Joker Patrol

It's here!!!

2010-06-20T18:22:00.001-04:00

It's here, it's here!!!!!

My new blog design is up! Isn't it totally awesome?! Thanks Kenric!!!!!

LOVE IT!

Go Cubs Go?

2010-06-11T09:34:00.003-04:00

Dear Chicago Cubs,
I've noticed winning is not a priority in your lives right now. This concerns me for a number of reasons. First of all, I am currently displaying my "This is the Year" banner and your actions as of late make me look foolish. Unacceptable. Also, I know a lot of White Sox fans...unfortunately. Although your record is slightly, and I do stress slightly, better than that of the Soxs, I am continually harassed by those crack addict South-siders because you still think it's a good idea to put Marmol into the game in the 9th inning. Furthermore, Ron Santo cannot handle these shenanigans. He is a fragile man and every time you leave men on the bases his high blood pressure threatens his life. My birthday is Monday, and I am simply asking that you sweep the Sox this weekend. In summary, please pull your heads out of your asses and play some baseball.
Sincerely,
Bridget

As the Competence in the World Declines...Part 2

2010-03-23T07:30:00.004-04:00

In light of recent events I have an addition to one of my last posts.

Yesterday Obama's health care bill was passed despite the fact half of the population opposed it. Not a single republican congressmen voted for it. The 'pro-life' democrats voted for it because Obama made an executive order banning federal fund of abortions...which is useless and can easily be overturned. Our country's financial situation is in the crapper, and the bill will be costly. American citizens who are already struggling financially will be taxed to pay for it.

Theory application: Obama does not know how to back up his eloquent speeches with sensible actions that move this country forward. In order to ensure no one wants him to actually act on the promises he makes, Obama decides to pass a health care bill which is actually a very poor solution to a real problem in this country. P. O. S. health care bill is designed to send the country further into debt, jeopardize unborn children, and bring the country closer to socialism. American people who were opposed to the bill (half of the population) realize they no longer want Obama to come through on his promises or do any kind of action at all. Once the ramifications of the health care bill become evident, even those who had been in support of it are disappointed and realize this was not the answer they were looking for. These individuals also come to the conclusion they would prefer Obama accomplish nothing more. Obama no longer has to do anything but take vacations and ask the American people what kind of new dog he should buy. Mission accomplished.

Alternative theory: Obama is an idiot.

Sasquatch

2010-03-22T00:55:00.002-04:00

Although the new design is not finished yet (Kenric is very close!!!), I would like you all to take notice of our new Sasquatch friend located in right side bar. He is part of the new design and a welcome addition to this blog. The naming of our new friend is now open for discussion. Please post your name ideas as comments.

As the Competence in the World Declines...

2010-03-21T03:00:00.000-04:00

I cannot help but wonder why I am continually punished for attempting to be a responsible citizen. I believe I have had a breakthrough. I relate it to my treatment of those who attempt to take care of themselves and eat healthy. I feel the need to taunt and ridicule someone the instant they tell me they are watching what they eat. I also put forth my best effort to thwart them.

But why Bridget? Why would you do such a thing?

I like to eat...uninhibited and without guilt. Those who chose to eat healthy pose a serious threat, as they create in me an unwelcome sense of guilt and obligation to be more responsible about my eating habits. This is wholly unacceptable.

When I apply these sentiments to other areas of life the incompetence in the world almost makes sense. Almost.

A few weeks ago I went out to dinner with some friends. When the meal was over the waiter brought out separate checks and set them in a pile on the table. We divided them up to the appropriate people, but in the end the waiter had forgotten to bring out a check for my meal. As much as I'd love a free meal, I felt it was my duty to call him back over and ask for a bill. Our waiter had vanished. After waiting awhile I ended up flagging down another waiter to ask for the bill. He looked angry to be disturbed. I told him I had not received a bill and he immediately replied "Are you sure?" and waited for me to search my thoughts and my table to make sure I really meant to disturb him.
"Yes. Positive."
"Ugh."
I'm sorry, what? Did you just groan and roll your eyes at me? I don't have to pay for this meal, I love free food.
At this point the waiter walks away. The waiter wanders around the restaurant aimlessly for several minutes and chats with other waiters near the back of the restaurant. Ten minutes later he returns.
"Are you sure you didn't get a bill?"
Did you really just disappear for ten minutes and not come back over here with a bill? "Yes, I am sure I never got my check."
"Hmm," he replies with a look of distrust on his face.
Oh ok! You're right. I'm making it up. Haha! Jokes on you! I already have a bill and I'd like another one so I can pay twice! Funny huh? You caught me! "I really don't have the bill."
"Was it included on anyone else's bill?
Great idea! I never thought of that in the ten minutes you were gone. My friends also didn't notice a whole extra meal and beverage on their tab and happily just payed $16 extra. "Nope. It was not on anyone's bill. Could you please bring me out a bill?"
"Hmm."
Waiter walks away.
Waiter returns angrily and hands me a bill.
Theory application: Waiter hates paying bills. Waiter tries to instill in me a hatred of paying bills. Waiter does not have to feel guilty about paying bills if he believes I also do not pay bills.
Alternative theory: Waiter is incompetent.

Sallie Mae and I are not on the best of terms. I've been enrolled as a student and taking classes for the past nine weeks, but they have difficulties acknowledging this. Like clockwork, they continue to send me a bill for student loan repayment every month. I have called five times now to address this issue. Each time I call I am outsourced to India. That makes sense. I'm sure the people living in India have mastered the English language just so they can help me solve my student loan problems. I have difficulty understanding the individual on the phone, as would they if I were trying to explain to them how to open an IRA using my version of Hindi language. Every time I call, I am told something completely different than the previous time I called. For instance, the first time I called I was told all of my loans qualified for deferment. The second time I called I was told my enrollment confirmation had been received on February 7th, but I am still receiving a bill because not all of my loans go into deferment. The third time I called (only a few hours later) I was told that all of my loans qualify for deferment, but they would not receive my confirmation of enrollment until March 22nd. I informed them that the person I spoke with a few hours prior had told me my confirmation had already been received. This individual told me that was impossible, as the university does not send out their confirmations until mid-March. This individual insisted that my status would not go into deferment until mid-March. I called back the next day and discovered that my status was now in deferment as my confirmation had been received that day (February 16th). I asked for a refund of my last payment, considering that I should have been in deferment a month ago and should not have been required to make payments. They informed me that it would take two weeks to refund me the payment that took me thirty seconds to electronically debit.
Theory application: Sallie Mae hates customers. They resent the fact that I am their customer. Sallie Mae diverts all of my calls to India and tells me lies in attempt to make me hate them. Sallie Mae also wants to ensure my experience is bad enough that I discourage all other potential customers, directing additional hatred toward them. Sallie Mae does not need to feel guilty about hating customers, as they are also victims of hatred.
Alternative theory: Sallie Mae is incompetent.

I have a student who has failed to turn in an assignment. The assignment was due on a day he failed to show up for class. The student emailed me to find out what he should do about missing class (did not provide reason/excuse for missing class). I informed the student he could start by emailing me the assignment he missed. I then assigned him another small task to make up for the class time he missed. I never received either. Several weeks later I emailed him and told him I was still awaiting his assignment. He informed me that he was sure he already gave it to me. I informed him that I did not have it, and knew for a fact he never gave it to me. He insisted he completed the assignment. I responded by saying if he completed it, it must be saved on his computer and he shouldn't have a problem sending it to me 'again.' He replied by saying his hard drive was down and it would be quite some time before he could find the assignment and send it to me. That was two weeks ago. Still no assignment.
Theory application: Student prefers smoking pot to completing homework assignments. Student attempts to place blame on me for his lack of assignment completing so he can smoke more pot. Student now assumes I smoke pot as well as I have received a multitude of lame excuses and blatant lies from him, and he assumes this is the logical response to such stress. Student no longer feels guilty about his own recreational activities.
Alternative theory: Student is incompetent.

Penelope Jones

2010-03-20T15:25:00.009-04:00

Today is a sad day indeed. My little gerbil Penelope passed away this afternoon. Penelope came to me at a time in my life where I was alone and needed a friend. She kept me company when I first moved to Escanaba and had no friends or family to come home to at night. Penelope and I have a lot of fond memories together, please refer to this post...

A Day in the Life

Penelope is survived by myself, Kenric, her adopted brother and protector Tigger, and her adopted little sister and best friend Lucy.

Penelope Jones Deutsch aka Penny aka P aka "Rat" (my mother) aka "Mousy" (Kenric's mother)

Penelope was a good companion, and always humored me.

Penelope was a patient little gerbil and entertained Tigger when needed.

Penelope was a good big sister for energetic little Lucy.

Penelope and Lucy always snuggled, and Lucy will miss her very much.

Penelope and Kenric loved to goof around together and terrorize people who are afraid of gerbils.

Penelope kept in shape by keeping busy all day long.

She loved to do her part for the environment and shredded cardboard tubes to use as bedding.

We will all miss her very much.

The impact of a tiny creature is not felt until you struggle to fill the giant void she leaves behind.

Rest in peace Penelope, love you lots!

I hope there are lots of sunflower seeds in gerbil heaven.

Chronicles of an Evil Cat: Part 1

2010-03-16T16:15:00.001-04:00

I've deemed cats evil for quite some time now. I came into possession of a cat when my sister had to give hers up, on account of allergies (or so she said). In the past I have believed him to be a sinister fellow. He has pooped on my bed in a fit of rage, thrown litter all over my floor, and he enjoys walking in circles around my head when he deems I have slept enough for one night (usually around 3am). Two months ago I moved in with two girls that had a cat of their own. I realize now that Tigger is an angelic saint kitty, as I have met true evil.

Bella is a demon kitty, made of molten hot lava and ash. She is about half of the size of Tigger and has him cowering in fear. When she enters a room, Tigger bolts out of it as though someone has pointed a loaded squirt gun at him. Bella wears a little jingle bell that warns of her arrival. I can hear the bell jingle outside of my bedroom door all night long, as though she is pacing back and forth waiting for her chance to kill me in my sleep...if only she could get the door open. Bella also likes to place objects on the stairs that lead to my bedroom, which is another more subtle attempt on my life.

Clearly there is a demon residing in her little cat body because when she opens her mouth to eat a disturbing sound erupts. This sound is comparable to what I assume a rabid dog foaming at the mouth sounds like when someone threatens to steal his food. The evil spirit which resides in Bella also calls out when one attempts to relocate her. Bella refuses to suffer the indignity of drinking water out of a cat bowl, and instead demands a human glass be placed on the floor for her daily.

Tigger has become a whipped sad version of himself. Some days Bella entraps him in his own litter box, and other days she shuts him out of my room completely so she can sleep on my bed all day. Although Bella disdains cat bowls, she does not hesitate to drink water out of Tigger's water bowl just to spite him. The she-devil waits outside my bedroom door every morning so she can run in and devour all of Tigger's breakfast, regardless of whether or not her own bowl is full of food just up the stairs.

The past couple of months Tigger and I have grown closer, sharing a mutual fear. I no longer throw him off my bed if he steps on my hair in the middle of the night, and he makes a genuine effort to keep his litter in the box. We have reached a common ground because there is safety in numbers, and we won't survive in this apartment if we do not unite against the Satan kitty.

Can't Wait Forever

2010-02-04T14:29:00.002-05:00

Well it turns out I cannot wait forever for this new blog design, and so I must start blogging again without it.

Let's get everyone up to speed shall we?

I've moved up to Marquette, MI to pursue my graduate degree. I now have the pleasure of being a broke college student again. My current situation, coupled with my unhealthy attachment to freshly scooped ice cream, Crazy Bread, chicken Caesar wraps, those little pizzas from Subway, and the "number four" at Jimmy Johns, creates a need for me to obtain a part time job.

I've applied at JC Penny, an eye care place, the YMCA, the rec place on campus, Radio Shack, and a variety of other random jobs. This past Tuesday I scored an interview at CARQUEST. Boo ya! Let me just say that this interview was more in-depth than the interview I did to become the athletic trainer at the last hospital I worked at. I also think it's going to be harder for me to get this job, than it was the last one...as a health care professional.

At CARQUEST I would be a team delivery, which would involve delivering car parts to local auto-mechanics. My last job I worked with people recovering from serious heart attacks and surgeries, and provided emergency care for high school athletes.

Does it concern me at all that CARQUEST takes employee hiring more seriously than a hospital?

Yes. Yes it does.

Thumbs up to CARQUEST for being responsible employers. Thumbs down to the hospital for hiring me sight unseen (but also, thanks!).

Also, if CARQUEST is reading this blog post, please hire me. I want to wear that cool polo.

New Design

2009-12-08T00:04:00.003-05:00

Stay tuned ladies and gentlemen for an all new blog design...which will inspire all new blog posts.

New blog design provided by Kenric Feldpausch from the U.P. Web Maestro

P.S. If you are looking at a stupid green background, the new design has not arrived yet.

I Eat Because I Love Myself

2009-07-07T19:29:00.002-04:00

Watching Oprah has never been a priority of mine. Not because I have anything against her, but watching her show tends to make me either depressed about how screwed up people are, or terrified our health system will fail me and amputate a perfectly healthy limb of mine or allow me to contract some kind of flesh eating bacteria. To be honest, the only time I've ever seen Oprah is when I go to my all female gym, in which it is on every day without fail. I'd change the channel, but I fear the middle aged women that surround me with their eyes and ears glued to the television to hear what Dr. Oz has to say about cleansing the colon. Instead, I jog along quietly with my moods going up and down as the endorphins released from the exercise try to stand up to the, "Hi, I'm a husband and father of five who decided I would start a cult and then have an affair with a man," topics that Oprah attacks on a daily basis.

She seems to me to be a fairly decent person, giving cars, homes, washers, dryers, small children (I kid, I kid), Target gift cards, and airline tickets away. I don't even hold it against her that I have yet to be the recipient of any of these things. I guess my Oprah attitude is one of indifference. When we watched The Color Purple in high school I did not follow suit with the rest of the girls who were excited to see a celebrity like Oprah bringing literature to life, I instead was excited to see my favorite Sister Act nun in one of her first films.

The point is, I've never had any beef with Oprah...until now.

At work today Pam asked me what kind of treats she should sneak into the grocery cart to bring into work. This week's groceries will be purchased with her husband's paycheck, which is a prime opportunity to sneak candy into the cart. I told her not to worry about it because I am trying to cut down on sweets.

The following conversation began:

Pam: Oprah fell off the wagon you know.

Me: Oh?

Pam: Yeah she put on 40 lbs and is now trying to get back on the wagon. I think she's only got one foot in the wagon though.

Me: I see.

Pam: Do you know why she got fat again? Because she didn't love herself. That's what she said. She says people eat too much because they don't love themselves.

Me: Oh really. For me, it's more like I eat because I love chocolate.

Pam: People who eat tofu and rice cakes must really hate themselves.

Me: Agreed.

Pam: If you see me eating rice cakes and tofu it's because I'm depressed and ready to kill myself.

Me: Note taken.

The conversation continued on from here but got much more crazy, and I can't capture it properly in the written word. The moral of the story is that I respectfully disagree with Oprah.

Some people do over eat because they are depressed and are trying to fill a void in their lives, however, for some it is simply because ice cream tastes good, the smell of pizza ignites a warm glow in their hearts, the perfect unison of beef, lettuce, and tomato on a bun is a work of art that demands salivation, and the sweet taste of a frozen strawberry margarita puts a giant smile across their faces.

I eat because I love myself and want to spoil myself rotten. I eat because the darn food industry makes everything taste so ridiculously good that I can't simply put one item on my plate at a buffet, I must try it all. I eat because when a place like Coldstone Creamery exists and I get to hand pick the ingredients in my ice cream, I can't pass that up. I eat because some mastermind chef decided that pastries covered in chocolate should be easily accessible to all United States citizens.

Therefore, I dismiss Oprah's theory of, 'I don't love myself because I over eat,' and leave you with my own, 'I exercise because I over eat.'

WTF?!

2009-01-28T00:01:00.000-05:00

New year.

New blog title.

New president.

New blog post.

Man alive, I love convenience! Think of all the wonderful things it has done for us. We are more impatient, more selfish, more sedentary, more helpless, more diseased, more heavily insulated with adipose tissue, and on top of it all, most of us are more in debt.

We are a nation of convenience.

It is convenient for us to order fast food, rather than go home and cook a meal with our families. It is convenient for us to send our factory work to other countries rather than pay fair wages and employ our own citizens. It is convenient for us to drive five blocks to the store rather than walk. It is convenient for us to cheat on our spouses rather than work to maintain the sanctity of marriage. It is convenient for us to end a life rather than fight for one to thrive.

Why don't we fight?

Why do we simply tolerate?

If a crazed woman made her way into a neonatal intensive care unit and murdered all of the babies, it would be considered a horrible, sick crime. The woman would be imprisoned for life, and the world would scorn her.

And yet...

Somehow we tolerate a society where it's respectable for a woman to choose to stop the very life that grows inside her.

It is convenient. It is convenient to end the life of someone who cannot fight back rather than attempt to change the life of someone who can.

I've heard many arguments for abortion over the years, and I still have yet to hear one that justifies the murder of a baby, a life filled with hope. As tempting as it might be for some at this point, I'd ask that you'd please refrain from petty arguments about when life begins. We all still contain the same strand of DNA that was formed upon our conception, what is there to argue about?

If you are getting ready to throw down the rape card, which accounts for less than 1% of all abortions, shame on you. When a man ruins a woman's life by raping her, will it make her feel better to ruin someone else's life? Will it help her sleep better at night to extinguish the life that grows inside her. Will she stop having nightmares if she kills her own child? Do you honestly believe that by ending one life, you save another?

Many people whom I respect often bring up the point that it's unfair to bring a child into the world under bad circumstances, into broken homes or impoverished situations.

Is fighting to keep abortion legal and making it more easily accessible the right solution?

Why don't we fight for chastity? Why don't we fight to encourage young men and women to wait until they are married to have sex? Why don't we fight to build families and relationships based on faith? Why don't we fight for our children to maintain good morals? Why do embrace promiscuity and applaud selfishness?

I think it is time that we change our approach. Instead of fueling a media which is only interested in glorifying unhealthy relationships, we need to start taking responsibility for the society we build.

Our networks are full of immoral programs that lack even the slightest hint of substance because we allow it. Why don't we change the channel?

Teenage girls are heading to school in low cut tops, showing off the cleavage they don't even have yet so they can gain attention they most certainly do not need. As parents, why don't we say no?

The film Zack and Miri Make a Porno made $36,832,669. How can we justify that much money going to something of that nature?

Our society is the way it is because we not only allow it to be that way, but we contribute to it everyday.

Stop.

If you don't want a young woman's life to be burdened by having a baby when she is only 15, then work towards a society in which that is not the norm. Currently approximately 1,000,000 teenage girls become pregnant each year in the U.S.

Stop looking for the easy way out.

Abortions don't solve problems; they don't bandage or mend. Abortions are salt to the wound of a society that desperately needs to heal.

We live in a culture where people stand in assembly and applaud a man that promises his first act as president will be to sign the Freedom of Choice Act (FOCA). Somehow we find this heroic.

Never mind the fact that FOCA will basically allow unrestricted unregulated abortions. Even pro choice people can't support that...right? I mean, seriously? Removing requirements that abortionists be licensed physicians and eliminating health and safety regulations for abortion clinics? This should set off little alarm bells in every rational person's mind. RING DING DING! No restrictions and regulations? Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't that go against the goal of many pro choice people? Aren't you trying to ensure the health and safety of women? This doesn't sound very healthy or safe.

FOCA will also prohibit bans on abortion after viability, repeal the Partial Birth Abortion Ban, remove any need for parental notification and consent for abortion, and attack conscience rights, forcing physicians to perform abortions even if it is against their own morals and values. I'm sorry, but if you have a conscience, I don't understand how you could support something like that. I invite you to enlighten me.

Today, Wednesday January 28th, is What the FOCA Activism Day. Start living a life of inconvenience, innocent lives depend on it. Our president promises us a time of a change, let's make sure it's the right change.

"The true test of the American ideal is whether we’re able to recognize our failings and then rise together to meet the challenges of our time. Whether we allow ourselves to be shaped by events and history, or whether we act to shape them. Whether chance of birth or circumstance decides life’s big winners and losers, or whether we build a community where, at the very least, everyone has a chance to work hard, get ahead, and reach their dreams."

-BARACK OBAMA, speech, Jun. 4, 2005

With all due respect, Mr. President, you meant live too right? "...at the very least, everyone has a chance to live, work hard, get ahead, and reach their dreams"

Because that's the chance you were given. Not choice, chance.

What the FOCA?!

