, nevermind.

The Greatest Invention You've Never Heard Of

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Sun, 22 Apr 2012 17:51:00 +0000

I have a decent memory.

Sometimes. Like, for some things.

OK, in truth, my memory sucks. My friends & family often have to fill in the blanks for me or put events in chronological order for me. I have an uncanny ability to remember the specific, unimportant details of particular moments that have no real significance, but when it comes to the basics of my own life, I'm already 75. I cannot remember the last time I spoke to my dead ex-boyfriend or the bands I saw live in college or even what cities I visited while in Israel in February.

A few years back, my friend Rachel & I invented something that will surely revolutionize the way the world works. Every once in awhile, I get really excited when I think about the fact that perhaps someday, this invention could actually, you know, be invented - by someone a lot smarter than me. That smart person can have all the credit, if he or she can really make it happen. I don't need the royalties; I just need my invention to actually exist someday.

Bet you're intrigued, huh? Let me tell you more. Come closer! Too close, too close.

OK. You know how, if you don't know the answer to something, you can just Google it? And if you have a smartphone, how you can just Google it on the spot, while you stand there? You can be like, "Oh, that actresses face looks so familiar! Hey, IMDB, how do I know that actress's face?" & in just a few seconds, IMDB will tell you that actress's name is Riki Lindhome, & you know her face because she was on "Gilmore Girls" a really long time ago. Or whatever. That's just an example; you don't have to actually give a shit about Riki Lindhome to care about my invention.

You know what would be even more amazing than being able to comb the Internet's collective knowledge? Being able to comb your own brain for things you know or once knew to play upon your existing knowledge in those forgetful moments.

I know. You're totally blown away. I am, too. BUT THINK ABOUT IT. You see someone's face & know you've him somewhere, but you have no idea how. You scan his features & think about a few key search terms, like, "college?" or "friend hooked up with him?" & your brain does its thang, retrieving old info to let you know that you actually only know that guy because he used to be the regular barista at that coffee shop you stopped going to awhile back.

It's for more than just facial recognition, though. Have a tune stuck in your head but no lyrics to go with it? Hum that tune to your own brain and it'll Shazaam your knowledge base, reminding you that it's a song you once sang at your high school Pops concert in 2001. Can't find your keys? Pull up a brain map back to the place you were when you last had them.

Rachel & I are geniuses, we know. We've named our invention Google BodyTop, a play on the existing Google Desktop, which scans your computer's desktop for documents & emails & such. Google BodyTop is the perfect computerized mental accessory for the forgetful among us, guaranteed to help you remember everything from historical dates to grammatical rules to the plot of "Pride & Prejudice" - and beyond.

Someday, guys. Someday.

Wait, what were we talking about again...?

Reunited & it Feels So...

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Wed, 18 Apr 2012 22:00:00 +0000

In every young adult's life, there is one highly dreaded-slash-anticipated moment. For me, the day has finally arrived: I've been invited to my 10-year high school reunion.

People seem to have really strong feelings about reunions. It's all "NO WAY AM I GOING TO THAT" or "I WOULDN'T MISS THAT FOR THE WORLD." I seem to be unusual in that I don't have particularly strong feelings either way, except to say that I think Facebook has, to a large extent, ruined high school reunions: When we can see with a few clicks exactly what our old classmates are up to, it diminishes that nosy urge to see them in person to find out for ourselves how they've fared since graduation. Because most people put their best faces forward on Facebook,it's likely that we're getting a seriously warped view of our former peers' adult lives, but we rarely take that into account when we playing the game of comparing their lives to our own. This means we may be scared off from attending, worried that our lives won't stack up against former friends' impressive achievements - when really, they may be feeling the same way about us.

You know what else ruins high school reunions? Movies about high school reunions. Romy & Michelle & Zack & Miri have set the bar too high in terms of reunion expectations. And have you seen "American Reunion"? They're all wearing suits & sporting nametags & drinking out of punchbowls, when I'm pretty sure my own reunion is going to be held at a townie bar, where I'd likely see 60% of my graduating class on a Saturday night in my hometown anyway. If I felt like my reunion was going to be an opportunity to look really good & essentially attend some adult prom, I might be more excited about going. Any excuse to make up for how I looked at my actual prom(s):

OK, that was just an excuse to show you funny prom photos. I'm so, so, so glad reunions are not adult proms because clearly girlfriend can't be trusted with ballgowns & updos. And what is that scarf?