*Special thanks to Kenric Feldpausch for giving my nephew a voice.

Hunting

2008-12-04T23:14:00.008-05:00

I had my very first hunting experience this year. Before you get upset, let me just say I never saw a deer, and I was not even carrying a gun.

I feel like I have to explain hunting season to the rest of the world, as it is a fairly new concept for me. I was introduced to this phenomenon during my freshmen year of college when my professor announced that there would be no class on November 15th due to it being Opening Day. At that time in my life the only "Opening Day" I knew of occurred at Wrigley Field and it most certainly did not happen in November.

I quickly came to the realization that "Opening Day" in the UP refers to the day of the year when an alarmingly large percentage of the male population (and a much more reasonable percentage of the female population) within a 5oo mile radius flock to the woods to slay Bambi and his entire extended family.

Basically hunting season begins on November 15th as the sunrises and goes on for two weeks, until the deer population of the Upper Peninsula is once again under control. At first I was horrified at this idea, but after I nearly died about 306 times due to a deer darting across the highway, I became more comfortable with the idea. I would also like to add that the deer meat is processed and frozen, and many families use that to get them through the winter. That being said, there is soooo much to laugh about when it comes to deer season.

Did you know that people actually pour a significant amount of time, money, and energy into feeding the deer before hunting season even starts? We're talking truckloads of feed taken out into the woods to fatten up little Bambi until he grows big and strong. For a few weeks there I felt as though the deer were getting better fed than I was.

And deer blinds? Have you seen these? Little plywood shanties strategically placed out in the woods for hunters to freeze their asses off in until a deer walks by. Does no one else find this hilarious? Basically they are sitting in a glorified cardboard box for hours on end, with no insulation in November (which in the UP is more like January for the rest of the world), with nothing but a rifle, and perhaps a space heater. Oh, and I just need to share this one with you...
Redneck Deer Blind

Of course, hunters won't just shoot any deer. It has to have spiffy antlers because you are not a man unless you have a full set of antlers mounted on your wall. Again? Hilarious. For two months I had to sit and listen to one of the guys at work tell me about how he missed an eight point buck last year. The poor guy has not gotten a buck in like twelve years because he's been holding out for one that is at least eight points. If you're not familiar with the points system (because I most certainly wasn't) it is based on how many little offshoots come off of the main antler. This year he hooked a deer surveillance camera (A SURVEILLANCE CAMERA!) to his blind weeks before hunting season started so he could monitor the deer that were coming to eat the bate he was putting out. He actually brought in some snap shots of prospective deer that had been hanging around his blind. Now try imagining me attempting to keep a straight face when he pointed to the snapshot and explained for the 511th time that the one he missed last year was twice that size. He took a week off of work for hunting season this year, and came back empty handed. I guess I get to hear some more about the one he missed last year. Dang.

This post is getting long and I haven't even gotten to my deer hunting experience. How did I find myself sitting in a deer blind at 7:15am on a Saturday morning? I'm a yes girl, that's how.
Tanya: Bridget would you like to come hunting with me?
Me: Eww. No. Maybe.
Tanya: When I shoot one, I'll need help loading it onto the truck. My husband has to work.
Me: Sick! Definitely not. Bloody deer...GROSS! Oh. That's a possibility.
Tanya: I figure you can show up around 7am and we'll head out to the blind.
Me: 7 AM! ON A SATURDAY! LADY THAT'S THE ONLY DAY I GET TO SLEEP IN! 7am? Hmm.
Tanya: Do you have other plans?
Me: Yes! Sleeping! Nope.
Tanya: Good. I'll make hot chocolate. Here's directions to my house. See you tomorrow!
Me: Wha??!! Ok! Yes, that sounds good.

At 7am I found myself wearing bright orange and trouncing around the woods. We came to Tanya's blind, which for the record is the largest deer blind I've ever seen. Why? Because women don't mess around. There was a space heater in there, magazines, nice comfortable chairs, and Tanya brought me some cold pizza and a thermos of hot chocolate. We settled in for some deer spying, and it was quickly made evident that I'm the worst person in the world to take hunting, and I will never be asked to return again.

For one, I cannot stay still. Impossible. I had to shift position every 30 seconds. This wouldn't be a huge deal, except for the fact I was wearing snow pants (because it was FREEZING!). Every time I moved my pants went SWISH!. Every 30 seconds...SWISH!

Then there was the whole issue of hot chocolate. The thermos of hot chocolate SHE gave me required me to push down this inner circle to open it, which made a CLICK! sound. In order to close it, I had to pull up on the outer ring, which went SNAP! So about every two minutes you could hear CLICK! quickly followed by SNAP! I mean I had to close it after I took a sip, I didn't want it to get cold. Finally, after about the tenth CLICK! SNAP! Tanya turned to me and whisper-shouted "Leave it open!"

The cold pizza she brought me for breakfast was wrapped in aluminum foil. Come on now! After I got yelled at about the hot chocolate, I was too scared to open the pizza. So then my stomach started. If you know me, you know that my stomach is not to be taken lightly. It never politely asks to be fed with a little 'grumble grumble please feed.' It is a lot more demanding than that. In the silence of the forest it roared out, 'FOOOD NOOOOOW!' I shifted SWISH! to try to quiet it. My stomach replied, 'FEEEED MEEEEE!' Another shift SWISH! 'I WILL START THE SELF DESTRUCTION OF YOUR BODY IF YOU DO NOT START EATING RIGHT THIS SECOND!' Shift SWISH! At that moment Tayna unwrapped the pizza and handed it to me. 'VICTORY!' my stomach roared out one last time before I took a bite. Stupid stomach.

Sometimes when I get cold my nose starts to run, and I start to sneeze. This is frowned upon when hunting. As is inhaling hot chocolate down one's trachea causing said individual to start hacking furiously. It is also ill advised to kick the space heater while shifting positions...SWISH! BANG!

I wonder why we never saw any deer?

Crotchety Can Wait

2008-09-10T23:30:00.006-04:00

I think that we are all familiar with the concept of young people wanting to grow up too fast. Perhaps, some of us have even fallen victim to this. I (naturally) have not, as I still retain the mentality of a small child and throw tantrums when I get too hungry and/or tired. On the other hand, my boyfriend Kenric is practically already riding his SCOOTER Store Scooter around on the other end of the spectrum.

He has made it very clear since we first started dating that he cannot wait to be an old man. Not just an old man, but a crotchety old man. The kind that sits out on his front porch yelling at the neighborhood kids as they walk by. The kind that fall asleep in public places and then wake up with a start yelling, as if resuming an argument with no one. He'd probably have a shot gun to ward off any stray dogs or bold children who stepped foot on his lawn. When I questioned his motivation for wanting to be an old man he replied, "I can choose to be crazy, such as yelling random things at people, and they're powerless to stop it; in fact, they won't think anything of it because I'm 'senile'".

In my line of work I've met many elderly gentlemen of the cantankerous variety (Side note: no, cantankerous is not part of my daily vocab, but according to the GRE it's part of a long list of vocabulary I should have learned in college. Using it in this blog post somehow makes all the studying I did for the GRE a little bit less of a waste of time). From my numerous encounters with these men, I've concluded I'm not ready for Kenric to be a grumpy old man yet. He is, however, determined to be one and so I will take this opportunity to make a few small requests.

1) If your teeth and/or gums start to bother you, call the dentist and make an appointment. Do not show up to the dentist office unannounced, and expect to be seen immediately. If, however, you do make this mistake and are sent home to return at a later date (when you actually have an appointment scheduled) do not get frustrated and simply pull all four of your front bottom teeth out yourself. This can be painful, unsightly, and cause difficulty eating.

2) Do not begin to refer to me as "the girlfriend" especially when using a tone that suggests I am slightly insane.

3) Shouting in a whisper-like voice is actually still audible to everyone around you. Do not use this technique to express how displeased you are with certain people in your presence. Chances are they will here you as well as I will.

4) Do not tell complete strangers your plots to end the misery of people you deem more decrepit than you are.

5) If you go to the doctor for a serious health condition, please do not wilfully disregard all of their instructions and attempt to do the exact opposite. When a medical personnel instructs you to begin walking 30 min a day, please do not tell them you are going to sit on the couch and do as little as humanly possible. This discourages the people attempting to save your life.

6) When someone tries to be nice and decides to drive you around to get some errands done, do not complain the entire time. Riding in a Subaru Outback is not "being crammed in like a sardine."

7) When you are eighty years old, you will not have the same strength as you do right now. Therefore, when you reach this age it is inappropriate for you to offer to build a ten foot stone monument for a golf course. If said golf course owners are idiotic enough to take you up on your offer, find some young men to help you. Do not attempt to lift stone blocks up over your head by yourself...especially if you have just had rotator cuff surgery.

8) If you end up waiting in a WAITING room for two minutes past your appointment time, be grateful it's not twenty, and don't give the person retrieving you a hard time. Furthermore, when that person goes out of her way to be five minutes early to retrieve you for your next visit, don't harass her and remark that her timeliness is a miracle.

9) If you're going to tell the same story to the same person every time you see them, try to spice it up a bit each time. Add in new characters, like a lemur named Ed, or a homeless guy who stole your dentures.

10) For the millionth time, no I will not race you around Walmart in the handicap scooters. And it's not because I don't care, it's because I care too much ;)

I Sure Would Like It

2008-07-18T23:04:00.001-04:00

Oh my gosh! So I was cleaning up my blog and I came across a few drafts that I never finished. Most were just crap so I deleted them, but this one I had to finish and share. It is from August 2006 (almost two years ago!)...

Last week I went to a Cubs game with my friends Cheryl, Hoang, and Ryne. Much to my surprise Hoang and Cheryl showed up with a little gift for me, a Cubs hat made entirely out of balloons. You know, the kind of balloons clowns make puppies and giraffes out of. Well this was far and above any of that amateur crap. It must have taken twenty balloons to construct this masterpiece. Hanging off of the side of this already massive structure was a Cubby bear holding a little heart. It was sweet really...until you realized that its 3 foot reach actually posed a threat to others who were too close (read: in the same room). As you might imagine this is not appropriate downtown Chicago attire. I had to carry it around most of the time because I really believed I would harm someone if I left it unsupervised atop my head. I carried it from the train to the subway, where I had to try to contain it to just one seat with me (impossible), and then from the subway around the perimeter of Wrigley. I said from the beginning that they wouldn't let me in the park with it, but I couldn't bring myself to ditch it so I walked right up to the security guy checking bags outside the park. His eyebrow raised as he stared at the rubber monstrosity in my hand. "What's that?" he asked suspiciously. "A hat," I replied calmly. He tried to make a joke about it being a beer hat and I just smiled and nodded and walked past into the park. After my ticket was scanned I thought I was home free. Two steps later I was ambushed by a crazy mob of security guards insisting that I must check my "hazardous object" and come back and pick it up after the game. Embarrassed, I stepped off to the side and filled out a form to ensure my balloon hat access to a nice comfortable room until I was ready to reclaim it. The lady taking my information kept reassuring me over and over again, "Don't you worry honey, ain't nobody gonna pop this here hat. I'll make sure it's kept real safe." I looked at the hat wearily and secretly hoped it would pop. On my way out of the park I considered leaving it to fend for itself, but the thought of how proud Cheryl and Hoang were when they handed it to me, made me go back and reclaim it. I lugged it once again onto the subway. It was after five now and the red line was packed. I was forced to sit next to some poor stranger my balloon hat didn't like, as it continued to break free from my grasp and smack the stranger across the face with it's little white tentacles. I felt like one of those parents who can't control their children and so just shrugs when they started beating on some unfortunate person happening to be sitting in the vicinity. After the subway I marched back down the streets of Chicago to the train station getting strange looks from EVERY person we passed. We finally got on the train and I rested my nuisance balloon on my lap. I silently cursed it for all the embarrassment of the day and look around for a pin to destroy it. As we neared our stop on the train the man sitting in the front of our car got up and staggered in our direction. I say staggered because he was plastered and clutching a tall can of Bud Light. Ryne and I took one glance at his Cheers sweatshirt and thought, "How fitting." As he stumbled down I realized his eyes were fixed on my balloon hat. Suddenly I felt a bond between the balloon and I, and I pulled it closer to me. As he came up even with our seats his eyes grew wide with excitement.
"WHAT'S THAT?!" he said in a mystified manner.
STRANGER DANGER! STRANGER DANGER! "It's a hat made out of balloons," I replied trying to keep things simple for the guy.
Ryne and I looked forward hoping he would go way, but he remained and asked, "How much for it?"
All thoughts of disposing of the balloon vanished at that instance, and I suddenly couldn't part with it. "It's not for sale."
He stood there and stared as if I had said nothing. And stared. And stared. I grew more and more uncomfortable and began to wonder if I was going to die for this stupid balloon hat.
"I sure would like it," he finally said in a voice that suddenly had a Southern twang to it.
"It was a gift. It's not for sale," I said firmly without thinking. Ah! What am I doing?! Give him the freakin hat! After all the misery it caused! Just get rid of it. Now is your chance! You could even make some money! He's large and in charge and drunk! Don't make him angry!
Our new intoxicated friend just stood and stared for quite some time. I began to think that maybe he had spaced out, or passed out. Suddenly he just turned and walked away muttering to himself about balloons and disappeared into the bathroom.
The balloon hat made it home that night, and I displayed it proudly until the air had completely escaped many months later. It shall always be remembered as the most obnoxious gift I ever got that I would never part with.

Me No Likey the Volleyball

2008-06-26T22:13:00.005-04:00

Cathy: You should come play beach volleyball with me on Wednesday nights. There's a whole group of us that get together and play down by the lake at 7pm.

Me: Uh. No. I don't play volleyball. Because I'm horrible. I don't do things I'm horrible at. It's a policy of mine.

Cathy: That's OK, nobody is very good. Playing in the sand equalizes every one's skills. You can't jump or move very well, it slows the game down.

Me: (Skeptical look) I don't know the rules. I've never actually played hardcore.

Cathy: You'll pick it up real fast, every one's laid back.

Me: Yeah, we'll see.

Later that day...
Hmm. It's probably a bunch of middle aged people. It won't be too bad. Maybe I'll completely dominate simply because I'm probably twenty years younger than most of them. I can do this. Besides, what else am I going to do?

After quite a bit of ego feeding and delusional thoughts...
I'm going to freakin' rock at this! I'm going to take this game to a whole new level. These people are going to be fighting over who gets me on their team. It will be a gift for them to be in my volleyball playing presence.

Me: OK Cathy, I'll go. Oh, and btw, you're welcome. Because I? am going to be amazing.

6:50pm
*Arrive at beach volleyball courts.
Me: What the heck? Where are all the old people? These people look young and athletic. Crap! Was that a bump, set, spike? I don't see Cathy, this must not be our group.
AHH! Is that the high school volleyball team? Where the heck is Cathy? I don't see any mediocre players anywhere! Maybe I should make a run for it. Yes, that's what I'll do. Right about...
Cathy: Bridget!
Me: Shoooooooooooooooooot. Hi! I'm glad you invited me. Now can I leave?
Cathy: Ready to play?
Me: Yep! No! You lied to me! You are a liar!
Cathy: Come on, we're over here on this court.
Me: Great! This court?! With 16 people already at it?! 16 people who completely rock at volleyball?!
Cathy: We'll have to wait to be rotated in.
Me: No problem. I can wait all night. Literally all night. Over there. By the swings.
Cathy (2 seconds later): OK there's an open spot. Get in there!
Me: Oh wow, that was fast. What?! Now?! Already?! You first?

*Ball in play. Ball headed toward me. Ball making contact with forearms. Ball flying (rather quickly) out of bounds.
Me: Sorry! I want to die. I am horrible at volleyball. I knew this. What was I thinking coming here?

*Other team serves. Right at me. Ball hits forearm (notice it is singular...apparently I can't keep my forearms level so only one comes in contact with the ball...out of bounds.
Me: Sorry! This is not good. What excuse can I give to leave after the first two minutes of them game? I left my oven on? My appendix just burst? I'm allergic to sand? My dinner wants another look at my tonsils?

*Other team serves. Right at me...again. I miss completely.
Me: Sorry! Maybe I could walk over and drown myself in Lake Michigan.

*Other team serves again. Right at me. Middle aged man teammate practically knocks me out of the way and hits the ball himself. It goes over the net.
Me: Thank you! Hurrah! He can cover my position and his, now can I go?

Sometime later...
I have begun to catch on, and can at least make a halfway decent showing (read: I can now hit the ball over the net 60% of the time).

*Middle aged man to the right of me is now only standing two feet away, as is the middle aged man to the left of me. They only trust me with a small square of sand to cover. I find myself annoyed and indignant.
Me: Why you all up in my space homes? I can cover the ball. I'm not that bad.

*Ball hit at me. The ball is in my sights, and I'm totally going to hit it. Coming down, closer and closer. WHAM! I am forced to hit the ground as the overzealous forty something psycho comes plowing over into my zone. He hits the ball, but it goes out of bounds.
Me: I could have done that jerkstore! Back up off!

*Ball hit at me.
Me: MINE! I GOT IT! (practically shrieking)
*Everyone moves out of the way against their better judgment. Wind picks up ball and brings it over my head at the last minute (I SWEAR IT WAS THE WIND! NO JOKE!).
Me: I don't got it!
*Collective groan from my team.

*Ball hit at teammate. Teammate has spaced out (probably wondering why she is so cursed to have me on her team). Teammate not moving for ball.
Me: Oh my gosh! Is she actually not going to hit it? Am I going to have to go into HER zone? *Last minute dive across the sand to cover teammate's rear end. Ball makes contact with my forearms and flies...over the net. Other team dumbfounded in shock and does not move for the ball. POINT!
*Loud cheers...in my head.
Teammate: Nice save! Thanks!
Me: Oh. No problem. I freakin' rock! Wooohooo! You're welcome slacker! I'm totally carrying you right now! Heck ya!

After the men leave and go home the hostility in the air decreases, and I am actually allowed to go for the ball. I begin to have a halfway decent time, which confirms a belief that I've carried since middle school gym class...playing sports with all girls is always a better time than playing with guys. Which leads to a side rant...

I've played a lot of coed intramural sports in my day, and I have found the same thing each time. The guys on the team take on this air of "I am a lot better than you so it's OK for me to hog the ball the entire time and then after I have gained an amazing lead I will let you hold it for .2 sec so you feel like you've been included." Guys, this is not hot. I am not impressed by your skills. I already know you're better than me, if for no other reason than the fact you're a foot taller than I am and you have twice the muscle mass. I actually wouldn't even care if we lost a game here and there as long as you let me play. Keep that in mind for next time. Thanks!

Back on track...
*Two hours, 456 apologies toward teammates throughout the course of the game, and 10 sand up my nose dives later...
Cathy: Great job!
Me: HA! I was horrid.
Cathy: You didn't make anymore mistakes than anyone else did.
Me: LIAR! The difference is the mistakes I made involved missing the ball when it came right at me. The mistakes other people made were caused by missing the ball while diving across the court to get a ball that was aimed at me that I couldn't hit.
Cathy: You should come back next week.
Me: Uh. Hmm. Well. Probably not.
Cathy: You really should!
Me: I feel like it's a poor reflection on you because you vouch for me.
Cathy: I do NOT vouch for you. I just bring you along.
Me: I rest my case.

Angry Inner Bridget

2008-06-20T23:34:00.002-04:00

Today I decided to take active measures to counter the boredom/feeling sorry for myself that comes with living alone in a town where I have one friend (Brandie) who is not married and/or has given birth to twenty children. Unfortunately Brandie decided she was hanging out with "her friend Ron" tonight. Who the heck is this Ron joker? Oops, I'm off track.

Back on track. My first counter measure was to buy a pitch back. Except that the one in the link is probably high quality, whereas the $20 one that I purchased turned out to be a raging piece of crap. And yes, I do realize that I just turned 23 and should not be purchasing a pitch back that 9 year old boys use to practice for T-ball, but how else am I going to play catch by myself? So I was expecting it to be a little weak, considering it was only $20 and most others are at least $50. I was not, however, expecting it to cause me bodily harm and then self destruct before my eyes.

Dear Spalding,
I am less than pleased with your product, the "Deluxe 3-Way Return Throw." Deluxe? Are you kidding me with this? Those stupid "new bungee cords for easy net assembly" broke my finger! Are you insane? Why would you stick a ball of plastic destruction to the end of a bungee cord and then make me stretch it to its max, only to have it snap back viciously at my fingers when it inevitable cannot stretch far enough to hook together. My finger is now purple and deformed! Oh, and don't even get me started about the "55 inch X 35 inch enameled steel frame." Steel?! Since when does steel fold under the pressure of bungee cords? Never in my life have I seen metal bunch up like a stocking. I was especially impressed when the entire frame gave out and collapsed into itself like a crumpled piece of paper. It was at this point that I picked up the poorly manufactured aluminum foil framed joke and hurled it across the yard, so you'll have to excuse the grass stains. I would demand that you send me a better product, but I still have nine functional fingers (or seven fingers and two thumbs if you're picky) and I'd rather not risk whatever weapon disguised as a child's toy you want to throw my way next.
-Angry Inner Bridget

CC: T-Ball USA with additional note:
I find it appalling that your seal of approval is on this product. Do you also approve hand grenades for tots? Or missal launchers for pee wee football players? Why don't you just strap a fire cracker to little Timmy's fist and then have him go play in the street?

Too much?

*Here I must stop and note that when I told my friend Jess about this crappy product she told me I should write a letter. She paused and then added "like a real letter." It's like she thought I would just rant about it in a fake letter on my blog instead of actually accomplishing something by sending a real letter to the company. Why would she think that? Oh wait...

And now, for my second attempt to fend off boredom/self pity:
I decided to take myself to the movies. I went with a positive attitude (and a throbbing broken finger! shaky fist Spalding!), and tried hard not to focus on the fact I was a huge loser for going by myself. The theater was basically empty when I got there and I sat off to the side, away from the four other people already there. Why? Because I wanted to watch my movie in peace (Read: I wanted to put my feet up on the seat in front of me and talk to myself until the movie started). Right before the movie started a middle aged couple came in and out of the bazillion empty seats in the theater decided they had to sit right behind me. Right behind me. Who does that? Nobody ever intentionally sits right behind someone at a theater because of the risk of view blockage. But not these two winners. They sat right behind me. As soon as they took their seats, I began to take my feet off the back of the chair in front of me and reluctantly return them to the floor. Apparently I wasn't moving fast enough because the guy behind me shouts (get your feet down). Let's recap. I'm sitting directly in front of him. Why are we shouting? Also? I already had my feet down before you opened your large popcorn filled mouth. Why are you talking to me? Needless to say, I'm slight annoyed at this point (Read: so angry I can't even see straight). As I day dream about dumping my cherry coke all over him, I hear him start to tap his cup against his plastic arm rest. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. Then I hear him "whisper" to his date, "It's a social experiment, let's see how long it takes her to snap." Hey Asshat! I can hear you! Are you out of your gourd? Really? Do you want me to snap? Just say the word pal. You'll have popcorn shoved so far up your nose it will fill your currently empty cranial cavity. After Mr. Mature behind me gets tired of tapping and my lack of reaction, he begins to carry on a conversation with his date, which lasts the duration of the movie. At one point I get annoyed enough to turn around to give him my death glare (which is truly frightening), but as I turn to my left I am stopped by an infuriating site. A sasquatch sized foot is propped up on the chair sitting only inches from my face. YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME! I can't prop my feet up (which totally would not even be in your line of view) but you can stick your foot in my face?! How do these people find me? I spent the rest of the movie wishing I had a sharp object to drive into his smelly foot. And thus continues "Bridget's history of violence" as Kenric likes to call it.

Bye Bye PA School...Forever

2008-05-31T14:52:00.003-04:00

I know this post is months past due, but I think it's time.

When I withdrew from PA school I was a broken person. I had just spent the last few months pouring myself into a profession that made me question everything about myself. I did not fit in from the moment I walked out of the parking garage. I found myself surrounded by dozens of wildly intelligent, beautiful women. They knew exactly what they wanted in life. They had been out in the working world and knew that they wanted more. They were career women. It's a gift to be motivated to succeed in one's profession, but it's not my gift. I am much more concerned with succeeding at being a daughter, a sister, a cousin, a niece, an aunt, a friend and someday a wife and a mother. I am more concerned with being a human being.

I could feel myself being called in a different direction, but I didn't want to let anyone down. I knew I wanted to help people, but at what cost? In my physician assistant program I watched relationships end and families deteriorate. We were asked to give up our lives for the next two years and focus only on learning. Family was not to be a priority. Friendships were to be put on hold. The majority of the women around me broke up with their boyfriends in the first few weeks of school (or their boyfriends broke up with them). I remember my classmate calling her good friend to tell her she couldn't make her wedding because it was just too much time out of her schedule, and I remember thinking "It's her freakin wedding! How could you miss that?" Even our lunch break was a time to continue studying, and socializing was frowned upon. I was twenty two years old and being asked to lock my true self inside and not let her out again until I was twenty four.

I remember looking at my professors, all talented PA's, but most were single PA's. Most did not have families to go home to, or children to run around. That was the decision they had made. They were good at what they did, and they put so much effort into keeping up with all the knowledge they were responsible for, but that didn't leave them much time for anything or anyone else. I got a sick feeling in my stomach every time I thought about it.

In the classroom I was confronted with issues that went against my morals. We were constantly being told that it was our responsibility to push contraceptives onto young girls, and recommend birth control at every chance we got. Natural family planning was mocked incessantly, and I found myself dreading going to class. I was told not to ever bring my personal beliefs or opinions to work because I was not to make anyone feel uncomfortable. I was instructed to adapt the beliefs of any patient I might encounter for the time that I was with them. My values were not important and I should consider them dispensable.

Every thing inside me began to revolt against PA school. It felt as if God was trying so hard to pull me away from it and point me in a different direction. The longer I fought it, the more I fell apart. I was dying inside. It became hard for me to laugh and hard for me to enjoy being around the people I loved because I felt guilty about not studying. I remember bringing my baseball glove over to my grandparent's house one Sunday night toward the end of summer. My cousin Jake just looked at me and said, "Oh I stopped bringing mine because you are always studying and you never want to play with me anymore." Playing catch used to be our thing, and I had let him down the point he had given up on me. PA school had convinced me I didn't have 15 minutes to play catch with an eleven year old who looked up to me. I no longer knew myself, and became angry with the person I was becoming.

It began to be very clear that I needed to get out. I was met with opposition from just about everyone. I was caught between the fear of letting everyone down and the fear of losing myself. In the end, I had to take a chance on the former. I quit, and every day since then I have come alive again little by little. I have not once regretted leaving. Not once. I feel happy again. I'm working as an athletic trainer, which I never thought would bring much meaning to my life, but I was wrong. I work in a catholic hospital, where I can share my faith with my patients. I can go to adoration during my break because there's a chapel right down the hall with perpetual adoration. I work mostly with elderly patients, and I return to them a quality of life they haven't known in years. I help people walk again. I have a patient that came to me in a wheel chair and was so weak he couldn't lift himself out of it. He now can walk laps around the room, using only a cane. And we're just getting started. One of my former patients showed up last week to give me a gift because she felt I had touched her life that much. I've made a seventy year old man cry because he was just so grateful to have someone listen to him and his troubles week after week. I find myself spreading my faith and doing God's will in a profession that I had been told was not good enough for me. Those people were wrong. It puts such a smile on my face when a patient takes me out to the waiting room so they can introduce me to their family. "This is my torturer Bridget!"

I know that right now I am far from my family, but I won't be far forever. I know I started with talking about how I want to be a good daughter/sister/cousin/etc and that moving 400 miles away from my family might seem contradictory, but everything happens for a reason. I love my family just as much from here, and I care about everything that happens in their lives just as much, and even more. Right now I feel like I'm exactly where I'm called to be, doing exactly what I'm called to do...for now.

I hope that puts your mind at ease, and you'll stop referring to me as though I were some poor lost child, not knowing what she's doing. For the first time in a long time, I know exactly what I'm doing.

Cop Out

2008-05-17T20:29:00.003-04:00

Oh no! I haven't posted in over a month! I'm sorry! I can't think of anything worth blogging about. Over the past several weeks I've started a few but then just got bored with them. If I get bored with them, you'll definitely get bored with them. After all, no one is more amused by myself than I am.

First I was going to post a rant called the Skeezeball Awards where I went off about sleazy adulterous men like Eliot Spitzer (who looks like an Orc by the way), but just thinking about the whole thing made me so angry/upset I decided to drop it.

Then I was going to write about my experiences at this Cardiac Rehab Conference I went to, but this was as far as I got before I got bored...

Cardiac Rehab Conference Day 1
Woman 1: I am leaving my kids alone for the first time to attend this conference.
Woman 2: Oh that must be very hard, I just called my kids over the last break. (Directed at Woman 3) Do you have children?
Woman 3: Yes, I just called and checked in with my husband. (Directed at Guy 1) Do you have kids?
Guy 1: Yes I have two young boys. They are quite the handful.
Woman 1 (swinging her head toward my direction, opens mouth to ask, frowns doubtfully, cuts herself off short and turns back to Woman 3): Tell me about your children.
Inner Bridget: I have a gerbil! Her name is Penelope. She does tricks. She can leap from the floor of her cage to the roof. What can your kid do? Nothin!

Then I distinctly remember having something funny to blog about, but I just can't remember what it was. Shoot.

Oh and by the way, I finally had to pay for that freakin fence, and it is all fixed up $72.24 later.
Could have been worse I guess.

I guess I'm going to cop out and post an excerpt from the book I've been working on. That's kind of fun right?

So my main character writes an advice column called From One Dysfunctional Woman to Another, and that's what this is from...

Chapter Three of Refusing to Settle

From One Dysfunctional Woman to Another
September 5

My advice for you today is simple; all women should disband and live without friends. It’s just not worth the trauma. Yesterday I made the mistake of answering my phone at work. It was my friend (ex-friend) Helen with the dreaded news that she had made plans for us for that evening. Since when did I allow other people to start making plans for me? I am not four years old. I do not need someone setting up play dates for me.
First of all, she told me it was a “Girls Night Out.” What an evil little title that is to give to any occasion. Why? Because it’s a blatant lie. No one ever really means just a night out with the girls. If I had my way, such an event would be a relaxing occasion with pizza, movies and maybe a glass of wine (I know you’re supposed to drink beer with pizza, but I hate beer…deal with it). We know better though, don’t we ladies? A “Girl’s Night Out” is a stressful night of dodging bullets in the form of men shot at you by all too eager friends. It is a way for the pretty thin girls with noncommittal boyfriends to taunt their slightly (I do say SLIGHTLY) overweight friends by making sure they know they are not as pretty and require assistance with obtaining men. If it truly was just a night out with the girls it would not matter what I wore. Clearly this was not the case as Helen practically laid out an outfit for me (once again, I am not four).
In order to fully impress upon you the importance of my advice today, I will now recall the events of last night. I found myself sitting in a shady club with “the girls” and wishing I were at home, or grocery shopping, or maybe even in prison. Yes, I think I would have preferred prison (minimum security)...

A Day in the Life

2008-04-13T23:00:00.011-04:00

People are constantly asking me, "Bridget, what do you do after work? I mean you live alone, don't you go crazy?"

Perhaps I haven't been clear. I DO NOT live alone.

Here are some of the things Penelope and I do after work:

We usually do some therapeutic coloring to express our artistic side...

If the Cubs are on TV, we always cheer them on!

Sometimes we just sit around and have intellectual discussions...

Of course we goof off to release the stress of the work day...

We're in the process of beating The Legend of Zelda, so we take turns (well we're supposed to, ehm Penelope)...

Sometimes I get really tired and insist we take a nap (Penelope does not like to nap)...

Then we get to talk to our favorite person...

When it gets close to bed time I read to Penelope...

The very last thing we do is watch some TV to zone out...

I hope that clears everything up. We don't have any board games, but I'm thinking about investing in MouseTrap. It's a topic of debate between Penelope and I.

On a scale from 1-10 (10 being the most) how much do you regret that I got a digital camera for Christmas?

This post officially makes me the biggest dork on the planet. Winner!

Rage Against Society

2008-04-10T18:42:00.003-04:00

"The more I see of the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of either merit or sense." ~Elizabeth Bennet in Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice

It would be nice to say that the world has changed since Austen's time. It would be nice to say that human nature has matured and the people of today have learned from the mistakes of the people of yesterday. It would be nice, but not at all truthful. On the contrary, the human race has entered into a slippery slope of self destruction. Morals and values are receding into the depths and selfishness and cruelty climb higher and higher in importance.

What are we doing?

When people stand up for what is right, we gang up on them and put them down. Are we so afraid to feel guilt?

Instead of reaching out to our friends when they are in need, we write them off and shut them out because we have "enough on our plates." Where has compassion gone?

We form relationships based on selfish desires, and then wonder why they don't work out. Why do we set our standards for ourselves and others so low?

When someone cares about us and tries to help us, we are suspicious. Why are we so afraid to love and be loved?

When we've found someone to love, we search out someone else for more pleasure. Are we that selfish?

When we say "I do," we seldom mean forever. Do promises mean nothing to us anymore?

When we try to plan our futures we take into account how much money we'll make, how many vacations we'll be able to take, and where we will rank in our jobs. Rarely do we consider the life we are capable of bringing into the world because that involves responsibility, time, and money. Where is God in our lives?

When someone calls our actions into question, our first thought is always, "Well you're not perfect either." Does that ever really justify anything?

There is no perfect person among us. We can't sit around and wait for someone without sin to come along and set our examples for us. Sinners need to reach out to sinners, and together we need to make changes.

This world is a disgusting place, and we made it that way. With every selfish decision we make, we replace love with hate. Every time we look the other way, we give injustices and wrongs our stamp of approval. When we refuse to put our faith into people and hope for a better world, we cut ourselves off from progress. Not the kind of progress that brings in large sums of money, but the kind of progress that keeps our kids safe at school, our marriages from falling apart, our friends from taking their lives, and ourselves from being lost.

Fence Update

2008-04-02T17:05:00.004-04:00

The neighbor has made great progress today in the fence repair!

I can't wait til it's back up and ready to be plowed over again!

Because I'm an Idiot Too

2008-03-31T18:38:00.014-04:00

I did something outrageously stupid last Thursday. I hit a fence with my truck. No, it's not as hard to do as one might think. My idiot neighbor thought it would be a good idea to put up a fence to separate our alley access driveways. It's probably a miracle I made it as long as I did (a month) without hitting it. Because I'm an upstanding citizen, I decided to send my neighbor a formal apology...

Dear New Neighbor,

I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize for hitting your appealing (read: hideous eye-sore) chain-link fence. I'm sure it was very troublesome to have past tenants park 3cm over the boundary and onto your slab of concrete. That must have been hard for you, seeing as how you only have a double wide driveway to park your solitary vehicle. I'm so pleased that you installed this practical (read: useless) fence long before I moved in because I would have hated to accidentally invade your space. I noticed that your privacy is very important to you, made evident by the eight "NO TRESPASSING, PRIVATE PROPERTY!" signs you have scattered about your 100 sq ft of property, and so I apologize for having to come to the door and explain to you that I'd just folded your fence in half with my over-sized vehicle. I would, however, like to offer you a small piece of neighborly advice. If you're trying to protect your private property, I would suggest you get something a little more threatening than the Reign of Terror you currently have protecting your home. I also want you to know that I am not at all upset about the damage my truck suffered when your fence (read: bane of my existence) attacked me. In fact, I consider it a worthy and just punishment for attempting to park in my own driveway. I'm really glad that you've decided to repair the fence. I can't even imagine how I'd go on if you did the sensible thing and just took it down.

Can't wait for the bill!

Bridget

In other news...I now have a roommate! Yay! No more living alone! Hurrah!

Her name is Penelope Jones. We get along pretty well, but I suspect she does drugs. For one, she has severe mood swings which generally result in temper tantrums involving a rain shower of wood shavings all over my floor. She also tends to exert random bursts of energy which result in her running circles in her room and twitching compulsively. I usually just try not to talk to her when this is occurring. It's usually best that way.

Warning: Bitchy rant to ensue.

I'm not sure if everyone is aware about how this blog operates, so let me just go over some ground rules. It's actually not a call in and request kind of thing. You do not pay me to write, therefore I'll post whatever I darn well please. Recipe requests and all.

Recipes

2008-03-18T20:14:00.004-04:00

Hey kids! I've decided to take up cooking/baking. This is my current attempt to fend off the boredom which naturally accompanies living by oneself in a strange yooper town.

POST SOME RECIPES!

P.S. I don't eat fish...or anything else one might find swimming and/or crawling through the water.

P.P.S. I love desserts.

ALSO
I have internet now! And cable!

Ridiculous

2008-03-04T18:08:00.004-05:00

Hmmmmmmmmm.

I haven't posted in a ridiculously long time.

I am sorry.

Update time!

I've moved from Manistique, MI to Escanaba, MI so now I only have to drive 5 minutes to get to work! UPGRADE!

I live alone. Downgrade! (I miss you Auna)

I had my first house guest this weekend! Thanks Rachael! UPGRADE!

I have no internet...again. (Since the last post I had finally obtained internet in Manistique, but now that I've moved again...no internet) Downgrade.

I'm a celebrity in Escanaba. These jokers put me on their local channel and asked me a bunch of
questions about athletic injuries. Bridget in front of live t.v. camera = blank stare/awkward as all get out. Major downgrade.

Random comments:

I'm sitting in the Escanaba library right now and there's a potted tree next to me wrapped with Christmas lights. It is March. Sitting in the tree is a fake bird, and if I'm not mistaken it is made up predominately of toilet paper. Why?

I have never met they guy who lives downstairs, but as of my first day of living there I began to refer to him as The Yahoo due to his poor parking decisions. I'm not a nice person.

Last week I excitedly pulled my Jade Garden leftovers out of the fridge and arranged them on a plate. I turned to put it in the microwave only to realize I don't have a microwave. IDIOT.

There's an ice shanty attached to my front door. It's bright green. (yes an ice shanty, as in a shed one fishes in).

My ice shanty prevented me from moving my couch in. I had to shove it through the kitchen window. I live on the second floor. Figure that one out.

I have snowshoe buddies at work. YAY!

Well my lap top is about to run out of batteries.

No Internet

2008-01-22T17:36:00.000-05:00

Day 16 of no internet in new apartment.

Things are very bleak indeed.

Will not survive much longer.

Living in small yooper town.

Everyone always watching me.

Creeped out.

Please send...cookies.

On the plus side! The new job is going well, and my coworkers are super nice. Our apartment is all decorated and now actually looks as though it is occupied (sorry Auna, but it didn't even look like you were living there). I have bunches of stories to blog about, but seeing as I still have no internet, and my time here at the library is limited, you'll just have to wait.

Miss you all back home!

Documented Strangeness

2008-01-04T01:17:00.001-05:00

I got a digital camera for Christmas! Which will naturally lead to pointless blogging, like this one...

DOCUMENTING STRANGE

Exhibit A

Name: Carl St. Jude AKA Creature (yes his middle name is St. Jude)

Species: Pug AKA Rancor

Activities: Sleeping, eating, itching, creating foul smells

Documented strangeness: It has snowed here quite a bit in the last few days. The snow is high enough that Carl cannot walk through the backyard, as a real dog with long legs would be able to do. Instead, my father has had to shovel walkways for him. I find this strange.

Exhibit B

Name: Moses AKA Demon Kitty

Species: Cat AKA Evil

Activities: Sleeping, eating, tripping, biting, invading privacy, box dwelling

Documented strangeness: Moses enjoys spending time in empty boxes, which is actually very counter productive to my attempt to pack. Once inside a box, he finds it necessary to eat his way through the cardboard to escape, rather than just hop back out through the open flaps. I find this strange.

Part 3, Chapter 1

2007-12-15T00:56:00.001-05:00

God has created me to do Him some definite service; He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another. I have my mission--I may never know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next.

I am a link in a chain, a bond of connection between persons. He has not created me for naught. I shall do good, I shall do His work. I shall be an angel of peace, a preacher of truth in my own place while not intending it--if I do but keep His Commandments.

Therefore, I will trust Him, whatever, wherever I am. I can never be thrown away. If I am in sickness, my sickness may serve Him; in perplexity, my perplexity may serve Him; if I am in sorrow, my sorrow may serve Him. He does nothing in vain. He knows what He is about. He may take away my friends, He may throw me among strangers. He may make me feel desolate, make my spirits sink, hide my future from me--still He knows what He is about.

~A Meditation by Cardinal Newman

The time for worrying is over, as it is unnecessary. Life will always go on, just as God intended it to. It is time for me to trust in the One who holds my future in His hands. And so begins what I like to call...Part 3, Chapter 1.

Minimal Progress

2007-11-28T11:43:00.000-05:00

In an effort to join the adult masses, I have decided the first thing I need to do is get on an adult sleeping schedule. I have decided I will no longer sleep until ten o'clock because such a sleeping schedule will not coexist with a fancy adult job. Unfortunately, this goal has not yet been achieved. I keep accidentally oversleeping. I say accidentally in italics because some individuals (Kenric) question the validity of that statement. For the record, yes it is purely accidental that I hit the snooze button nine times before I get out of bed. How is that even close to being my fault? I also cannot help that I am in an altered state of mind when I wake up in the morning, and I forget that I am supposed to be adhering to a strict adult schedule. Also not my fault. In conclusion, my adult becoming progress is at a current minimal state.