What I'm trying to say is this: I liked high school. No, really, I did. I know a lot of people say high school was, like, the worst experience of their life & they never want to see any of those people ever again thankyouverymuch. I don't really feel that way. Was I sort of lame in high school? Yeah, sure, but I was 16 - & weren't we all kind of lame then? When it comes down to it, I was a happy kid who performed in show choir & school musicals, who spent four years on student council, who was elected to the class executive board because I was friendly & made an effort to get to know everyone, not because I was really popular & awesome. I edited our school paper. I spoke at my high school commencement ceremony. I never drank or did drugs or had sex or was friends with people who did. Teachers liked me, my classmates liked me, & in general, I was a pretty middle-of-the-road kid. I wasn't cool, & I wasn't a loser; I was just average, somewhere in between, with stringy hair & a prom dress that looked like it was made out of wrapping paper.

In so many ways, I'm still that middle-of-the-road girl. I'm not doing big, huge things, but neither am I living in a rat-ridden apartment & working at a gas station. I moved out of my hometown, sure, but it's not like I'm leading some glamorous, fancy life; I shop at BJ's & Target, & I spend about 50% of every day in leggings. I also haven't gone the uber-domestic route (yet): I'm not married, I haven't popped out any kids, & I don't own a house or a dog. I have a good job, a good boyfriend, a good life. I wouldn't be embarrassed to tell anyone about my last 10 years, except maybe for a year or two when I was sort of a basketcase, but, hey, no one's asking me to bring a timeline to this thing. I'm gonna cut those anecdotes out of my answers to the inevitable repeats of "So what have you been up to?" Overall, these 10 years have been good ones.

All this to say that I think I'm going to go to my high school reunion, as long as I can make the timing work for me (because, really, who holds a high school reunion in August?). I'm going to talk a few snarky old friends like @NankOfAmerica, @KyleARoss, & @MissMarisaLee into coming with me, & when it gets to be too small-town to bear,* we're going to get the hell out of there & drink our Yuenglings in peace while we discuss how relieved we are to be adults.

And just because I love you, here you go:

PS: To my knowledge, 70% of the people in this photo are now married, most with kids; I am apparently a late bloomer. Regardless, I'm rockin' quite the bird's nest in this photo. Also, HOT PINKKKK. 2001, I don't even know you. Except for those skinny arms, which I'd like back, please & thank you.

*God, someone I went to high school with is going to read this & decide I'm an asshole in advance of the reunion. I may be shooting myself in the foot here.I LIKE ALL OF YOU OR ELSE I WOULDN'T BE COMING. Seriously.

I Spy a Discrepancy

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Fri, 13 Apr 2012 23:03:00 +0000

It seems we disagree on the meaning of "one way."

Positively Ageless: A Tribute to my Grandmother

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Thu, 12 Apr 2012 23:57:00 +0000

My grandma died on Tuesday after a brave go-round with a rare form of lung cancer. She was 82 years old & still full of spunk, even at the end.

I keep telling myself that for a woman as on-the-go as she was, it must've been agonizing to be confined to a hospital bed, at the mercy of others for everything from using the restroom to brushing her teeth to filling a glass of water. It's better, then, that she went out near the top of her game, only a few months into what could very well have become a long, drawn-out battle. We all expected her to pull through this challenge, so it still feels freshly shocking that she's truly gone - but if the options were death or a loss of her dignity, I know she would've chosen the former.

I flew home on Wednesday to be with my family at my grandma's home in Lima, Ohio. The funeral was held this morning, with a burial at the Jewish section of the local cemetery, where her husband & parents are all laid to rest. It was a moving, meaningful ceremony, conducted by her favorite rabbi & attended by more than 50 of her friends & family members, a tribute to the full & busy life she led.