Adults

2007-11-27T01:23:00.000-05:00

Last night I was driving my younger cousins home from my grandma's house. My little cousin Nick, who's probably around 10 years old (Aunt Maggie?) asked me where I was going to school. I informed him that I had graduated, and being the smart little guy he is, he said, "But where are you going to grad school?" I told him that I wasn't going to grad school anymore because it wasn't for me. He then said to me, in a very matter of fact way, "Oh, so you're an adult now."

I couldn't help but laugh out loud. All I could say was, "Well...not exactly."

Which got me to thinking...maybe I am, or more appropriately put, maybe I should be.

Man, do I have a lot of work to do.

Coworkers

2007-11-17T02:38:00.000-05:00

4:15pm Beginning of work shift
Coworker A: You would not believe what just happened.
Coworker B: What?
Inner Bridget: What?
CA: I just asked the hostesses if they had a crack rock for me, and they just stared at me.
CB: Ugh. Stupid hostesses.
Inner Bridget: A what?!
CA: I need a pick me up before my shift, and they're all holding out on me.
CB: That is so like them.
Inner Bridget: Is she joking?
CA: How do they expect me to get through this shift.
Inner Bridget: Probably the same way I do.
CB: I don't know. It's going to be rough.

6:36pm
Coworker #1: Is that a picture of your man?!
Coworker #2: Yes.
C 1: Girl! Let me see him!
C 2: *handing over picture and looking disgusted* He's such a jerk.
Inner Bridget: Why are you dating him?
C1: Really?
C2: Yes, he lies to me all the time, and he's so mean to me. I think I'm going to dump him.
Inner Bridget: Probably best.
C1: Well, do you see yourself spending the rest of your life with him.
C2: Yes.
Inner Bridget: What?!
C1: Then sometimes you just have to take the good with the bad.
C2: Yeah, I think you're right.
Inner Bridget: What just happened here?

8:24pm
Coworker: I wasn't smoking before I met my boyfriend.
Bridget: No?
Coworker: No. But you know he's got a 3 ft glass bong and what was I supposed to do?
Inner Bridget: ...and she's not talking about cigarettes
Bridget: Oh.
Coworker: So I had to take advantage of it.
Bridget: Uh....OH! My order's up!
Inner Bridget: hmmmmmmm

Planning for the Future

2007-11-11T00:22:00.000-05:00

Hey kids, listen up while your good pal Bridget gives you a few lessons on life.

Lesson Number 1
When your mom gives you lunch money for school, pocket it. You do not need that crappy cafeteria food anyways. Hang on to it, I'll tell you why in a minute.

Lesson Number 2
When you are in the checkout line at Target, fixate your gaze on the register. Do not, I repeat, do not look at the shelves full of candy, or take a quick peak at the little cooler full of pop. You do not need either. Hang on to that money, I'll tell you why in a minute.

Lesson Number 3
So you like Slurpee's do you? You think 711 is a fun place to go? You like getting the biggest size possible and putting in every flavor available (except coke)? No. You don't need that either. Hang on to that money, I'll tell you why in a minute.

Lesson Number 4
Oh! You'd like to pick the most expensive university you can find to go away to (ehm Johnny)? BAD IDEA! A college degree is a college degree. Yes, you WILL mind if you are $80,000 in debt when you graduate. Instead, pick a cheap school with a decent reputation (this is possible) and you'll save some money. Hang on to that money, I'll tell you why in a minute.

Lesson Number 5
Do not take trips to exotic places. This is unnecessary. Fill up a kiddy pool in your backyard and knock yourself out. Hang on to that vacation money and instead, work when you can. I'll tell you why in a minute.

Lesson Number 6
Do not drive 86 mph through Wisconsin, especially if you have an IL license plate. You will be pulled over, they won't be nice, and you will get a ticket. This ticket will cost upwards of $200. Instead, hang on to that money, I'll tell you why in a minute.

Lesson Number 7
If you think having a nice over sized truck is a good idea, you're wrong (even if it is beautiful and spacious). It guzzles gas and probably will have a million things go wrong on it. Buy something small with good fuel efficiency. Hang on to that gas money, I'll tell you why in a minute.

Lesson Number 8
Music is nice. Did you know you can listen to it for free by turning on a radio? Stop buy Cd's, and music offline. Also, don't download it illegally, it could catch up with you and then you'll probably end up spending way more money. Instead, hang on to that money, I'll tell you why in a minute.

Lesson Number 9
While you're in college do something productive like invent a teleport. This way you will already be cashing in on your patent, and you'll be reducing all transportation costs.

Lesson Number 10
Do not go out to the movies. This will cost you a ridiculous amount of money. Not only will you pay $7.50 to get in, but you will inevitably fall victim to the concessions. They are very clever there and have exactly what you think you want/need. Instead, hang on to that money I'll tell you why...now.

Why:
One day you will graduate from college. While you were in college you built up a nice little thing called debt, probably in the form of student loans. If this did not happen to you, I don't want to hear about it. For the rest of us...all those loans that we never gave much thought to actually do need to be paid back. Oh and that little 6 month grace period goes by very quickly, so don't even bank on that business. While you are waiting to get a big kid job because apparently the four year degree that you earned and that nice high GPA that you worked so hard for don't mean anything unless you validate it by passing a certification exam (ok, this part probably only applies to a select few of us...athletic training majors!), you are going to need some other form of income. In fact, you are going to need a very fast form of income. Most of these inbetween jobs you can get don't actually pay enough to support you if you'd like to live on your own, make car payments, pay for health insurance, pay for car insurance, and make payments on your student loans. This creates an unpleasant situation.

Hypothetically...
You might decide to become a waitress. You might be horrible at it. This may be because you are a nerdy bookworm and should not be allowed to interact with tables full of customers ("guests"). You might spill drinks on people. You might forget to bring out an appetizer...or five. You might be forced to head to work everyday in a men's shirt and tie, with an apron wrapped around your waist. You might feel ridiculous shouting "I'm in the weeds" and so you might not get any extra help when you're in over your head. You might start to care a little bit less about "100 percent guest delight." This might get you into trouble quickly.

To avoid this awful pitful, and to ensure that when you graduate you can live comfortably until you find a good job...STOP WASTING YOUR MONEY! Oh, and make sure you pick a major that doesn't require you jumping through five extra hoops just to get a job.

P.S. Happy Anniversary Aimee and Tom. I'd much rather be going to your wedding again today, than going to work.

Chapstick, the Homewrecker

2007-10-26T23:54:00.000-04:00

The first of the topics I must discuss is the very compelling issue brought forth by Cat.

Chapstick.

What a curious little invention. Seemingly so innocent, and yet so destructive. I know all too well the pain which is caused by this little tube of balm. It has special powers that trick the human mind. Think about it. There you sit, perfectly fine, you and your lips. No problems or disputes between you. And then...it happens. A woman just a few feet away begins to dig in her purse. You're nosey, so you watch. You become mesmerized. "WHAT IS SHE GOING TO PULL OUT?" you scream from inside your head. Then, slowly, but confidently she produces a small plastic tube, equal in length to your pinkie finger. In one swift movement she plucks off the cap and raises the skin protectant to her lips. Instinctively your own lips start to hurt. They feel dry and you lick them in a desperate attempt to quench their unyielding thirst. You begin to reel the contents of your own purse through your mind like a mental slide show...wallet, checkbook, clicky pen, chocolate, cell phone, Chihuahua named Fifi, and more chocolate. "Oh no! I have no chapstick," the tiny voice inside your head screeches at a decibel that makes your purse pooch duck for cover. Instantly your lips feel like the Sahara desert, and you stare longingly at the woman moisturizing her lips. Your lips begin to pulse with pain.

SNAP OUT OF IT. There's nothing wrong with you. You've been duped by the mind powers of the chapstick. This however, is not chapstick's worse offense. Chapstick is a homewrecker, and so is Cat for suggesting this topic. Because now I have to talk about it, and it will surely get me in trouble.

Setting: Minivan in route to Colorado.

I sit in the backseat staring absent mindedly out the window watching the trees roll by. My mind is numb from under stimulation when out of the corner of my eye I see my mother pull something out of her purse. Chapstick. The syndrome instantly begins and my lips start to hurt and feel chapped and dry. After generously (selfishly) applying the chapstick to her own lips, she goes to replace the tube back into her purse.

"Wait mom! Can I use that?" I ask earnestly.

She looks at me disgustedly, as if I wasn't the same individual that came rolling out of her some 16 or so years earlier. "No," she replies, and turns back around.

"Please, they are so dry," I moan.

"Be quiet Bridget."

"But mo..."

"I am not about to have your germs on my chapstick."

"I'm your daughter!"

"Yes I remember. I almost died giving birth to you, now be quiet."

"But they are chapped and hurt"

"Chapped?! Don't talk to me about chapped. My lips darn near chapped right off as I pushed you into this world, don't talk to me about chapped lips."

"So you understand what it's like then?"

"Do you want to walk to Colorado?"

As you can see, 6 years later, the hurt is still very fresh. Shaky fist chapstick.

Did You Miss Me?

2007-10-22T00:26:00.000-04:00

So I'm ready to starting blogging again, but now that I have the time, I'm fresh out of ideas. You'd think I'd have a lot to say with everything that has happened in the last 5 months, but I'm coming up empty. I could talk about quitting grad school (taking a leave of absence) but really, that doesn't sound like much fun. I could talk about what a lunatic I have become lately, but I think Kenric should only have to live through those incidences once. I could talk about all of the crazy projects my mom keeps throwing at me (love you mom) while she tells me in the same breath I need to work on getting a job, but that will get me into trouble. Actually that whole last sentence has, "Bridget you're grounded," written all over it. Yes, I am 22 years old. I could talk about my plans for the future, but they change everyday so putting them in writing seems kind of pointless. I could talk about cake...mmm cake...but that doesn't seem very healthy. I could talk about how I started running again (by started I mean today I went out and jogged/crawled 2 miles), but then I'd have to admit just how out of shape I am. So as you can see, I've got nothing here.

What would you like to hear about?

OH AND!
It's Ugg boot season! Woohoo!

I missed you too.

Diseased

2007-09-08T12:27:00.000-04:00

Some people are really good at being sick. What I mean to say is, some people handle it much more gracefully than others. In fact, they hardly let on that they are sick at all, and if you weren't around them long enough to take in all the coughing and nose blowing, you'd never even know.

I am not some people.

When I feel ill, all the world must know. When I get sick I'm never just, "not feeling well," I'm always, "dying." I am not the kind of person to lock myself away in my bedroom and reemerge when all is well. I must surround myself with reluctant individuals so I have ample victims to whine at. I moan and groan, and shift around restlessly, ensuring that everyone knows I am uncomfortable and displeased with my current state.

I am demanding.
Example:
Anna's voicemail: Hi you've reached Anna...blah, blah, blah...leave a message after the peep.
Me: Anna, this is Bridget. I hope the reason you're not answering your phone right now is that you're making me chicken noodle soup from scratch. I'm on my way over to your house right now.

I refuse anything that makes sense.
Example:
Me: I don't feel well.
Mom: Bridget, did you take anything?
Me: NO!
Mom: Well...
Me: Wha?
Mom: How old are you?

I am wholly unreasonable.
Example:
Location: Meijer Store, Soft Drink Aisle
Current state: feverish, coughing/hacking, red eyes (possibly even glowing), wandering through aisle clearly distressed
Meijer Shelf Stocker: Can I help you?
Me: *Angry glare* You can start by explaining why there is no Vernors on these shelves.
Stocker: Vernors?
Me: Vernors! The original ginger soda! A Michigan original since 1866!
Stocker: Oh! You need some ginger ale! Ok, well right here we have Canada Dry.
Me: *Eyes narrowing into an even angrier glare* Are you kidding me? I'm sick and quite possibly dying. I need a cure all, not some pansy Canadian ginger ale. Do you want me to be dead by morning?!
Stocker: I'm sure they taste the same.
Me: *Eyes widening into utter disbelief* No. It's not the same. Kenric always brings me Vernors when I'm sick!
Stocker: *Blank stare*
Me: This is an outrage, I'll shop elsewhere.

For those of you thinking, "Bridget, that doesn't sound like you. You don't like to talk to strangers." Well, you're right. Most of that conversation probably occurred in my head, but in my current diseased state I can no longer tell the difference between fiction and reality. If you'd like a more accurate version, it probably went more like this...

Meijer Shelf Stocker: Can I help you?
Me: No thanks. *Leaves store empty handed and buys Vernors elsewhere*

I am morbid.
Example:
Mom: What are you doing?
Me: Palpating my stomach.
Mom: Why?
Me: I'm making sure my appendix is not about to burst open and kill me.
Mom: Just go to bed.

I am dramatic.
Example:
Thermometer reading: 99.4 degrees F.
"Ahhh! I have a fever. I AM dying!"

I am slightly over the top.
Example:
Location: Meijer Store Checkout
Cashier scans...
1 Bottle DayQuil Cold & Flu
1 Bottle NyQuil Cough
1 Pack Cepacol Sore Throat Cherry Flavored Extra Strength Lozenges (18pack)
1 Pack Cepacol Sore Throat + Cough Mixed Berry Lozenges (18 pack) [is it bad that the back of the box has a limit on how many I can consume in a 24 hour period (12)?]
1 Bottle of Extra Strength Rapid Release Tylenol

Knowing that I am extremely unpleasant and whiny in this state, I have taken several measures to overcome my current illness. Last night I went to bed at 9:30pm. This is huge for me. Unfortunately all the coughing and hacking made for a very restless night, and I finally rolled out of bed 12 hours later feeling much worse than I had before. I went out and bought a pharmacy worth of drugs (see above), but they don't seem to be helping. I tell you all of this so that you may avoid all contact with me. My family has left the house for the day leaving me no one to whine at all day, and so the next person I speak with will get the brunt of a days worth of whining that I've been storing up.

You've been warned.

Keep Reading

2007-08-13T22:06:00.000-04:00

I'm overtired and over dramatic...perfect time for blogging.

Yes Mom, I should be studying.

Yesterday I saw the movie Becoming Jane. I was a little weary to see it because Jane Austen is my favorite author and I doubted Anne Hathaway could do her justice. Not that I don't like Anne, but I just don't see her as Jane. The movie wasn't half bad. It portrayed my heroine much like I would. I've always been able to relate to Jane Austen. There's something so enticing about being able to write in your own happy endings when you feel so far from them yourself.

I have a strong sense that even if I could write my own ending, I'd mess it up. There's no way I could get it quite as good as what God has in mind. Normally I'm so opposed to flipping to the end of a book just to see how it ends. I mean if you read the end first, what's the point of experiencing the rest of it? But right now, I feel differently. Right now I'd just like to read the last page and see how it ends up. Maybe then I could calm down and relax. I could stop worrying about everything I can't control.

I mean of course it would be easier to trust someone if you knew they were going to come through for you, but I guess it wouldn't really be trust then would it?

So I guess I'll just keep reading.

I don't think this entry makes sense to anyone but me. I think I'll post it anyways. I'm glad we had this conversation.

Skulls

2007-08-12T23:31:00.001-04:00

To answer everyone's question...

"Bridget! How's school going???"

I sawed through a corpse's skull with a hacksaw last week.

Anymore questions?

Didn't think so.

TWO WEEKS LEFT!

Holy Cats

2007-06-30T11:14:00.000-04:00

Hello. Yes, I'm still alive...barely. I started MWU's Physician Assistant graduate program 3 weeks ago, hence no blog entries in a month.

I am in over my head.

I could just whine about it, but instead I'll show you an example of one of my school days, and you can imagine me whining about it.

6:00am Alarm goes off.

6:50am Get in truck

7:00am Run into construction

7:15am Run into some more construction

7:25am Stop and wait for reaaaallly long train to pass

7:40am Sit in traffic that does not move for no reason at all

8:05am Arrive at Midwestern University

8:10am Sit through a 2 hour Biopsychosocial Issues lecture

10:10am Sit through a 2 hours Clinical Medicine lecture

12:00pm Lunch (aka reviewing anatomy notes)

1:10pm Anatomy Lecture

2:10pm Anatomy Lab with cadavers (3 hrs)

5:00pm Library study time for two hours to avoid rush hour traffic

7:00pm Head home

8:00pm Arrive at home, tired, crabby and hungry.

9:00pm Start studying

12:00am Go to bed

So this is a typical day. The classes vary between those mentioned above and then two different biochems and a professional seminar. Sometimes I get to go home earlier than that, sometimes I get to arrive a little later. Regardless, I'm pretty sure they're trying to kill me. However, I have made it through 3 weeks already, and that means there's only 8 more to go until I get one week off. After that week off I get to start a whole new set of classes, with the added bonus of having eight classes instead of the six I can barely handle now.

So to answer all of your questions along the lines of, "How's grad school going?!"...

"Please send chocolate and pray for me."

I miss you all. I miss my life. When I get time to write a new blog entry (probably in 2 years) I'll try to make it more uplifting.

Also, I still have not seen or heard one ice cream truck. It is now almost July. Is anyone else concerned?

Jamba Juice

2007-05-29T00:52:00.000-04:00

12:30pm: Darn it, I'm hungry. Ooooo. This granola bar looks swell. This should hold me over until dinner.
*Granola Bar consumed*
12:31pm: That was really good. So satisfying.
12: 39pm: Holy Cats! I'm starving. Stupid granola bar!
12:41pm: I should eat something. Yes KFC, let's eat KFC.
12:42pm: No! I feel like that is counter productive to the run we did this morning. Oh come on! We'll get that twister thing. There's lettuce in that, how can it not be good for you?
12:43pm: It costs money! We have no income. Income? Psh. Take some money from Johnny. No! That's not nice.
12:44pm: I need something free. I should just make a sandwich. Noooooooo! Such effort! Don't do it! How is that going to be satisfying?! Shhhhh Inner Bridget, I have no money. A sandwich will be just fine. Doubt it.
12: 45pm: WAIT! I'VE GOT IT! Jamba Juice! Oh my gosh! I'm right! I have a coupon for a free smoothie!
12:47pm: *Jump into truck, drive to Jamba Juice.*
12:55pm: *Arrive at Jamba Juice. Open purse to dig out coupon.*
12:56pm: *Dig through purse for 5th time...still no coupon.*
12:57pm: Where is my coupon! What the heck?! It was just in here a few days ago. When was the last time you saw it? When we pulled it out to use it with Ryne but Jamba Juice was closed...wait a minute. Ryne stole it! He stole our coupon! Ryne wouldn't steal it, don't be silly. Oh yes he would! Greedy! He took it alright! He's a dead man!
12:58pm: *Contemplating*
12:59pm: Do you really think he took it? Well it didn't get up and walk out of here now did it? He is a dead man! Hell hath no fury like a woman robbed of her free smoothie!
1:00pm: What now? What do you mean what now? Get in there! Go buy us a smoothie, I'm starving! But now I have to pay for it. Come on, I know you're hungry. Fine! But just this once.
1:05pm: *Exit Jamba Juice, smoothie in hand.*
1:15pm: *Smoothie consumed to completion.*
1:19pm: I'm starving!

11:30pm: *Searching jean pockets*
11:31pm: What's this? My Jamba Juice coupon! Hurrah! Fantastic! I can't believe you blamed Ryne.

Spring Shopping

2007-05-27T13:08:00.001-04:00

Isn't shopping for clothes fun? I love walking into a place and seeing nothing but size 0-4 crowding every rack. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside to have to scrounge about to the very back of each rack praying that they have at least one pair of shorts in a double digit size. Usually they don't bother to put these ones out. Apparently women that size don't need clothes. They can just wear togas or ponchos. Don't worry, if that's not your style usually there's a for sale rack hidden somewhere in the store. This is most likely located in a hole in the wall behind the sea of flip flops, accessed by spinning the green and white striped ones counterclockwise three times. That is where you will find clothes for the "other women."

And aren't the new spring fashions just darling? I'm sure every girl has enough self confidence and lacks enough modesty and morals to skip around in shorts that just barely cover her rear end. Thank goodness we were all born with twig like legs to pull these off. I also really enjoy the cute new tops that are out right now. I mean sure, I didn't realize they were shirts at first, I mistook one or two for a bandanna, and that other thing for a skirt, but after I bumped into the manikins, it all started making sense. Those dresses are awesome too. I hear see-through is the new black anyways right?

I guess I just have a few questions...
1) Do you have anything that will at least cover up my undergarments?
2) If I wanted to do something besides stand up straight and look pretty, do you have anything that wouldn't fall off my body while functioning on a normal human being level?
3) Since you've woven your dresses into pretty little numbers with gaping holes, do you have another dress I could put on underneath it?
4) If I were to wear the shirt that looks like a mini skirt, can I simultaneously wear a few of the shirts that look like bandannas, strategically fashioned to cover the rest of my torso?
5) The white see-through pants are really lost on me, can you explain those?
6) Let's say, just as a hypothetical question, that I wanted to cover up more than 10% of my body...do you have a swimsuit for that?
7) Ultra low rise jeans? For real? What? Why?
8) How do you sit in those? And still feel comfortable?
9) I'm all for recycling, but since when did people start turning in their hammocks so that they could be made into articles of clothing?
10) If I wear a large, what are women bigger than me supposed to wear? Seriously.

Correspondence

2007-05-22T15:45:00.000-04:00

Dear Ice Cream Truck Driver Man-

Perhaps you didn't get the memo. It's warm outside. Come back. Today the temperature is hovering around 85 degrees, and you are no where to be found. I know it's only May, but I REALLY need some ice cream. Of course I could go to the store, but then I'd miss out on that fine music that you so eloquently blare from your speakers. I really want (NEED) a Choco Taco. Don't even try to lie to me and tell me you've been out and about, and that I just haven't heard you. I have a special sense for these things. I can hear you come from miles off...with headphones on...in the middle of a hail storm...over my sister practicing her trumpet. Maybe you should just give me your cell phone number, or your pager. That way we won't have these conflicts.
I miss you a lot,
Bridget

Dear Johnny,
I can't believe you ate the last Drumstick! You do realize that the Ice Cream Truck Driver Man is not yet making his rounds?! You've completely put my mood/life in jeopardy. Go buy me one of those Chocolate Eclair Bars.
~Your Favorite Sister

Dear Neighbor Girl~
I noticed that you were out on your deck tanning when I awoke at 11am. It concerns me that you are still out tanning now, and it's after 3pm. I let it go the first 5 days in a row I witnessed this all day event, but now I feel I must really say something. First of all, you probably just graduated college as I did, seeing as we graduated high school at the same time, and I assume you should be doing something with your life, like finding a job. Tanning for six hours a day might interfere with this search. Secondly, one's skin should not resemble a Coach Purse. That's not hot. You were officially tan about two weeks ago. You can stop now. This is just over kill. Lastly, I'm sorry about the singing. I forget that you spend your entire day sunbathing on your deck and that you can hear me singing from my kitchen while I do the dishes. That's my bad.
SPF 45 is nice.
~Bridget

Where Have I Been?

2007-05-09T14:50:00.000-04:00

Oh my gosh, where have I been? Why have I not been blogging? Seriously, not one post in the whole month of April, that's ridiculous!

It's not my fault, really it isn't. You can blame the following:

1) 3 months of procrastination which led to one intense month of April (how is that my fault?!)
2) Kenric (yeah that's right, I said it)
3) Graduating/Saying Goodbye (teh sad)
4) Nice weather

Now that I've completely pawned off all the blame, let's get down to business. So I've graduated from Northern Michigan University with a Bachelors of Science in Athletic Training. Yay. Time to relax...not. I start grad school in June at Midwestern University. I'll be there for two years studying to be a Physician Assistant. Blah blah blah...enough of this.

New topic. So saying goodbye to people was a lot harder than I imagined it would be. The result was an over emotional Bridget who cried at the drop of a hat and rocked back and forth till the early hours of the morning. I'm not so good with the whole change thing. I met a lot of amazing people over the past four years and I wish I could take them all with me wherever I go. This is not the case. I can, however, take with me the lessons I learned from them all. A large part of learning is sharing your knowledge with the next person, so here I go...

1) No situation is ever hopeless.
2) Trusting people is the only way you'll ever get anywhere in life.
3) The most courageous person you'll ever meet may just be a triple jumper who only stands 5 feet 3 inches tall (correction 5'1").
4) The world doesn't end when someone else sees you cry.
5) Good friends are hard to find, but hard and impossible have never been the same thing.
6) You're never too old for Lego's and coloring books...or sand toys.
7) Sometimes you just need to hug it out.
8) No one ever has it all figured out.
9) When you dream, dream big.
10) In life you're going to say things you wish you hadn't, but remember God knew you were going to say them hundreds of years before they ever rolled off your tongue. Just go with it.
11) The wisest people you'll ever meet are usually younger than you. Probably because they've been learning from your mistakes.
12) You can search all you want for the remote, but there are some things in life that you just can't rewind.
13) Being sure of your future is impossible, being sure of yourself is imperative. Love yourself.
14) The people you love the most are the people who can hurt you the most. Love them anyways. Love to the point of sacrifice.
15) Sometimes you receive gifts from God that you don't think you deserve. He doesn't accept returns, just say thanks.
16) Life is not easy. If it's easy, then we're probably not living it right. We all have crosses to bear, but there is glory in the cross.
17) If you can't see yourself through God's eyes, find someone who can. Ask them what they see...and believe them.
18) The times in your life where you feel most alone are the times when God is closest, reach out and latch on.
19) The only situations that are impossible to get through are the ones we try to get through alone.
20) Every person deserves a chance...or 7 times 77 chances.
21) Never be afraid to try new things...even if you do end up spitting them out later.
22) Getting lost is an adventure worth taking every now and again.
23) Time is never wasted, when it's spent with people you care about.
24) It's not about the pizza and the treats. It's never been about that. It's about the people.
25) Surround yourself with people who will never give up on you.
26) A ledger pad is useless without the paper that fills it and the individuals who write in their lasting impact.
27) When someone comes to you for help, it's not a mistake.
28) The only things we need to strive for in life are faith, hope, and love. The end.
29) Don't ever write yourself off, you never know when a blond-haired, blue-eyed boy is going to walk into your life and prove you wrong.
30) If you get the choice to sit it out or dance, I hope you dance.

As I drove out of Marquette this past Sunday I remember looking out my rear view mirror thinking, "objects in mirror are closer than they appear." I don't think 400 miles will ever change that. I love you guys!

I couldn't have said it any better

2007-03-31T10:38:00.000-04:00

This, ladies and gentlemen, is why my cousin Kate really is cooler than me. I'm sitting here posting about chocolate and Ugg boots, while she perfectly recalls some of the best times of our lives. Lake Wisconsin Vacations.

Fantastic post Kate.

Mmmm...Chocolate

2007-03-20T14:57:00.000-04:00

An extra special glimpse into the mind of women...or at least this woman.

To say that a woman's mood can be highly relient upon chocolate and/or desserts and/or Mike and Ike's (any candy of similar substance) is NOT, I repeat, NOT a stereotype. It is a fact.

That is all.

Uh oh...

2007-03-08T10:25:00.000-05:00

Cleaning must commence...2 days ago!

Kenric is coming to visit the STC and much cleaning needs to occur in order for me not to get shot by my mother (love you mom!). In a house of 6 people, 4 dogs (yes I'm including Mr. Stan...he's here all the time anyways), 3 cats, a guinea pig, and a partridge in a pear tree, cleaning is no small task. It's actually very overwhelming and so instead of actually cleaning I keep doing things slightly related to the task...

1) Make a list of what needs to be cleaned
2) Take an inventory of cleaning supplies
3) Blog about needing to clean
4) Stare off into space thinking about cleaning

In other related news...
Dear family members,
Feel free to stop by at any time this weekend. You would not believe the ambush I received upon entering his house last weekend. Retaliation is only fair. Come in hoards.
Love,
Bridget

Group Projects Part 2

2007-02-26T23:11:00.000-05:00

It's that time of year again! Group project time! Do we remember how much I love Group Projects? Love them. I love them with a passion likened only to the wonderful sensation of sandpaper rubbing against my skin. I'm glad to see that no matter what class I'm in, nothing changes. It's good to have consistency. It's something I can depend on. I can depend that if there are incompetent, unmotivated people in my class I will most definitely be grouped up with them to complete a lengthy project. Fantastic. My current group might just top the charts.

Email sent out...
Hey guys-
We need to do that 470 project. For those of you who can make it, we're going to meet at the library at 9pm. We'll meet up at the circulation desk and go from there.
-Bridget

That's pretty clear right? Nothing too confusing? I enter the library at 8:55pm through the basement which is actually just a lounge area with a food court/Starbucks where people can socialize and eat. As I'm cutting through this area to head upstairs to the actual library part and the circulation desk I see two members of my group sitting at a table eating nachos. I figured they were just finishing up dinner before our meeting so I head over to say hello, and insanity ensues...

Me: "Hi guys."
Idiot #1: "Oh good, you're here!"
Me: "Uh...yeah."
Idiot #2: "We didn't know what the circum...whatever was."
Idiot #1: "Yeah, so we decided to just meet down here and hope you found us."
Me: "The circulation desk?"
Idiot #2: "Yeah! That's it!"
Me: Are you kidding me?! "Well, that's the desk you check your books out at."
Idiot #1 (3rd year in school...at least): "I've never done that."
Me: Remain calm. Don't hit him. Breathe. Why would I even look for you down here, this isn't even the actual library?! "Well this table isn't going to work."
Idiots: "Wha...?"
Me: Smaller words, talk slower. "There...are....five...people...in...this...group. You...are...at...a...table...for...four."
Idiot #1: Well I didn't see anything else.
Me: *Looks across the room and sees 5 different tables that would work* SERIOUSLY? "Well let me take a look and see what I can find." IDIOTS! *Returns five seconds later* "Ok, my backpack is on that one over there, go ahead and head over. I'm going to go get the others...the one's who actually know what a circulation desk is."
Idiots: *While staring directly at the table with my backpack...the only open table with a giant backpack sitting on it* "Which one?"
Me: Just walk away. No, murdering someone with a plastic knife is not a good idea.

CUBBIES!

2007-02-26T10:47:00.000-05:00

The Official Site of The Chicago Cubs: Homepage

Ladies and gentlemen....SPRING TRAINING STARTS THIS WEEK!

Sleep or lack there of

2007-02-23T02:01:00.000-05:00

I woke up at 4am this morning. It is now 2am the next morning. I haven't even taken a nap. That's 22 hrs of being awake folks. 22 hrs of being awake, and not one thing to blog about. Hmmm. I should go to bed.

Should I mention the all nighter I pulled the night before?

It's almost the weekend!

Uggs = Pandemic

2007-02-20T16:12:00.000-05:00

Ok so I know I keep mentioning Ugg boots, but I can't help it. People bring this stuff to me. I would be able to ignore the epidemic or perhaps by now it's more of a pandemic, but no. It's like I've got Uggs spies. I get phone calls, emails, and even pictures. And darn it...I love it. I love hearing your Ugg boot sightings. Uggs are being spotted across the country. I knew they ran ramped up here in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, but I had no idea they had overtaken my homeland of Illinois and now even Colorado. Here are two of the most recent updates I have received:
1) Uggs on Ice (Champaign/Urbana, IL)
Kate phoned me two weeks ago to report a most amusing scenario. As she strolled the icy campus of U of I, she found herself walking behind what I can only define as an Ugg Hoard.
[Ugg Hoard (noun): A group of two or more individuals wearing Ugg boots, who only allow other Ugg boot wearing individuals to be walking within 10 feet of them. These individuals have not fully embraced their Uggs enough to be comfortable wearing them all on their own, so they recruit other Ugg boot wearing individuals to surround them. Safety in numbers.]
For some reason they were sliding all over the place in their Uggs...I can't imagine why that would be. In frustration one of the girls finally exclaimed, "STUPID UGGS! This is what they were supposed to be made for!" Really? Is that the purpose of Uggs? Ice walking? I guess it make sense considering their excellent treads. And all of this time I thought it was just because they looked amazing on people. Especially when someone tucks khakis into them. That's hot.
2) Uggs Crossing Gender Lines (Denver, CO)
My sister and and her husband Tom are currently in Colorado. It seems the entire population has embraced Ugg boots, MEN and women alike. And why not? We already know they are excellent for icy conditions, why not apply that ingenious engineering to a mountainous terrain?

And I knew it was only a matter of time before men fell victim to this fashion craze. Everything about the Ugg screams masculinity. Deep down inside I think men the world over have just been waiting for the perfect shoe they could tuck their jeans into. The cowboy boot certainly doesn't allow for such a thing, nor does the steel toe boot or sneaker. Finally with Uggs those pesky jeans can be properly confined so scorpions and other such hazardous creatures can't crawl up one's pant leg.

Ugg boots appear to be the solution to so many of life's problems. Maybe I should jump on the band wagon...

MAYBE NOT.

Pardon me, but you look ridiculous

2007-01-27T13:54:00.000-05:00

I think I've made it clear that I take Ugg boot wearing as a serious offense. Many of my friends, however, have these retched shoes, and I'm able to overlook it.

Today my older sister informed me of a situation I cannot overlook.

While visiting an indoor water park Aimee came across a most peculiar sight. An 18 year old female on the pool deck fashioning a teeny tiny bikini. Of course this is not abnormal in this day and age, but wait, I'm not finished. A top of this bikini she wore a winter jacket (unzipped), a short jacket with fur lining the hood. To add insanity to madness, this bright young lady was also sporting Ugg boots. Approximate temperature on pool deck: 70 degrees.

Which leads to the all important question: What thought process leads to such a display?

*In Hotel room preparing to go downstairs to the pool*
Hmmm. What to wear? What...to...wear? A tiny string bikini! Yes that's it! It is completely useless and will probably fall apart should I actually end up in the water, but darn it, I'll look good.
*Glances out window*
Oh my gosh! Is it snowing? In January? Really? Hmmm. Better take a coat. I'll just take this short one here and not zip it up so the world can still see my amazing suit. I'd like to parade around the pool deck, but it's always so wet. I wouldn't want to dampen my toes. Shoes. Yes shoes would be perfect.
*Opens closet*
Flip flops...no, those are summer shoes, it's January.
Tennis shoes...no, I'm not trying to get a work out in here.
Uggs...oh my gosh! Yes that's perfect. I mean, it is snowing out after all!

It is fortunate that I was not present for this spectacle. Had I come across this unique individual on the pool deck I probably wouldn't have been able to avoid pulling her aside and saying, "Pardon me, but you look ridiculous."

Self Help

2007-01-19T01:15:00.000-05:00

Dear Self,
I know that you're tired and sleep deprived. I realize that you just made the 7 1/2 hour trip between Illinois and Marquette 3 times in the last five days, and that you endured a 5 hour interview process in which you actually had to converse with strangers, but you need to find a different form of energy. It is ill advised to completely switch your diet over to caffeinated pop, cappuccinos, and Mike and Ikes just to remain awake during the day. Believe it or not, there is very little nutritional value associated with these recent staples in your life. If you're wondering why your stomach has been so upset lately and why you've been walking around shaking like a crack fiend, I'm going to go out on a limb and say the intense sugar intake might have something to do with it. I am certainly not trying to dispute the fact that the combination of Mountain Dew and Mike and Ikes is an excellent way to stay awake when driving late at night, but I am saying that somewhere a line needs to be drawn. I'm worried about you kid. Take a break. Sleep in tomorrow. Eat something with substance (like pizza). In the future if you're getting tired while driving, roll down the window and stick your head out. Yes I realize it's below freezing and that you drive at an alarming speed, but at least your stomach will be happy.

As long as we're hammering out your issues here, let me address this other thing that has been bothering me. I don't like your relationship with Mike and Ike. I think it's borderline obsessive. I know you don't get to enjoy them very often, but seriously. I'm concerned with the crazy gleam you get in your eye everytime you remember that you still have some left over from your recent trip. Don't think I didn't notice the tears welling up in your eyes earlier today when you bit into that little red one after you had left the box out to freeze in your truck all night. You nearly broke your tooth on that thing, and yet you sucked on it until it was in a chewable state. And yes, I did see how you then took a handful out and held on tight to them for the next five minutes, thawing them in your fist. You may not have minded the sticky residue, but I did. This is unhealthy. Let them go. Find real friends...Sour Patch Kids don't count.
Love,
Yourself

Jokers

2007-01-11T12:58:00.000-05:00

DISCLAIMER: The following post was forced upon me by the very two people in which the content focuses on. I attempted to warn them that a blog focused on the eradication of idiots is not something you want to be the headliner on. I was ignored. I was begged. “Please blog about us Bridget! It will be funny,” they said, again and again. So I finally broke down. Everything that will be said and any pictures that might be displayed are done so with the expressed consent and encouragement from the so called victims. That is all.

To start us off, let me paint a picture.

10am. New Years day. Bridget passed out in bed with the book she fell asleep while reading lying open next to her. Bridget began her reading after all her guests left the house and she went well into early hours of the morning reading. Bridget’s foreseen awakening time: 12pm.

Beep. Beep. (Text Message Alert)

Exhausted Bridget rolls over to look at clock. 9:58am. Who the hell?
“One new message from: Megan. ‘Colonial for breakfast?’”
No money, must sleep. Phone flips shut without replying (mistake). Bridget returns to sleep.

Ring….ring…ring…

Exhausted Bridget rolls over to look at clock. 10:01am. Ugh Laura!
Groggy Bridget flips open cell phone to see “Laura” type across screen.
Phone flips shut. Bridget returns to sleep.

Beep. Beep.

Exhausted Bridget rolls over to look at clock. 10:02am. I hate you both!
“One new message from: Laura. ‘Wake up we are hungry. Let’s get food.”
No money, must sleep. Phone flips shut without replying. Bridget returns to sleep.

**Time out. You’re probably thinking, “Idiot! Why didn’t you just shut off your phone?” Answer: I was expecting an important phone call. Or perhaps you are thinking, “Why didn’t you just answer the phone and tell them no?” Answer: Answering the phone will lead to only one thing: giving up, waking up, and meeting them for the breakfast that I can’t afford. Megan and Laura do not take no for an answer. In fact, had I answered the phone, I have a feeling that they would continue to call knowing I was semi awake and not cease in their attempts at communication until I agreed to go. Time in**

Ring….ring…ring…

Exhausted Bridget rolls over to look at clock. 10:06am. Ugh Megan!
Groggy Bridget flips open cell phone to see “Megan” typed across screen.
Phone flips shut. Bridget returns to sleep.

Ring…ring…ring…

Exhausted Bridget rolls over to look at clock. 10:07am. Noooo Laura!
Groggy Bridget flips open cell phone to see “Laura” typed across screen.
Phone flips shut. Bridget returns to sleep.

Beep. Beep.

Exhausted and irritated Bridget rolls over to look at clock. 10:11am. Reoccurring Nightmare.
“One new message from: Laura. ‘Colonial!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’
Noooooooooooo! Phone flips shut without replying. Bridget returns to sleep.

Who are these people?

This is Megan and Laura and they believe that if they each alternate calling me in rapid fire then the chance of their call being answered will increase. This is a false notion. They are my close friends from home believe it or not, and I affectionately refer to them as The Jokers. It is useless to refer to them as two separate individuals because that’s just simply not how they function. Megan and Laura have merged into one solid unit of jokerness. For those of you not familiar with this whole concept of being a joker, I will use Megan and Laura to help educate you. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the top 25 ways you know that you are a joker.

You know you’re a joker when…
25)…a canister of Play-Doh brings on fits of laughter.
24)…you believe you are a princess and are therefore entitled to everything you want when you want it.

23)…you can go out to eat four times in one day and still want to go home and eat fudge
22)…you are upset with your friends and decide the best way to resolve the matter is to leave them the following message: We are in a fight. Bye.
21)…you are 21 years old and have no control over your bladder
20)…you are blind without your glasses, but insist that you don’t need them, which nearly causes you to run your bike into the back of a parked car.

19)…seeing someone in a giant Winnie the Pooh costume causes you to turn bright red with excitement and screech “WINNIE THE POOH!”

18)…you wear Ugg boots.
17)…you have to call your best friend up at least once a week to remind her that you are indeed best friends.
16)…you place an open can of beer in your brand new purse because you’re “saving it for later!”
15)…you actually enjoy listening to Ashlee Simpson.
14)…you were surprised and disappointed to find that Lance Bass is gay.

13)…you lack the common sense to know that police officers wouldn’t really call you on your cell phone to say that they know you’re inside someone’s house partying and that they are waiting outside to arrest you.
12)…all of your hair color decisions are based upon the hair color of your joker best friend.
11)…the joke, “Aren’t you two a cute couple,” will never get old to you.
10)…every time you eat a meal you eat to the point where you are so full that eating becomes painful and causes you to make noises such as, “Ugh! Ahhh! Ow! Oh!” as well as make loud long sighs, and then you continue to eat more food.
9)…your accomplishments in your sorority/fraternity are the crowning achievements in your life.
8)…you are deaf to a degree which ensures that everything said during a conversation will have to be repeated for your sake.
7)…you are proud of the POS stereo that occupies your entire trunk and has been broken for several years. You somehow assume that turning it up will drown out the strange noises it emits, therefore causing your backseat passengers to become as deaf as you are.
6)…you self appoint yourself as the minion of your best friend
5)…you attempt to court your best friend’s older brother when drunk.