I had the honor of delivering one of four eulogies for my grandmother, joined at the podium by my two younger cousins. Though it took me nearly 48 hours to figure out how to appropriately pay tribute to the most amazing woman I know, I found that once I discovered the words, the delivery was the easy part. The mourners in attendance laughed as much as they cried; together, we celebrated the beautiful, long life of a woman who loved nothing more than being alive.

The full text of my eulogy is below, & I hope it gives you a sense of the kind of woman my grandmother was. To say she will be missed is an understatement; to say she will continue to be loved is even more of one.

I spent the last 48 hours agonizing over what to say in a eulogy for my grandmother. What could I possibly say? How could I narrow it down? Last night, I found inspiration in an unexpected place. As I rummaged through my her vanity for a nail file, I came across a drawer full of moisturizer called "Positively Ageless." Simple as it was, I was struck by it because I realized that that was exactly the phrase I was looking for to describe my grandmother: "Positively ageless."

I distinctly remember being nine years old and at the Ohio State Fair with my grandparents, who let me stop to play one of those guessing games, where you get a prize if the fair employee guesses your age incorrectly. The guy guessed my grandma's age at 51; she was 64. But it wasn't just her youthful looks that made her ageless; it was also her outlook & her active lifestyle. My grandma wasn't one for naps or sleeping in; to her, life was worth waking up early for, & she always said, "I'll sleep when I'm dead." When other grandmas were baking comfort foods like chocolate chip cookies, mine was making things that were a little bit more unconventional, like soy chili and lemon sorbet. When other grandmas were curled up in front of fireplaces knitting, mine was walking miles a day, traveling all 50 states & across the world, to Japan & Greece & Israel & beyond. When other grandmas were slow-paced & laid-back, mine was living her life full steam ahead.

My grandma was a character in the very best kind of way. She was a fantastic, talented, creative painter, and her basement was filled with watercolors and supplies and dozens of works of art in progress. She was a bit of a neat freak, & whenever she came to visit my mom & me, she'd clean our home so well that we'd be unable to find anything for weeks after she left. She was thoughtful: For more than a decade, she sent me Milk ads torn out of all her magazines for my ever-growing collection, and she wrote me a check at every holiday, even Halloween. She went by her middle name, like me, but didn’t think it was a problem, like I do; when I was a teenager, she accompanied me to the DMV to argue with them when they refused to put my middle name on my driver’s license – and, of course, she convinced them to change their minds. A proud liberal, my grandma campaigned for John Kerry & Barack Obama, even in conservative little Lima, & she regularly sent letters of political protest to her Republican Congressman. She was on the board of the Friends of Lima Public Library & of Temple Israel Shaare Zedek, &between those & her other commitments, it sometimes seemed like she knew everyone in town. She was funny, too, whether intentionally or not, & one of my favorite memories is of the time I asked her for a plain bagel, & she told me, “Oh, I have something similar. It’s called an everything bagel. You just brush the stuff off," which I pointed out to her was the exact opposite of a plain bagel. Headstrong, whip-smart, & more than a little stubborn, my grandma was the matriarch of our little family - but she was also our peacekeeper, our cheerleader, & our friend.

Cliche though it may be, I will always remember my grandmother as someone who truly lived her life to the fullest. This is a common thing for people to say about their loved ones, but in this case, it couldn’t be more true: My grandma was one of the most incredible people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, much less of being related to, & we are all better off for having known her. She was an active participant in her own life, & she refused to let age or even illness affect her relentless optimism - something we could all take a lesson from. Instead of sitting back and letting time pass her by, she seized – and created – opportunities for learning and adventure.

Cancer may have caused my grandmother’s death, but it certainly didn’t take her life. She was, in a phrase, "positively ageless."

You know you're in an interfaith relationship when...

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Tue, 10 Apr 2012 04:06:00 +0000

Surprise, Surprise: I'm All Atwitter

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Wed, 04 Apr 2012 14:54:00 +0000

My friend/colleague/former boss emailed me this infographic last week with the subject line "Because I love you."

NOT EMBARRASSING AT ALL.

Needless to say, I am less than twitterpated with these stats, which make it looks like all I ever do is troll Twitter the whole day long.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go tweet about this.

My Worst Shopping-Alone Nightmare Come True

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Mon, 02 Apr 2012 15:57:00 +0000

We've already established that I like to do things alone: movies, dining, shopping. Ah, yes, shopping.

One of my favorite aspects of shopping alone is that I'm not beholden to anyone else's time, taste, or boredom level, so I can come & go from stores & departments as I please, at my own leisure. I (mostly) trust my opinion enough to buy clothes without second opinions, & if I'm really unsure, that's what return policies are for. In summary, I find shopping to be a relaxing solo activity.

BUT. I have a fear, a long-standing worry that I will someday get stuck in an article of clothing I can't get out of without assistance - assistance I won't have, by virtue of shopping alone.

You know where this is going. On Friday, my fear manifested itself into a real-life version of this hypothetical nightmare. I was at Kohl's trying on an Elle dress that I really loved. It zipped up easily but was ultimately too tight in the chest (story of my life); still, I liked it so much that I took a photo to send to my friend Sammi to lament the fact that I had to pass it up.

Almost immediately after taking this photo, I realized I was stuck in the dress. Like... STUCK. Really stuck - & feeling more claustrophobic by the second. What's more, I was clothed inappropriately for public appearance, as the dress was A) too tight, & B) half unzipped, which meant I couldn't go in search of a store employee to assist me. (The word "assist" is not typically synonymous with "disrobe," but it is here.)

It took three people to get me out of that dress. The first was a fellow female shopper who took pity on me (not before laughing at me) & tried her damnedest on that zipper before eventually giving up to return to browsing the sale rack. The second was a kind guy who was waiting outside the dressing room for his wife & offered to go in search of a store employee who could help me. And the third was a salesgirl he found, who entered the dressing room, took one look at me, & sighed, "Oh, THAT dress. Someone got stuck in it last week, too."

While I suppose I'm relieved that my dressing room disaster was the result of a faulty dress rather than a faulty body, I can't help but worry for all the other unsuspecting women who will try on this same frock, oblivious to the high potential for being held captive by its beauty. Literally.

Here's the best part: When the salesgirl finally got me unzipped, I asked if I needed to do anything with the broken dress - take it to the customer service desk or whatever. "Oh, no," she responded. "It's not broken. I'll go hang it back up now."

BUYER BEWARE. This dress really wants you to be in it.

Problematic Pasta & Successful Second Chances

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Sat, 31 Mar 2012 23:28:00 +0000

I like food.

I bet you do, too. Maybe not as much as I do, but that's a discussion for another day. Today, I want to tell you about how much I also like writing reviews of my food experience. (I almost wrote "my food-eating experiences," but that seemed too strange, even for me, which is rare.)

In January, I decided to check out The Kitchen, a new-ish cafe down the road from my apartment. After much vacillating about what to order, I went with one of the pasta dishes: spiral pasta with roasted tomatoes, melted cheese, spinach, & prosciutto. I paid my $9 & got it to go... & it was, hands down, one of the worst dishes I've ever had in my life. Sour, vinegar-y, such that it almost tasted rancid. I ate three bites & threw all $9 of it away & went for a Lean Cuisine instead. I proceeded to write a two-star Yelp review about my experience, & that was that. I vowed, of course, never to eat that dish again.

Until...

While I was in Israel, I received an email from one of the restaurant's two chefs, who implored me to give The Kitchen another shot. Upset by my bad experience, he explained that the dish I ordered is one of their most popular, & that it's always been successful at events. "We did you wrong and we need you to have a better taste in your mouth about us," he wrote. "Excuse the pun!" He'd already almost convinced me, & that line sealed the deal. I will not excuse the pun because I really like puns. Plus, it's a rarity for a business to reach out to social media folk in such a polite, friendly manner following negative press, so despite my not-so-tasty first try at The Kitchen, I decided to give it another go. The chef kindly offered to comp me my meal whenever I made it back in, but because a paid meal makes for the most honest review, I didn't tell him I was coming.