4)…you show your two other friends how much you value their friendship by inviting them over for a costume party so you can point and laugh at them as they walk in dressed as an oompa loompa and scarecrow, taking pleasure in the horrified look on their face when greeted by your costumeless entourage.
3)…instead of exchanging Christmas presents like normal people you tell your best friend that you’ve developed a new game in which she takes you shopping, you tell her to try to guess what you want (giving her extremely helpful hints) and then when she finally comes to the right decision you send her to the checkout to buy it for you.
2)…you go to Disneyworld and spend as much time as possible in the dingy hotel room which you hate, and that you’ve spent the last month describing as disgusting and low class, making your other two friends (who, unlike you, had to pay for the trip with their own money) feel guilty about not being able to afford something classy enough to please you. Also, while wasting away your time and parent’s money in said hotel room, you decide it would be fun to make the room appear as though a tampon machine exploded in the middle of the room conveniently sending tampons sailing all over the belongings of the only male on the trip.
1)…you actually requested to be the subject of one of Bridget’s blog posts.

Sorry Mom

2006-12-27T15:06:00.000-05:00

Mother reading blog = bad news

Blogging about ugly sweater given as gift from mother = "You are getting nothing next year!"

And so...

Dear Enraged Mother,
The sweater is lovely, it really is. That is, until I flip it over. I'm touched that you would go out of your way to obtain such an exquisite article of clothing. The more I think about it the more I realize just how useful this sweater will be. I mean reinforced elbows? That's genius! You know how active I am, and I always find myself burning holes right through those darn sleeves. Now I can take up army crawling again, and never have to worry about my sweater wearing away and leaving my elbows unprotected and subject to nasty rug burns. Thanks mom! And yesterday when I tried to locate a picture of this sweater, I realized just how impossible it is to find. Old Navy doesn't even have it on their website and it's their sweater! You must have traveled far for this Christmas Gem! I had no idea it was such a hot commodity. And finally, compared to the Christmas Gem you gave Aimee last year (bathrobe made for clown), I am very grateful that mine is still wearable in public.
Love,
Bridget

Ugly Christmas Sweater

2006-12-26T21:20:00.000-05:00

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And now for a sneak preview of my next post...

"Let's play a game called guess what I want and then buy it for me."~Megan
"Ok!"~Laura

Christmas Meme

2006-12-26T20:23:00.000-05:00

I HATE memes. Hate them. However, I LOVE Poppy. Love her. The fact that she was gracious enough to even utter my name in her blog today made me skip around like a kid hopped up on sugar. So I shall appease her and take part in this Christmas meme. And away we go...

Three things I got for Christmas:
1) iPod! The fact that the soundtrack of my life, which is constantly playing in my head, actually comes from an external source is absolutely thrilling. If nothing else, it makes me slightly less insane.
2) Books. I am a literary nerd and received quite a few. If I had to pick one as my favorite, it would probably be Laurie Notaro's An Idiot Girl's Christmas: True Tales from the Top of the Naughty List. Hilarious.
3) Ugly Christmas Sweater (my mom is going to kill me for this one). It never fails that every year my mother finds some horrid sweater to bestow upon me. It's as though she believes that I am indeed the Ugly Sweater Advocate, born into this world to bring back into fashion that which the rest of the world has forsaken. Last year was what I like to call The Orange Monstrosity, which I put on Christmas morning to humor her, and then never ever wore again. I like to call these Christmas Gems. This year's Christmas Gem was preempted with my mother saying, "Now don't get upset," before I had even attempted to remove any wrapping paper. I held up the sweater and said, "This isn't so bad mom." Then I flipped it around to show the rest of the room and was confronted with a dreadful sight of unwelcome suede patches on each elbow. Seriously mom? *Sweater to be posted separately...won't work in this one :(

Three things I did not want to get:
1) Ugg boots. I detest their presence. Why would a girl wear something deemed "Ugg"?? Are we cavewomen now? Has evolution receded? What's going on? Knock it off.
2) Stephanie Klein's memoir Straight Up & Dirty. No thanks. I got your back Jen Lancaster.
3) A tiny tamarin monkey named Jalapeno to follow me around as a constant source of entertainment. This is a wonderful thought in theory, but I suspect would be much more trouble than it's worth.

I hereby tag:
1) Kenny of Kenny's Online Abode
2) Ogre of Flab to Fab
3) Megan of Timeless Torture
4) Slskenyon of Spark of Madness
5) Cat and Rob (I'm only supposed to pick 5, but I'm tagging you both)

Here are the rules, if you're interested:
1. Players start by listing three things he/she got for Christmas.
2. Then they list three things he/she definitely did not want to get for Christmas.
3. Then he/she tags five friends and lists their names.
4. The ones who get tagged write on their blogs about their Christmas wishes, and state the rules clearly.
5. Then tag five more victims. The tagger needs to leave the taggees a comment that says you have been Christmas tagged! and tell them to read the tagger's blog.

Merry Christmas

2006-12-25T02:48:00.000-05:00

It's Christmas so I'm going to be nice.

This is rare. Pay attention.

I went to midnight mass tonight. The mass was being offered for my late grandparents, Glen and Dorothy Haskin. As I sat there I couldn't help but think about the many Christmas's in which we all gathered at their house for our annual Christmas brunch. Yesterday I went for a walk and found myself standing in their old front yard. Their house has been knocked down and is in the process of being replaced with a monstrosity of a residence that sticks out like a sore thumb on the block. Something inside me dies every time I see it.

But I can close my eyes and go back.

I can see the blue paint, the concrete porch, the little extra step by dad put in for my grandpa after the cancer robbed him of his vigor, the light post, the narrow driveway I used to shovel, the flower beds that I used to sit and weed for hours and hours lost in my own thoughts, the black chain link fence, the hose I ran over and sliced open with the lawn mower, the stump of the tree my dad and I cut down in the front yard, and then the pit that replaced that stump some years later which I used to twist my ankle in at least once a summer.

I can close my eyes and still hear Bob Seger blare over the radio as I repainted the deck in my last few weeks leading up to my first semester away from home, and I can see the wooden yellow bird atop the post, wings spinning in the wind. I can travel in the house and see the kitchen I spent an entire winter's break remodeling, and the "secret" door which connected my mother's old room to the backroom.

I can close my eyes and it's Christmas time there again. The village is set up. The little tree is lit and in the front window, adorned with the gulf ball shaped Santa that I got my grandpa when he just started his cancer treatment. The card tables, where I used to help my grandma wrap presents just days before, have been cleaned up and set for breakfast. The kitchen table is pressed up against the wall and filled with coffee cakes, bacon, sausage, ham, banana bread, and most importantly my grandma's scrambled eggs. The last memory I have of my grandma is when my mom made me go over there one night and fix her some eggs, sunny side up, because that was the only thing she really had an appetite for anymore. I remember being so terrified I was going to screw them up. I probably did too, but she would have never let on because that's exactly what my grandparents were about. Unconditional love. That's exactly what my Grandma and Grandpa Deutsch are about too. Never were there any two homes I have ever felt more welcome into than my grandparents'. And even though one of those homes is gone now, the memory of those who lived there is still just as alive and inviting. All I have to do is close my eyes.

So why am I telling you all this? Because Christmas is about love and families. Christmas is about God's love for us shown by sending his only son here to Earth to be born in a manger. It's about the Holy Family and how they had to stick together and get through trial after trial to make sure Jesus was brought into this world according to God's plan, and that he was able to survive and thrive in a loving family environment. Christmas is about our families too, striving to be like that of Jesus'.

Not every Christmas is going to be like the one before. In the course of life we must grow up and grow old. Our heroes will pass on, but new ones will be born to take their place. Our families will grow and take on new meanings. There will come a time where we must bend and accept changes and additions, or in some case loses. But Christmas...Christmas itself, will always be about the same thing. A little baby lying in a manger, oblivious of the impact he would have on the world. A husband and wife, cold and weary from an incredible journey huddling over this life they must nuture. A family. A family in the hands of God.

Keep that in mind this Christmas. Thank God for your families. And thank God for his willingness to share his with us.

Merry Christmas.

Graduation Fun

2006-12-21T00:38:00.000-05:00

My sister Meghan graduated from Elgin Community College tonight with an Associates in Art.

Graduation ceremonies are such dreaded events. Generally speaking, they are long, stuffy, boring, and far too serious for my liking. Obviously with these preconceived notions I was not looking forward to Meghan's graduation tonight. I am fully aware that my sister has done a great deal of putting up with me over the last twenty one years so I decided the least I could do was put up with some inadequate speakers and a parading of strangers to see her walk for graduation.

The fun began about two hours before the ceremony when my mother insisted we leave an hour and a half before the ceremony began to ensure we obtained good seats. I calmly explained to her she was a raving lunatic, but in the end I could only convince her to wait and leave an hour before the ceremony. When we arrived into the nearly empty auditorium with 40 minutes to go till the ceremony started all I could do was shake my head, and be grateful I had brought along a book to read.

The first indication I had that this was going to be no normal graduation ceremony came from the large older woman sitting two rows ahead of me. I heard her squeeky voice exclaim excitedly at the arrival of a friend of hers. She got up out of her seat, shook the person's hand, and then plopped back down...to the floor. If you haven't guessed yet, these seats where of the likeness of that which you would find in a movie theater. The ones that flip up when no one is sitting in them. That is a hard concept for some. Upon getting up, her seat returned to its upright position and so when she went to sit down she went straight to the floor. The man behind her (clearly one of her family members) reached over and hoisted her up off the floor.
"I don't know how it happened!" she exclaimed.
"The chairs are spring loaded!" he replied horrified.
"What?! I've never heard of such a thing."
Who needs a book with that kind of entertainment.

Ladies and gentlemen, this was just the beginning. The graduates filed in and the speakers took their seats on the stage. A woman sat in the front lefthand corner of the stage facing the audience. It took me a moment to realize she was there to translate the speeches into sign langauge. Oh that's nice. Sign language is so fascinating, I should really learn. The president of ECC stepped forward to begin the ceremony with an introduction and the sign language lady stood up and began.
I know absolutely no sign lanuage, but I have seen many a sign language translator before, and this display was like nothing I have ever seen. This woman was dancing. Break dancing. The full body heaves her body was going through went along perfectly to the soundtrack I was playing in my head for her. Track 1 was Workin' at the Carwash. And she was working. Her facial expressions were probably the greatest things I've ever seen. They in no way matched the words that were coming out of the actual speakers mouth. In fact, if I didn't know any better, I'd say she was mocking him. I just kept thinking WHY DIDN'T WE BRING THE VIDEO CAMERA?! It reminded me of a mime who had downed two bottles of NightQuil before attempting a performance. I just cannot believe that the motions she was making matched in anyway to the actual words that were spoken. You know how in the YMCA dance people extend their arms and point while bouncing their arm up and down, moving from one side to the other? She did that. More than once. She also did what I can only describe as picking up an invisible rope and, tying it into a lasso, and tossing it around the large woman two seats in front of me who could not operate her chair. I have no idea what any of the speakers said, but I clearly remember the sign langauge lady cocking an imaginary rifle and firing off two rounds.

My brother and I put forth our best efforts not to laugh outloud, but we had the entire row of chairs shaking from our stiffled laughter. My mother shot us dirty looks for the first few minutes, but she too could not resist outright laughing at the gestures coming from this woman. Eventually I realized that the only way to keep myself from laughing outloud or wetting my pants was to stare down at the ground. I tried. I really did. I just could not stand not knowing what crazy thing she'd do next. I had to watch her. Her whole body swayed back and forth with every movement. The one instance when her gestures actually matched up with the speaker was when I nearly lost it. The commencement speaker was talking about her days as a freshman and how she used to walk through the halls not talking to anyone and staring at her feet. The sign langauge woman stood in place and sped walked looking down at the ground. That's right, speed walking in place, head down. I bet you didn't think that was possible. Oh but it is.

When the sign lanaguage lady began to flash gang signs the soundtrack in my mind switched over to P. Diddy's Shake Ya' Tailfeather. I feel like if someone had taken the time to clear her some space she would have been on the floor doing the worm. No such luck. She did continue to entertain us, however, by leaning back, criss crossing her arms back and forth, and contorting her face as though she were on 8 mile trying to spew out some wicked rhymes. Can you believe this was a free show?

The speeches ended with an awesome send off consisting of the sign language lady putting her hands together and out in front of her like the diver from Mousetrap. Shen then swerved them back and forth as if parting through an invisible crowd. This was quickly followed up with her casting an invisible line and reeling us all in one by one. Fantastic! Bravo!

Did I mention the ceremony ended with large tables full of cookies being wheeled out into the auditorium? That was just icing on the cake. What an awesome night. Way to go ECC, you guys know how to entertain.

Oh yeah, and congratulations Meghan!

SPAM Tribute

2006-12-17T20:43:00.000-05:00

Oh you clever spammers! You know just what to say in a subject line to make me yearn to open your junk email...or not.

I find your new tactic of poor grammar especially appealing, but I fear most people won't. Here's a thought, when you're trying to sell something you may not want to come off as a raging idiot before your email is even opened. Subject lines such as "It ready" say to me "I didn't finish middle school." At least hold off on revealing your complete incompetence until the email is opened, and then maybe you can wow me with some product "photos" you sketched in Windows Paint.

I especially love those who SPAM in hoards. I have always found that an overall lack of syntax that comes by the dozen has a much better effect than just receiving one email. It removes any speculation I may have had regarding simple typos, and confirms my fear that some people just have never been introduced to the apostrophe. Last week I had the opportunity to reunite with several old friends I never knew I had. My Inbox was full of emails bearing titles such as, "It Carol," "It Mike," "It Josh," "It Stephanie." Oh Carol! It really you?

So thank you spam "artists" for reminding me daily why it is important for me to stay in school. Good luck with your future endeavors. And no, I'm not at all annoyed with the amount of space you take up in my inbox.

Relax!

2006-12-11T15:13:00.000-05:00

For all those trying to relax during finals week, let me recount the events of a certain relaxation session I was forced through last week...

As I crossed the threshold into my International Health Issues class I spied a funny looking older woman conversing with my professor. What do I mean by funny? Let me paint a picture for you. Her name was Maria. She towered at a height of 5'3 and her thin body was cloaked under a giant grey sweater which draped down to her knees. A lavender turtleneck emerged from the top of the sweater, which matched perfectly with the lavender boa she wore wrapped around....her head. Yes her head, like a ninja fairy. She had long brown/grey hair braided down as long as her sweater, and to combat the adverse weather conditions she wore tapered jeans tucked into hiking boots. One quick glance at her face suggested she might have rosacea, but a closer inspection revealed an unnecessary amount of blush plastered on in several layers.

Basically, I was thoroughly amused before she even opened her mouth. And when she did, everything just got so much better.

"I imagine some of you are a little stressed out at this point," she began. "Do you know what happens when you get stressed out? You stop taking care of yourself. You stop sleeping right, you stop eating right, and then you get sick!"
Check. Check. Check.
"So today I am going to show you how to relax--oh my look at these lights! These lights are stealing your Vitamin B!"
Excellent! She's a nutcase!
My professor scurried over to flick off the lights, and away we went.
"Close your eyes everyone."
NAP TIME!
"Feel free to fall asleep."
For real?!
"Now I want you to find your inner smile."
"HA!" Oops, that was outloud.
"You will find your inner smile behind your third eye."
Come again?
*Points to the center of her forehead* "Your third eye."
Hmmm...if we are all supposed to have our eyes closed, how were we supposed to see that? Good thing I don't follow directions well.
"Your inner smile is a glowing ball of light."
Interesting, tell me more.
"Your inner smile will travel with it's healing light throughout your body, smiling at your organs."
Smiling at my organs? Oh no, this is too much.
"Smile into your alveolar sacs....Smile into your gallbladder...."
(This was the beginning of a long drawn out process in which we followed our inner light throughout our entire body stopping at each organ to smile into it. Yes that's right, smile into it. She would stop and have us smile into every single organ and meditate on the usefulness of each one).
Midway through this ordeal she informed us that she forget to mention that our third eye was a beaming light, much like a flashlight shining into us, following our inner smile throughout our body. That information would have been so much more helpful from the start.

"I suspect some of you have some negative energy," she continued.
That might be an understatement.
"Smile into your negative energy. Transform it into healing light of smiling energy."
Why didn't I think of that before?! Mmmm...lalala...light..wala! All better! Genius!

Needless to say I spent the majority of the time focusing really hard on not laughing aloud, that is, up until the point I fell asleep. After which, I became very relaxed. So yeah, mission accomplished crazy lady.

In conclusion, good luck with finals this week everyone! If you get stressed out take Maria's advice and find your inner smile. Or just try to imagine what she looked like, that works too.

Crabby

2006-12-04T13:10:00.000-05:00

I don't feel well, I am incapable of learning and applying organic chemistry, and I've run out of things to throw across my room.

I have this increasing notion that there is currently a stress induced ulcer forming in my stomach. That would explain the nausea and stomach pains.

I'd really like a large blunt object right about now...no reason.

So yeah. Happy day.

She's Not Completely Crazy

2006-11-30T00:40:00.000-05:00

You know how there are certain words and phrases in the English language that just need to be retired? My mother is their advocate. She will not let them die.

My mom likes to whip out stellar phrases like, "I bet you dollars to donuts..." The best part is that she uses this phrase when she is trying to make a serious point about something, and she actually expects us to keep a straight face following its delivery.

The number one beneficiary of her ridiculous vocabulary crusade is the word persnickety. She is the only person I have ever heard use this word. With no exception, the only person. In fact, I live under the firm believe that if my mother stopped using this word, it would drop off the face of the Earth never to be heard again. This past weekend my mother dropped the persnickety bomb again, and this time it was in the presence of several other people. Judging by the strange looks and snickers that were exchanged between us after hearing the word, I suspect none of them had ever heard it used before either. This made me wonder if persnickety was even a real word. I knew what it meant and could define it, but only because I had heard my mother use it for so long. I suggested to her that she made it up and she fervently denied it.

I took it upon myself to look it up and check. You're right mom, it is a word. Sorry I doubted you. This in no way suggests that I believe you should continue to use this word, just that you're a little less crazy than originally suspected.

persnickety
One entry found for persnickety.
Main Entry: per•snick•e•ty
Pronunciation: p&r-'sni-k&-tE
Function: adjective
Etymology: alteration of pernickety
1 a : fussy about small details : FASTIDIOUS b : having the characteristics of a snob
2 : requiring great precision
- per•snick•e•ti•ness /-n&s/ noun

http://www.m-w.com/cgi-bin/netdict?persnickety

Group Projects

2006-11-22T21:39:00.000-05:00

I shouldn't...I REALLY shouldn't. I promised myself I was going to be less evil...turn over a new leaf...blah blah blah. Last week, however, I was teetering on the edge and someone came up and gave me a giant push right off, so here we go. I've put my other book on hold to write something pertinent and useful to the general public. It's a self help book of sorts. I'd like to share with you chapter one.

Group Projects with Bridget: A Guide to Not Getting Shot

To Ryan, and all of his brilliant inspiring ideas. Thank you for letting me know it's ok to rant now and again.

Chapter One

I’m at a loss as to why professors insist on group projects. I’ve heard rumors that it helps one to learn to work well with others. That’s a nice thought isn’t it? Unfortunately it doesn’t take into account raving idiots, incompetent jokers, and hopelessly unmotivated bums. As I perused through my syllabi at the beginning of the semester, my mind quickly tallied the numerous group projects that were in store for me. Naturally, this sent a chill up my spine and it took every fiber of my being not to curl up into a ball and cry/change majors.

I feel it is important at this time to state that I have a disease which I believe is clinically termed “Over Achiever’s Syndrome.” This condition creates in me an unnecessary desire to dominate any and all school work thrown my way. Clearly this presents issues when working with the less than motivated student, which I find upsetting. The fact that I am psychotic and driven should be an added bonus to group work. Instead, it is a green light for the slackers of the world to flock toward me and immediately cease putting forth whatever minimal effort they had in the past. I realize that I am out of control and that no one should have to work at the insane intensity level I do, but is it too much to ask that people pull their weight to the best of their abilities? Past experience has shown this is indeed too much to ask. Well guess what? I’m done. The Bridget of the past who smiles sweetly when you hand her a multitude of plagiarized pages (which will keep her up all night meticulously back checking your sources and citing them properly) is no more. No longer will she hand in a project which also displays your name when you have done none of the work. Today marks the birth of a new kind of Bridget. This Bridget will no longer mutter meaningless threats on your life in the comfort of her own bedroom or fantasize about blowing a hole through your head, she actually will kill you. If you do not abide by her demands, you will get shot.