I ordered the same thing, but this time, I got it to stay - & it was really good. Everything was fresh, the portion was huge, & the flavors went together well. This is, of course, not to discount my initial experience, because everything I said stood true at the time, but I'm pleased that I gave the dish - and the restaurant - another try. Everyone has bad days, & maybe some dishes don't translate as well into to-go containers! I even approached Mike & staff after my meal, & they were super-nice; I promptly returned home to write a second-chance review.

Food aside, it says something about a restaurant's integrity when they reach out to a lowly blogger after a less-than-perfect experience. While the end goal may simply be better reviews, the friendliness & depth of Mike's email convinced me that The Kitchen deserved one more shot, & my meal today convinced me that it deserves more shots beyond that. I'll definitely be back, & I look forward to checking out the rest of their menu.

Businesses, take note: The Kitchen's doing it right.

Everything Falls Apart & Then I Get to Try to Put It Back Together

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Fri, 30 Mar 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Remember the song from the '90s that I got this post title from? It's been stuck in my head for a few days now, & because I haven't actually heard it in ages, I thought perhaps it was on mental repeat for some reason, a sign that I was supposed to start writing about why. Unfortunately, the words aren't coming easily because, in a rare moment of writer's block, I can't even figure out what I want or need to say.

I want to have something beautiful to say, something funny to say, something worthwhile or optimistic or even just entertaining. But to be honest, I don't know what to say. None of my words are cohesive or related - just a lot of feelings that aren't translating right onto paper, which is an unnerving experience for me. I always have something to say.

Look, it comes down to this: Every day, I take a look at my life & recognize how lucky I am - and how awful I still feel. The last couple of months, I've just been spiraling into this scary bottomless pit of sadness. There's too much going on, so much that I don't know how to absorb it all or manage it correctly, & when I don't know how to handle things, I turn inward & panic a lot.

Panic. That word sums it up, I think: I'm just so scared.

I'm scared of my new job because it means I might fail. It means I have to step out of my newly identified comfort zone, out of the safety of the position I held for just over a year & instead into a role that was created with me in mind. It means I have a lot to prove, a lot to live up to, a lot to do, & even though I'm also crazy excited about it, holy crap, that's so scary.

I'm scared of Nathan's new orders because they mean he won't leave every two months anymore, that he'll be home with me instead - all the time, like normal couples. It means we'll be entering into the "real" phase of our relationship, the one where we have to evaluate whether this is something we can & want to do for the rest of our lives, & thinking in such definite terms terrifies me because holy crap, that's so scary.

I'm scared of moving to Red Bank because it means starting over, doing everything I've been doing for a year now but have to do it better this time, actually making an effort to meet new friends & have a viable social life instead of curling up on the couch with my cat & falling asleep early on Friday nights. It means learning the ropes of a new place, figuring out how to be comfortable again, & being uncomfortable in the meantime while I assemble all the pieces of my new life - & holy crap, that's so scary.

I'm scared of less identifiable things, too, things like getting old, going broke, being unhealthy; nebulous ideas that haunt me & creep into my thoughts throughout any given day. I'm scared of never settling down, of never feeling fulfilled, of always hitting this same bump in the road whenever I'm faced with the necessary prospect of change. I'm scared of yet another transition into the unknown, just when I'd finally recovered from the last transition into the unknown.

To sum it all up: I'm scared, I'm scared, I'm scared. It's just that everything seems big & scary, & I'm not particularly adept at dealing with big, scary things. I keep looking around at my life, & I can see that it's great, but what if I mess it up? What if it stops being great? What if I can't figure out how to hold onto everything? What if I can't transition properly? What if everything is falling apart & I can't put it back together?

I Kissed a Girl & I Liked It

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Thu, 29 Mar 2012 21:27:00 +0000

Sometimes I have crushes on women.

I am in a happy, loving relationship with a wonderful, handsome man, & for all intents & purposes, I identify as a straight woman - but I'd be lying if I told you I didn't have a soft spot for "masculine" lesbians who don't conform to gender stereotypes. Incidentally, these women are typically reality TV stars.

You're thinking Lesbians Who Look Like Justin Bieber right about now, amirite? Sorrrrrt of, but not quite. Let me give you the top three examples.

Ashley Merriman, my original (& biggest) reality TV crush, was a "cheftestant" (that faux word makes me want to punch a puppy) on Season 6 of Top Chef. This New Hampshire native (woop woop!) looks exactly like a hipster boy, down to the mini-mullet & the plastic tortoiseshell specs, & I'm apparently not the only straight lady who found herself swooning over the culinary cutie. The former emo kid in me still wants a boyfriend just like her! I mean... wait, that doesn't even make sense. Except it does.

Sarah Golden was (spoiler alert!) recently booted from The Voice, a decision that did not sit well with me because I loved her a lot. She has a powerful folksy voice, & her acoustic rendition of Lady Gaga's "You & I" solidified her spot on this list. Sarah told NBC she'd had the opportunity to sign with record labels in the past, but both wanted her to change her look to long hair & dresses. I, for one, think Sarah is beautiful as she is - & her look doesn't have a damn thing to do with her sound.

Azmarie Livingston is a current contestant on this season's America's Next Top Model, and yesIstillwatchitshutup. Androgyny is her "thing," & she does it damn well; she's been ranked number one in the last two weeks of the competition. I don't know what else to say about her, so I'm gonna move right along to the photo & let you crush for yourself.

I know straight dudes are a fan of saying "No homo!" before admitting to their dude crushes, but forget that. Nothing wrong with identifying as a solid 2 on the Kinsey Scale.

How about you? Reality TV crushes? Crushes whose gender falls outside your typical interest? Love for these ladies? Think I'm nuts? I'd love to hear it all.

Extra! Extra! Read All About It!

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Tue, 27 Mar 2012 16:27:00 +0000

Life dream: ACCOMPLISHED. Last night, my childhood best friend & I saw our favorite movie of all time come to life on stage. We paid an arm & a leg for our tickets, our transportation, our lodging - but when that curtain rose, there was no question that it was well worth every single penny & every bit of pre-trip planning stress. To see "NEWSIES" in lights on a Broadway marquee; to hear the first notes of "Santa Fe" played by a professional orchestra; to be two smiling, crying faces in a sea of hundreds of others who cheered so hard that the actors delayed their transitions between scenes to allow time for the whoops & hollers to die down.

The rumors you may have heard are true: The stage version is not the movie version. The beloved character of Denton, originally played by Bill Pullman, has been replaced by a strong fermale lead named Katharine, a reporter who also becomes the object of Jack's affections. Jack himself is no longer a cowboy but instead an artist, one who paints his Santa Fe dreams on canvas rather than stealing horses to act them out. David is bumbling & nerdy, a mere shadow of the smart, feisty movie character who stands up to Jack when he dares to cross the picket line for pay. A number of my favorite lines were cut, lines like, "For a dream night's the only time of day," and "I say that what you say is what I say." The grit is largely gone, Brooklyn reduced to a gimmicky musical number instead of slingshots & sass & Spot Conlon.

Still, I understand why they made most of the changes they did. I understand that the stage is not the screen, & certain accomodations need to be made in order to smoothly transition from one medium to another. Did it break my heart to hear new lyrics to "King of New York"? Of course. But does a modified stage adaptation at all dimish the magic of the movie I grew up on? Not at all. Seeing "Newsies" on a live stage, performed by real actors with voices bigger than Christian Bale could ever dream of, was magical in its own right - & seeing it with my best friend of nearly 20 years made it all the more special.

What's that you say? Oh, you want some pictures? Well, OK. If you insist.

Here were are as we left our hotel, all accidentally matching & me without a jacket despite the fact that the temperature quickly dropped to below 30.

Here we are the moment we spotted the "Newsies" marquee, tickets in hand as we waited to cross the threshhold into the Nederlander Theater, formerly home to "RENT."

Here we are sneaking a prohibited in-theater photo with our Playbills just before the lights went down & the curtain went up & we both burst into happy tears.