Because I am generally opposed to the idea of cold blooded murder, I have provided a list of guidelines to follow so I don’t have to shoot you…execution style…with a crazy smirk on my face and a psychotic gleam in my eye.

1) Be present and on time to all group meetings.
When I say, “Meet at the library at such and such time so we can get this project done,” you will not call me 8 hours later on your way to work after standing me up and leave a message on my phone telling ME that the project is due in two days and that YOU think we should get together and work on it. You’ll have to excuse me, but my schedule is tight and I have not scheduled in “Post Idiot Partner’s Alcohol Consumption Recovery Period Make-up Group Meeting.”

2) Do not try to conceal from me the fact that you can read.
We are seniors in college, I am well aware that you can read. Therefore, when we need to look up information for our paper/project you are expected to actually read the articles yourself and pull from them useful information. Do not send me the articles so that I can do it for you. If you are going to be idiotic enough to do this make sure the sources you send my way are ones that can be used for the project. This will decrease your chance of getting fatally shot by 31.4%.

3) Follow my outline.

I know what I’m doing. If I provide you with an outline which spells out exactly what you are to do in order to succeed, follow it. For those of you who I feel are particularly unmotivated I tend to make the outline so extensive that the only thing you have to do is add conjunction words. Do not disregard my suggestions and write three pages of incoherent babble which has no factual basis. I will not use it. I will hold down the delete button for 30 seconds and watch it all disappear before my eyes. I will then stay up an extra three hours doing the research you should have done and write your section for you. This will make me irate and the next time I see you there will be a gun in my hand, and a bullet (or five) with your name on it.

4) B.S. and Research Papers/Projects Do Not Mix
Contrary to popular belief, “Research” is not code for B.S. When a professor asks you to write a research paper he/she actually expects you to look up information. The hints I throw at you for weeks about going to the library and getting some credible sources are not some crazy side effect of the anti-kill-your-partner meds I am on. Therefore, when you hand me your half of the research paper and I ask you, “Where are your sources?” do not look at me without a hint of alarm and reply, “I didn’t really think I needed to use sources. I just kind of B.S’ed it.” Based on our previous conversations regarding the project (in which I continually have to correct you and remind you exactly what the project is about), I am aware of the fact that you know nothing about the topic, and so have no business pretending you do.

5) When the rubric indicates the need to cite your sources, do it…and correctly.
Remember that there are two parts to citing sources. The in-text citation and the actual source being cited, which goes on the reference page. Do not send me your portion of the paper the day it is due with in-text citations (which are not done correctly in the first place) and no sources to place on the actual reference page. Believe it or not there is more than one resource which (Smith, 1999) may indicate and I cannot write up the reference for you based on a commonly used last name and a date. Actions like this increase your chance of being shot by 99.7%. In fact, I’d prefer you didn’t cite your sources at all over this method. I realize that suggesting you use something like a writing guide which tells you step by step how to cite your sources is incredibly inconsiderate of me, and so all I ask is that you plug the information into The Citation Machine. At least then the corrections I need to make in the wee hours of the morning are minimal.

6) Be upfront about your issues.
If you are a raging idiot, I will find out sooner or later. It is best to just tell me right off the bat. I can work with you. I can help you. Do not wait until the project is due to tell me that you weren’t able to find any information or that you didn’t know how to do something. I need more time than that.

7) Choose your words wisely.
When I walk into class the day the project is due after staying up all night compensating for your incompetence and it looks as though I have been hit by a train and haven’t slept in weeks, choose your words wisely. At this point a coin is flipping in my head about whether or not I kill you or just maim you. Looking at me and saying in a disgusted manner, “You look rough,” will cause the coin to suddenly drop to the ground heads up. This does not bode well for you.

8) Compensate.
If extenuating circumstances (the sudden realization that not using your brain for the first 21 years of your life has brought about irreversible atrophy) cause you to not hold up your end of the project, then offset this offense with presents. I like pizza, chocolate, Border’s gift cards, money, ice cream, and expensive electronics.

9) Do not make light of your lack of involvement.
When you are contributing in no way to the project do not pretend that everything is cool between you and me. Do not try to carry on conversations about the weather or nudge me in the arm as you tell a funny joke. This physical contact might be mistaken for assault by my already hostile mind and I will respond with self defense (putting a bullet in your head). Instead, refer to number 8.

10) Become well acquainted with the bottom line.
Bottom line: I don’t hand in shitty work. If my name is on something, it will reflect the quality I am capable of producing. If you hand me what I deem “useless crap” I will not shrug my shoulders and hand it in anyways. I will fix it. It will take me hours. I will hate you. I will shoot you.

*By the way, if you’re reading this and thinking, ‘Oh my goodness, is she talking about me?’ Yes. Yes I am. Wipe that shocked, hurt look off your face. You’re welcome for the A.

Warning: May Cause Craziness

2006-11-20T13:30:00.000-05:00

When I signed up to take Organic Chemistry I was told it would be hard. I was told I might not pass. I was told I would hate it. All of these things I expected. However, no one ever told me it would make me crazy...ok fine...more crazy.

Let me paint a picture for you.

It's a cold November morning. You find yourself in a room full of six of your closest friends. Their attitude is light and fun. They are busily at work putting up Christmas decorations and humming along to Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree. Where are you? In the corner, leaning over a text book, and rocking back and forth muttering to yourself. You are there for three hours and the only person you have a conversation with is yourself, and it's not at all uplifting.

The only thing keeping me from a padded room and a straight jacket at this point is my lack of access to sharp objects.

Please let me pass.

Wedding Lesson 1

2006-11-16T12:16:00.000-05:00

My sister's wedding was actually very educational for me, and in addition to gaining a new brother-in-law, I also came away with some valuable life lessons. The first of which was taught to me by my very own new brother-in-law, Tom.

**It is important at this moment to state that now that Aimee and Tom are married, and Tom is officially part of our family, I will no longer be restraining myself. He shall be treated just as I treat my own brother and we all know that I'm not particularly nice to Johnny.

Although Tom's lesson doesn't apply to me as a woman, it is important for all you men out there, and I feel it is my duty to share this new found knowledge:

Do NOT, under any circumstance, leave your new bride at the church post wedding. This kind of action is highly frowned upon and causes a happy bride to turn into an angry bride who may consider chopping of your "hoo hoo" in the middle of the night (thanks Cat for that nice term).

It is understood that there is time to kill between the wedding ceremony and the reception, but when considering what to do with this extra time, the bride should be factored into the equation. When the ushers say to you, "Hey let's grab a quick drink at the bar," it is your duty to first collect your bride and then head over to the bar. It is not appropriate to get to the bar first and then request that your bride join you there. This is especially important when you make the decision to walk to the bar, and also require that she make the trek on foot. You are wearing a tux and shoes that do not hoist you an extra 3 inches off of the ground. She is wrapped in 50 lbs of fabric that poofs out to the size of the liberty bell. She is in a white dress with white shoes and does not want to walk 2 blocks to the bar. This causes her to turn on you and compare your actions to the more intelligent decisions of her friends' husbands...this is not a good start. She will say things like, "Michelle, did Mike leave you at the church?" Knowing full well that he did not. She will then continue down the list of all her married bridesmaids determining that you are the only idiot to commit such a crime. This is especially dangerous with a bridal party of 7.

Foresight is also recommended in these situations. You must consider the fact that a wedding dress does not allow for storage of any kind. Chances are your beautiful, and now hostile wife will not be carrying her ID with her. Therefore, when she arrives to the bar after having to walk several blocks in 30 degree weather, she is just going to become angrier when denied alcohol. Once it is established that she is ID-less, do not order her a pepsi and then proceed to have a shot with her little sister...even if this said little sister is myself, and appeasing her is vital to your future happiness in this family. Instead, you should leap up from your bar stool, sprint back to the church, go get the car, pick her up, obtain her ID, and take her somewhere nice where she can get a strawberry margarita.

Lesson learned.

You WILL Smile Pretty

2006-11-15T10:51:00.000-05:00

I went home last weekend for my older sister's wedding. I was in the door all of 10 minutes when she pulled me aside and said, "You WILL smile pretty on Saturday." I stared back at her contemplating this command.

Am I capable of such a thing? Past experience has suggested not, but perhaps for Aimee's big day I could whip out a secretly hidden Miss America smile. Probably not. Is it wrong to have my mouth agape and my eyes shining wildly for the wedding photos? I probably shouldn't stick out my tongue either. There goes my two most popular signature poses. This is ridiculous. I bet Zoolander was never asked to not pucker up his lips or refrain from his famous magnum expression.

"Sure, no problem," I replied.

This was the beginning of a very anti-Bridget weekend.

There was jewelry, there were dresses, there was makeup, and yes there were even pretty smiles! I went the entire day without a watch! This is unheard of. I ALWAYS wear a watch. In fact, I have a permanent watch tan, and the skin around my wrist has been worn into a watch band scar. Unfortunately, I didn't feel my black stopwatch would be very pretty clunking around my wrist, and I don't own sophisticated time pieces...so I went watchless. I ate vegetables! Two nights in a row! I didn't wear my glasses (don't worry I put in contacts, I felt vision was crucial for this day). I had my flippin nails painted! I even allowed a curling iron and 7 lbs of hair spray to be used on my head. The end result of all of this was a woman I like to refer to as Lady Bridget.

And so, without further adieu...Lady Bridget.

She is well behaved. She wears high heels and doesn't fall on her face. She is pleasant and engaging. She gives toasts and catches bouqets. She smiles pretty when asked and she would never be caught mouth agape, or heaven forbid, with food hanging out.

She is a figment of your imagination...

Consider this chapter one in a series of wedding posts...more to come.

Pizza Post

2006-11-07T23:40:00.000-05:00

My sister's wedding is this SATURDAY! Oh my goodness that snuck up on me.

Unfortunately, I can't come home. It would be too shameful. There's something I promised someone I would do, and I never came through. How can I come home now? How can I show my face?

Oh wait...why don't I just do what I said I would. Yeah! That sounds great. Yes, I am carrying on a conversation with myself...it's hereditary.

And so a long overdue tribute to the greatest pizza chef I know...

Everyone has their hobbies. Some people like to collect stamps. Others enjoy a good day of shopping. My friend Auna loves to go fishing. Some of my less sane friends really enjoy running. My hobbies revolve around the consumption of food. More specifically, pizza.

Pizza and I go back. Way back. I have been ingesting that wonderful cheesy substance since I was just a chunk of a baby. As I child growing up in a family of 7, pizza became a staple because it fed a lot of mouths quickly and cheaply. And why not pizza? Think about how many food groups it covers. It could be it's own food guide pyramid. Seriously. You get dairy, grains, meat (if you're more bold than I am and actually put some on), fruits AND vegetables (simply because the tomato is such an undecisive plant...fruit posing as a vegetable).

I've had just about every type of pizza imagineable. Chicago pizza...oh how I love you Gino's East. New York pizza...you're good, but no deep dish. Yooper pizza...no thanks, cardboard crusts are not cool. I try to be versatile and try new pizza places all the time, and so I consider myself well rounded in the pizza world. When asked which is my favorite, well I have to just say there is no pizza in the world that can surpass the deep dished goodness which is Gino's East...EXCEPT Aunt Dee Dee's.

I can't describe it. It is the single greatest pizza in the world. I love every bit of it. The crust, the sauce, and the perfectly melted cheese. It is the most perfect pizza. I can eat an entire one all by myself and still be hungry for more. Let's face it, it's just irritating to be eating a good pizza that fills you up quickly. How inconsiderate of the chef to create such a treat that cuts you off after a few slices due to the unshakeable feeling of, "Oh no, my stomach is going to explode, which might cause a scene." It is not so with Dee Dee's pizza.

I think even more than it's fantastic taste, my love for this pizza goes with the memories I associate with it. Aunt Dee Dee has been making me pizzas since I was just a gangly kid who still believed frozen pizzas were acceptable (that was a dark time). Our families used to gather once a week to have dinner together and every other week Aunt Dee Dee would make her pizza. She'd be running around like crazy pulling them out of the oven and then shoving one in right after it to keep up with my bottomless pit of a stomach, and the ravaging hunger of my four other siblings and her own four sons. I just remember thinking, "Wow, she must really love us." Even now when I head home to visit, she'll go out of her way to make it for me when I ask. How cool is that? What a great way to get my pizza fix and be reminded of the wonderful selfless people I am blessed to have in my life.

Thanks for the 1000's of pizzas you've made on my behalf. It's awesome for me to come back to school with the overwhelming feeling of, "My Aunt Dee Dee loves me a whole 3 large cheese pizzas worth!"

Miss Dashwood

2006-11-06T00:45:00.000-05:00

Today what I've suspected all along has been confirmed, I am soooooooooo Elinor Dashwood.

I realize this will not make sense to most everyone, but guess who doesn't care...

Sense and Sensibility?

Jane Austen?

You guys are hopeless.

Pumpkin Carving

2006-11-01T13:22:00.000-05:00

HOLY CATS WHAT HAPPENED?! It's November 1st! I forgot to get a pumpkin and carve it. Halloween has come and gone. This is a tragedy. I ALWAYS carve a pumpkin. Stupid Organic Chemistry! I would have never forgotten to carve a pumpkin if it weren't for you! I'll have to wait a whole year before the opportunity presents itself again. NO! It will not do!

Lucky for me I made an important discovery yesterday. A certain someone, whom shall remain nameless to save him the embarrassment, has not carved a pumpkin in YEARS! Naturally, I declared a state of emergency and pumpkins shall be carved this Friday night. Yes it will be November 3rd, yes most people's pumpkins are smashed all over the street in front of their residence at that point, and yes whatever pumpkins I purchase will probably be half rotted out. That's beside the point. Focus people, someone's lost childhood is at stake here, and my annual artistic outlet has almost passed me by.

Apparently, my wonderful idea of reintroducing my friend into the world of pumpkin carving isn't testimony enough to my own greatness in the art because my talent has been called into question. Our little novice here thinks he can out carve me. The nerve of some people. I'll post some pictures and you can decide.

P.S. Thanks Ogre for providing the venue.

Smile Pretty?

2006-10-31T01:14:00.000-05:00

It seems I've developed a condition in which I can no longer smile pretty for a picture...maybe I never could. Instead, I've acquired a trademark mouth agape look. Many wonder at my psychotic need to always have my mouth hanging open like a possessed hyena. The answer is simple people. Mouth open = one step closer to ingesting food. Or maybe it's just that my normal smile looks forced and unnatural...nope I like the former theory.

So why this random post? Admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery, or so I've heard. Hi, my name is Bridget and I can't smile pretty, but hopefully in time I'll be able to at least keep my mouth shut.

Dilemma

2006-10-30T00:13:00.000-05:00

God is always throwing gifts in our direction, but many times we do not recognize these gifts. As I roamed the third floor of our library I happened to pass by a desk with a lone half eaten bag of Skittles lying upon it. The desk's previous owner had just abandoned it, leaving the Skittles scared, alone, and most importantly uneaten. I saw the bag out of the corner of my eye as I passed and did a total back pedal to go back and examine the situation. I stood at the desk staring down and the little yellow one which had tried to escape the bag.

Would this be considered improper? Unsanitary? Borderline psychotic/pathetic? Maybe this is a gift from God. It's not nice to ignore gifts. I am pretty hungry...
NO! WALK AWAY! NOT GOOD! Maybe just one...NO! OMG! THEY ARE TROPICAL FLAVORED!

I walked away...Skittleless.

Unable to shake the image of the orphan Skittles I sought some sound advice on the issue. I asked Kenric what his thoughts were on eating the Skittles. After much deliberation he voted in favor of the Skittle's lives. No eating. He mentioned some mumbo jumbo about not knowing who had been eating the skittles prior to my discovery of them, whether or not that individual was a nose picker, and what disease he/she may have had. I restrained myself from bringing up the fact that I had witnessed him set his hamburger right down on the table (as in off of his plate and on the table) earlier today and the fact that the nasty rag we use to wipe down all of the tables and then dunk into a bucket of communal waste water probably didn't set the stage for sanitary eating). Instead I considered his advice and had just made up my mind to ignore it, when OBD crossed my mind. Yikes we have less than two weeks, and the one and a half ice cream cones consumed earlier today (yes Rob one and a half...Christina couldn't finish hers) has already gone against my code red regulations.

Needless to say, the Skittles we live to see another day.

Well, that is until the janitorial staff comes across them. Somebody is going to cash in on that God-sent.

And the pics...

2006-10-23T11:18:00.000-04:00

It's picture time...confused? Read previous post.

Bleached and gelled:

The beginnings of the reverse mullet (or perhaps Cali Ryne):

Crazy hair in hiding:

The black afro:

The renunciation of hair product (brief period)

And of course, the "I'm a tool" pic (just kidding...but seriously what is that cheesy smile)

And then there was this phase...

Ryne, on a scale from 1-10, how much do you hate me right now?

Clinician's report: This outburst is what is commonly known as delayed onset bitterness. This response can be avoided by not being a crappy wedding date. If a girl invites you to a wedding and hooks you up with a free meal and piece of cake, you had better dance with her and not disappear with some drunk chick for the entire reception.

Evil Little Bridget

2006-10-22T00:17:00.000-04:00

I am going to come clean here. I used to be an evil child. Shocking isn't it? I was what one might call a tyrant. To be honest, I think most of my satanic drive came from my fascination with the way people reacted when provoked. My sister Meghan, for example, is a very calm, quiet individual, but I managed to push her right over the edge on more than one occasion. In fact, I remember one such instance when she shoved me down a flight of stairs despite the full length cast which occupied my fractured left leg. This is the annoying capacity I am capable of. Naturally I did not limit my victim selection to family members, but reached out to other poor souls including the mailman (dog poop on the back of his mail truck), and all of my sister's boyfriends (it's amazing what a well planned out scheme of locked doors, open windows, and a couple of squirt guns can accomplish). Although I am half way sorry for all of those events, today I need to focus on an injured party near and dear to me, who apparently is still suffering the ramifications of my mean spirited childhood.

Meet Ryne:

Well this is Ryne 3 years ago. Ryne and I grew up together because our mothers are best friends. Ryne was forced to play with me on a daily basis when we were young and I took those opportunities to impress upon him my birth given superiority (I am, after all, six months older). Our common love for Disney movies and Muppet shows made us close fast friends. Despite this friendship, Ryne was not exempt from the tiny depraved person which summed up my childhood existence. I'd even go as far to say that he probably received the brunt of it all...you can thank him later. For some reason I have vivid memories of tormenting him during recess calling him, "Whiney Ryney." I believe psychologists call this guilt.

For quite some time I've been able to convince myself that Ryne survived his childhood unscathed from my evilness, but his latest hair style change has made me rethink the situation. Yes that's right, a hair style change. So simple, and yet so revealing. For the past three years, Ryne has changed his hair style about every six months. At first I attributed this to sheer boredom, but lately I've been suspecting a more sinister cause. "Perhaps Ryne has a reoccuring identity crisis," I thought to myself, "What might be the cause of this? Maybe someone tortured him as a child, who would have done that? Uh oh..."

It's time for an apology, and fast...before Ryne ends up dying his hair purple, shaving half his head, and combing the rest over (I'm pretty sure that's the only thing he hasn't tried at this point).

I'm sorry Ryne that your Bridget-induced-insecurities caused you to buy bottle after bottle of hair gel and/or mousse. I'm sorry I caused you to feel the need to bleach your hair, and then bleach and mousse your hair.

I'm REALLY sorry that I pushed you to the point where you actually believed that a reverse mullet was ok...that was very wrong of me.

I'm sorry I caused you to reject your natural hair color so much so that I don't remember what it looks like.

I'm sorry you feel the need the place a large black afro on your head from time to time.

I'm sorry you have to place a baseball cap on your head everytime your short hair goes "crazy."

I'm sorry that you had to dye your hair brunnette. Being one myself I should have told you that nothing will come of it.

I'm sorry that one week after you did that you decided you needed to cut and style it and take that ridiculous, "I'm a tool picture."

Forgive me and embrace who you are. You're perfect just the way you are.

I had a bunch of funny pictures to go with these apologies, but this stupid blog system isn't letting me upload them. Perhaps I'll post them in their own separate entry.