Here we are after the show, taking a myriad cheesy photos with the signs that plastered the show locale:

Here we are with Kara Lindsay, the young starlet who made her Broadway debut playing new character Katharine Plumber:

Here we are with Andrew Keenan-Bolger, who plays affable gimp Crutchy (and arguably the best of the cast), outside the theater after the show:

And here we are just a few hours ago, sporting the "Newsies" shirts that were among the many (absurdly expensive) souvenirs we bought at the show:

You get your picture in the papes, you're famous. You're famous, you get anything you want. That's what's so great about New York.

World's Prettiest 19-Year-Old

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Tue, 27 Mar 2012 04:46:00 +0000

I'm in New York, & I was thinking it'd be really great to touch Nick Jonas.

And then I actually saw Nick Jonas. So
I touched him. With his permission, of course.

I'm sure he thanks me for not posing like I did in the first photo, taken hours earlier. I am a grown woman, after all.

Yeah, nothin' creepy about that.

Talking the Talk at #BBBos

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Sat, 24 Mar 2012 18:42:00 +0000

Remember when I told you about Blog Better Boston & the fact that I was invited to be a panelist at a session for beginning bloggers? That just happened. A few hours ago. (I'm still at the event, actually.) And though I am prone to extreme bouts of anxiety prior to public speaking (confession: I vomited before the session), I think it went really well. I'm pretty proud, if you want the truth. Which you probably do.

I served on the Blogging Basics panel with Charlene of Charlene Chronicles & Lynzy of Sparkling Footsteps, moderated by Kate of Domestikated Life. On the surface, the three of us seemed to have very little in common - a fashion blogger who works in a hospital, an attorney-slash-mommyblogger, and... me. But as it turns out, that's what made the panel work so well: We had a diversity of opinions & ideas, & the audience had a lot of questions for us. (I wish we'd had time to answer more of them because, you know, I really like to talk.)

Expect a bigger, better Blog Better Boston recap very soon, likely written on my four-hour train ride to Manhattan tomorrow morning. In the meantime, Imma go eat some of the mini cupcakes provided at the event. THREE CHEERS FOR FREE FOOD. And bloggers.

(Photo credit goes to the other Kate)

Travesties of Traveling

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Fri, 23 Mar 2012 21:00:00 +0000

I like to think I'm a pretty good traveler. Someone else must believe me, too, because I've been writing travel articles for online magazine Twenties Hacker for a few months now. I took at least one flight a month in 2011, & I appear to be on track to surpass that record in 2012. Needless to say, I spend a lot of time away from home, & I've become fairly adept at doing it.

That's what made today's travel experience all the more embarrassing.

I've been away for a week now, first at a wedding at Phoenix & then working from my office in D.C. (both of which deserve individual attention by way of their own posts). I was scheduled to return home today on a 1:30pm US Airways flight back to Boston, but when I tried to check in for my flight online, I hit a snag: "You have no scheduled flights today," read the computer display. Indeed, when I pulled up my itinerary, this horror was confirmed: I'd booked a ticket for the wrong day. A day exactly two weeks into the future, at 1:30pm on Friday, April 6th.

Commence panic. But what could I do? Couch-surf until the 6th? Riiight. It would've cost me $25 more to change my existing ticket than to just purchase a new one, so... I purchased a new one, for 2:30pm today, & conceded to swallowing the cost of the April 6th ticket. $125 down the proverbial drain. Not like I needed that.

At 1:15, I hopped a cab to the airport & headed to a US Airways kiosk to check in. "You've missed your flight's check-in period," read the computer display. Indeed, when I pulled up my itinerary, this horror was confirmed: I'd booked myself for the 1:30 flight, after all, & the clock read 1:36.

In short: WHO AM I & WHAT SORT OF IDIOT DOES ALL OF THIS?

Luckily, there are flights from D.C. to Boston every hour, & the 2:30 flight had room for me - with a window seat, no less. I wrote this post from thousands of feet above ground ground, no one seated next to me, sipping a Diet Coke & vodka in blissful silence.

And yet, no airline cocktail can drown out the shame of today's travel travails & my apparent inability to make the correct plans. It appears as though I may have actually lost my mind. Flight attendant, another drink to seat 4A, please...

(Please note that upon landing, I missed my bus back to Portsmouth. Third time's not the charm.)