Emergen-C

2006-10-20T01:50:00.000-04:00

Hold on to your oranges people! Put the OJ in the freezer! Vitamin C has reached a state of emergency. This is no joking matter. Earlier this week I saw a fellow classmate of mine take a shot of EmergenC, which is basically a little pouch of goop chalked full of Vitamin C. Apparently the idea of sitting through the last 30 minutes of International Health Care was enough to send her into a state of hypovitamin shock.

With a raised eyebrow I questioned the substance she had just ingested to which she replied, "It's Emergen-C, you know like emergency vitamin C."

No Alex I don't know. Emergency Chocolate Swirl Snack Pack...yes. Emergency Vitamin C...no.

Perhaps it was our discussion on the starving children of third world countries and their distended bellies which caused this psychotic need for a hit of vitamin C during class. Then I had a theory that Alex knows something that the rest of us don't. Maybe she knows that the South will be hit with an onslaught of terrible storms that will wipe out the orange fields and leave us with nothing. Best to stock up now and shock our systems with Vitamin C as often as possible. Or maybe she knows of a plague of diseases that will attack the UP and she is the only one who shall survive because of her deligent use of vitamin supplements. Darn it, I wish I had such foresight.

Why else would such a thing be necessary?

Ideas? Anyone?

Operation Bridesmaid Dress

2006-10-09T20:59:00.000-04:00

I forget...who did I appoint to keep track of my schedule for me? Well whoever you are, YOU ARE FIRED! Why didn't you tell me there was less than five weeks left until my sister's wedding?! You've completely thrown off my plan of attack. Operation Bridesmaid Dress was supposed to be taken up a notch weeks ago. Instead I've been combating my stress levels with oreos, ice cream, and pizza allowing a friendly, yet unwelcome bulge to fester in my abdominal region.

I am not one generally concerned about my figure (made obvious by the quantity of food I consume throughout any given day), but the nice little Russian lady at David's Bridal took my dress in so much that it squeezes the breath out of me and slightly resembles what I might look like in a opaque cling on wrap. I stared nervously into the mirror as she pinned the fabric to fit my dress like a glove. Gloves are made for hands, not tummies Lady! "I cho you!" she kept saying, pulling my dresses taught in every which direction. I'd rather you "cho" less of me. She finished, and the result was that I left thinking that I need to put Operation Bridesmaid Dress in effect ASAP.

I had good intentions, but I also had a shit ton of studying and homework to do, which quickly took precedence. At the time that was ok with me because the wedding was so far off in my mind. Now it seems I've warped ahead to some alternate universe in which my time has twindled to a matter of weeks? Excuse me...but no, that's unacceptable. The only option for me is to upgrade OBD to RED ALERT, which ultimately means less (notice how I say less and not zero, because one can simply not do without) pizza, and more (comparatively speaking this is not much) exercise.

Wish me luck!

It's On Like Donkey Kong

2006-10-06T11:07:00.000-04:00

I have just received the grade for my first Organic Chemistry Exam.
And so in a highly censored Bridget Jones fashion all I have to say is:

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuudge!

My first inclination was to vomit all over the place, and then it was to sob all the way home. I did neither.

Instead, once again, I turned to Miss Jones for some inspiration:

At times like this continuing with one's life seems impossible, and eating the entire contents of one's fridge seems inevitable. I have two choices, to give up and accept permanent state of undergrad and eventual eating by dogs…or not. And this time I choose not. I will not be defeated by a bad Orgo class and a failure to memorize organic structures. Instead I choose vodka and Chaka Khan.

And so I say to you, evil demons of Organic Chemistry, I won't go down without a fight. Although I already devote hours upon hours to you, I am not afraid to take it a step further. If you learn nothing else from life, jot this little note down: Never piss off an over achiever who does not value her sleep.

It's on like Donkey Kong.

Birthday Induced Heat Wave

2006-10-03T17:17:00.000-04:00

Last year around this time the weather was absolutely wonderful. It was sunny and about 75 degrees. I remember this because today is my eldest sister Aimee's birthday, and she came up to visit me in the tundra last year around her birthday. The weather had been crappy leading up to her visit so I warned her to bring her winter coat and boots just in case it started to snow. She arrived with her boyfriend Tom expecting freezing rain at the very least. Instead she got sunshine and an engagement ring.

Last week the temperature struggled to stay above 45 degrees and the rain was on and off all week. Suddenly all is well again. It's Aimee's birthday, the temp is in the sixties today, and the sun is shining.

Who says God doesn't play favorites?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AIMERS!

But Popeye Says I Should

2006-10-02T11:14:00.000-04:00

Today is October 2nd! Do you know what that means? The spinach scare is coming to a close! I read somewhere not to eat the spinach with best sell buy dates up to October 1st, so I think that means spinach is ok again, or pretty close to being ok again. And thank God for that. Seriously I haven't eaten in like a month because spinach has been deprived of my diet. What's a girl to do? Oh how I love to eat leaves instead of real substantial food. Why would I want cake and ice cream when such a delectable treat awaits me in the produce section?

For those of you who know me best...yes this is a load of crap. You know damn well I don't eat vegetables, especially those endorsed by a misproportioned sailor. I was really diggin' the spinach scare, and I'm sad to see it go. It's fun to watch skinny people the world over cringe when they have to put...gasp...lettuce on a sandwich, instead of their beloved spinach.

Carnivores 1, Herbivores 0

And the award goes to...

2006-10-01T22:01:00.000-04:00

Have you ever seen a bird fly right into a nice clean window and fall to the ground? Do you try really hard not to laugh because you know that sucker is probably dead or hurt pretty badly? I don't. I let that laugh right out, and I can't help but think, "What an idiot."

Have you ever seen a human do that? Probably in the movies right? I know it's a simple comedic trick, but it cracks me up every time. What even semi-functional individual slams into a door? How do they not notice the handle? Why would they assume the door has just been left open for them? I mean seriously, who does that?

Oh wait...damn.

I had a meeting tonight for the student athletic training organization I'm president of over at Julie's house, our advisor and program director. As I came up the walk, I could hear everyone already inside chatting amongst themselves, and when I neared the door I focused in on Julie's little hotdog of a canine, Skipper. "They really shouldn't have left the door open, this guy looks like the type that might make a break for it," I thought to myself as I reached my arms down to his level and greeted him. I was just about to scoop him up when...crack! I hit the screen door (yes screen and not glass...screen as in black mesh, not clear glass) with a force that knocked me back about 3 feet. Laughter exploded from my fellow SATO officers and I tried to laugh it off and enter the house, when I realized the door wouldn't open. "Unlock the door," I laughed, but it was not locked. Apparently I hit the door even harder than I thought and broke it. Not broke it as in knocked it off the tracks, but more like broke it as in "now we must remove the whole thing to let everyone out of the house after the meeting" broke it. Basically my worst fear was confirmed tonight, I am the biggest idiot I know. And with that hope of the existence of a more idiotic individual than myself, also goes my next invite to lasagna night.

On the plus side, it was totally a Bridget Jones moment, and had I mastered the accent by now and yelled, "Bugger, bugger, bugger!" after colliding with the door, my life would be complete.

Say No to Orgo

2006-09-25T11:25:00.000-04:00

Oh Organic Chemistry, how I loathe you. You are no friend of mine.

Listen up kids this is important. If you ever get the notion that taking organic chemistry might be fun or, at the very least, beneficial, just say no. Say no to the little over achieving voice in your head. It is a BAD idea. Let's look at some pros and cons to prove my point here.
Cons:
1) You will never sleep again...no time for that.
2) You will spend hours upon hours doing the same kinds of problems over and over again, and never gain any real understanding.
3) Friends you used to have will stare vacantly at you thinking to themselves, "My he/she looks familiar...," as you pass them on your way to the library.
4) You will become depressed and eat a lot of ice cream and cookies and in turn gain some weight, making you more depressed...and the vicious cycle continues.
5) You will begin to develop back problems because just one text book isn't enough to hold all the "valuable" orgo information.
6) Your Netflix will come in the mail and all you can do is stare longingly at them everytime you pass through the living room (don't stare too long, or you will fall WAY far behind with your chem. problems).
7) Everyone will suddenly become your enemy, to the extent that if someone goes out of their way to do something nice for you, you glare at them and secretly curse them for having free time to do that.
8) You will become ten leaps closer to ending up in a straight jacket.
Pros:
1) If you do pass, you will have survived something truly amazing and I'll buy you a nice big cookie and a gallon of ice cream (see Con #4)
2) The right amount of counseling can cure anything, so one day you will be able to put it all behind you.

I am currently at the extreme ice cream stage of the organic chem disease and will do anything for a big scoop of ice cream, including, but not limited to...
Laying in the sand on the beach on a 50 degree day so that ice cream can be dropped into my mouth from the top of a ladder:

Advice from Austen

2006-09-23T18:49:00.000-04:00

There are few people I hold a higher regard for than Jane Austen, and since I have no time to write a real post I decided to share with you some Austen advice I've taken up recently.

"Beware of fainting fits...Though at the time they may be refreshing and agreeable, yet believe me, they will, in the end, if too often repeated and at improper seasons, prove destructive to your constitution...Run mad as often as you choose; but do not faint." ~Jane Austen, Love and Friendship.

The Office

2006-09-22T01:09:00.000-04:00

The Office had its season premiere tonight, and my life is once again complete. I don't know if you watch this show or not, but dammit you should. I'm telling you this for your own good. I myself had been suffering from severe withdrawal all summer long, and might have soon perished had it not returned this week. I'm not a big TV person, simply because I don't have the time, but I make the time for this shit. This season's first episode was amazing. I laughed so hard I nearly wet myself (but I didn't, that's Megan's thing). That's all I'm going to say about it. You've been warned. If you're missing out, it's your own fault now.

I Missed You

2006-09-20T21:59:00.000-04:00

I realized something incredibly important tonight. To say that I have been overwhelmed and insanely stressed out so far this semester (yes it's only the fourth week) is the understatement of the century. Try as I may, I couldn't figure out why I was struggling so much. I have been overwhelmed before, in fact, it is somewhat of a constant state for me. Suddenly for some reason what used to be second nature to me no longer seemed possible.

I've felt so lost and hopeless. I spent the last few weeks obsessing on the idea that to accomplish everything I'm supposed to accomplish is not humanly possible, and I was right. It's not something I can do alone, as much as I have tried to. I got myself in over my head because I denied the help of the one person who is solely responsible for my success up to this point in my life. I thought I could do it all without Him, and I was wrong. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I thought I was strong enough to shut the door on you and do this alone. Thank you for slamming the door back open. Welcome back God, I missed you.

P.S. Thanks Rob for the labyrinth, for the first time all semester I feel like I'm going to make it.
P.P.S. Thanks everybody for your kind words after my last rant. Once I light a burning bag of poo on the front steps of the GRE testing center I'll be completely over it.

GRE Results

2006-09-19T11:54:00.000-04:00

Standardized Testing Association
1001 Asshat Ave.
Sucktown, USA 66666

Dear Bridget,

Thank you for taking the GRE. We appreciate all the time you wasted this summer studying for it. We regret to inform you that based on your scores you are officially an idiot. Several investigations have been launched since scoring your test in an attempt to figure out how you've made it so far in life. We are completely baffled you were able to graduate 8th out of 456 students in high school, when our flawless test clearly indicates you shouldn't have made it out of elementary school. We find your collegiate performance absolutely inexplicable. How is one to obtain a GPA such as yours when you obviously have no verbal or quantitative abilities? We assumed you had been bribing your professors thus far, but a thorough investigation into the contents of your refrigerator revealed that you are completely broke (you should buy less books and more food).

Here at the Standardized Testing ASSociation we strive on letting students know exactly how they will perform throughout their educational experiences based on a test they take in 3 hours. Life holds for us few distinctions Bridget, but one thing is certain, you are an idiot and you will go no where. We thought we had made this clear with your ACT score. Apparently you didn't get the message because you still went to college, and here we find you again. Hopefully this GRE score will deter you from pursuing any kind of future, as it is only fair to those who might have to encounter your incompetentence if you, heaven forbid, continue on in the medical field. We bet you are regretting putting your prospective graduate program codes into our computer because we totally sent them your scores! Yet another example of your idiocy. We hope that you hold no grudge and come back to us should you ever again need your confidence shattered and your self-esteem slapped across the face.

Ever Most Sincerely,

Mr. Ima Asshat
Standard Testing Association, President

Downfall of the Housewife

2006-09-12T00:15:00.000-04:00

I'm officially 3 weeks into my senior year of undergrad and already I'm sleep deprived, malnourished, over worked, and extremely bitter. Which causes me to ask the all important question:

Who's responsible for the downfall of the housewife?

I'd like to meet that person, shake her hand, tell her thanks for women's rights, and then smack her across the face and yell, "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!"

Yes I understand the pressures placed upon the housewife in the past were unbearable with all the cooking, cleaning, sewing, children raising, and husband pampering. If only you could have held out a little longer. I'm sure you had no idea that microwaveable dinners were so near on the horizon, or that they would invent a pretty little box filled with colorful images known as the television that could simultaneously babysit and raise your child. I know you did what you thought you had to do, and I appreciate your efforts, but COME ON! You've ruined the rest of us. You do realize that don't you?

What did we gain from all of this? The right to vote? A lot of good that did us. The country is still run by megalomaniacal male chauvinists. Not that you boys aren't doing a fantastic job (of running us right into the ground), but I'm just not seeing where we fit into the picture. If women's rights were an attempt for ladies to escape the kitchen and child rearing duties, I can only say that it has failed. We are still expected to do all these things, but now on top of it all we are expected to have college degrees and be successful out in the world. As if menstruation and pregnancy were not large enough burdens to bear. Your psychotic pursuit of equality has changed to role of housewife to just a job women have on the side. It is no longer a worthy profession that little girls grow up dreaming about. Except this little girl! That was my dream job, and you ruined it. Now if a woman wants to stay home, raise children, and watch soap opera's she is labeled a mooch. She has to be actively employed and blog writing doesn't count (yet...I'm working on that). There goes my afternoons of locking the kids out of the house all afternoon while I curl up with a book. Thanks for nothing!

Instead I'm here having one pisser of a senior year in which I sleep an average of 4 hours a night and go for 18 hours straight in a day. I have bags under my eyes, I eat granola bars for meals because I don't have time to make a real meal, and I no longer even have time to punish myself by running. Excuse me, but I should have that right. If I were in 18th century England my chief concern would be tricking someone into marrying me, and as appalling as that might sound to the feminsts of the world, I'd be more than satisfied with that profession. If you avid readers have been long awaiting a return of an amazing writer like Jane Austen...forget about it. She's probably out there but she will never realize her talent because she's busy with her temp job and worrying about what trouble her children will get into for that half hour they have between their school getting out and her returning home from her job.

Wow this was a psycho bitter entry tonight...3 hours of sleep will do that to a girl.

The Napoleonization of Men

2006-09-08T23:36:00.000-04:00

I have been fed a lie since I was 11 years old. When my 6th grade Health teacher told me that one day boys would actually cease to be 5 foot midgets and grow to be taller than me, I believed her. It is now 10 years later, and I'm still waiting. Seriously, what is going on? I am not even that tall, I'm only 5'7", and yet I find that there is an alarming shortage of male prospects taller than me. Basically, my generally single state is not my fault. I can't go dating someone who weighs less than me, my self-esteem cannot take that one on. And because I'm not anorexic, if you are shorter than me, you weigh less than me.
So my question is, what is stunting male growth in my generation? Was it all those artificial ingredients they piled into the Superman and Cotton Candy ice cream flavors? Was it a lack of physical activity due to hours and hours devoted to Nintendo 64 (this would make sense as it came out when I was in 6th grade, so maybe my teacher couldn't have predicted what was to come, in which case she is forgiven)? Were you boys hiding in the tunnel slides during recess inhaling illegal substances while us girls played Polly Pockets? Did you not eat your vegetables? Or perhaps was it your innate desire to be like the FisherPrice Little People you grew up with, and you just willed yourselves not to grow?
Regardless of motive or cause, the fact remains that the Napoleon style is back, and quite possibly here to stay. Needless to say it's an unsettling notion. I was depending on finding a taller, slightly chubbier significant other to make me feel better about myself. Now what am I going to do? Ugh...men are so insensitive.
I am aware that not all men are hobbit sized, but I'm also aware that the short skinny skanks of the world are monopolizing these men. Ladies, ladies, ladies...not cool. For you finding someone who soars above you in height and weight is easy, so why do you insist on sticking it to the rest of us? I mean come on!
I do realize that being short is something that many men are not proud of, and it's something they themselves can't change now (well there are procedures like breaking your legs and inserting rods...ok maybe that's asking too much), but the least they can do is bulk up a bit. Short guys...ok fine...you can't help it, but short skinny guys...what the heck?! You're only hurting yourselves.
Before the hate mail starts coming from the vertically challenged men in the world, let me just say, I have nothing personal against being short. My father is no giant, and my brother is the shortest kid on his cross country team and he's a junior. I'm just trying to raise an awareness that somewhere growing up, you probably did something wrong, and one day when you marry your short skinny girlfriends and have tiny little babies make sure you raise them to avoid these errors so that the average heighted women of the next generation will stand a fighting chance.

CIA and Facebook Join Forces!

2006-09-06T23:13:00.000-04:00

Apparently the CIA has some notion that the most threatening terrorists can be found among the American college student population. Why else would they have joined forces with Facebook? I know that many of my readers have no idea what I'm talking about, but for my fellow college students, be afriad, be very afriad. They are on to us. They are watching our every move. I logged into Facebook today, and before I could even view my own profile I was met with a list of every move my Facebook friends had made over the last several days. It was unsettling. I now know unnecessary things like, "Laura added Fight Club to her favorite movies. 8:54pm," and, "Matt is now single. 10:11pm," and my personal favorite, "Kerri, Ellen, Jillian, and Bob joined the group Steve Irwin may you rest in peace. 10:08am." This list seemed to say to me, "You think the information we've gathered on your friends is creepy, you should see what we have on you!" Which in turn causes me to log off very quickly, close my curtains, lock my door, and never leave my apartment again. Seriously, I feel like logging onto Facebook is like making a call on an unsecured line when running from the authorities. I make sure I'm only on for about 30 seconds and then I sign off in hopes that I haven't just given them enough time to trace my location.
Not only is this a powerful tool for tracking down potential enemies of the government, but it is a stalker's wet dream. I can feel a nightmare coming on already. It will include a 5'2" pimply faced, 90 lb, toothless wonder with slicked back bleached hair wandering around Marquette with a handheld internet accessing device, which will lead him right to my apartment. On the way things will pop onto the screen like:
Bridget consumes an oreo, 11:35pm
Bridget turns on her radio, 11:40pm
Bridget consumes an oreo, 11:41pm
Bridget turns off her radio when confronted with the overplayed Daniel Powter, 11:42pm
Bridget consumes an oreo, 11:43pm
Why would this toothless wonder be stalking me? He's hungry. He knows there's a girl in his proximity who eats more than her fair share, and he's coming for my oreos.
Pinch me.

I've contemplated quitting Facebook altogether, but I feel like they've already gained all the information about me that they need. It's logged into a master database somewhere and stalkers and CIA agents the world over are analyzing it for some hidden message. They scour my list of favorite movies and books drawing conclusions like, "She likes Audrey Hepburn movies and she reads a lot of Jane Austen, clearly she's planning to conquer the world."
I bet right now they sense that I'm onto their operation and a team has been dispatched to come terminate my existence. If this is the last blog post you ever see from me then they've gotten to me, and it's up to you to fight the good fight in my place.
This is Bridget signing off, good night and good luck.

And ye shall bow down to me

2006-09-06T00:17:00.000-04:00

Lords and Ladies,
I don't know if you are aware, but I have been elevated to a new title. Sir Ryan, of the far off land of Greene Baye (that's my attempt at making Green Bay look classy), has dubbed me B Queen. I always knew I was destined for greatness, I just had no idea it would come so soon. I'm not quite sure what population comprises my minions, but I suppose that can be worked out later. I'd like to take this opportunity to say thanks to those who got me to this point in my life.
So yeah...thanks.
Oh what?
You thought I'd sit here like a chump and actually list all of you off?
Are you crazy?
My blog posts are long enough already. And then there's that off chance where I actually forget to name one of you, and you're all, "Damn that girl, I'm the funniest friend she has, she wouldn't be where she is without me!"
No. I won't subject myself to this. Just accept my gratitude and know that if you're reading this blog, you're on that list.
Back to being Queen!
Hmm...my first order of business as Queen (I keep capitalizing it because it makes me feel even more special) is to banish all country music from Aimee's wedding! Hurrah! I knew I'd find a way. If anyone is under my rule, it has to be Aimee and Tom. Long live the Queen!
Now all I have to do is figure out how to make my new title as credible as a college degree, and I'll be as happy as a pizza forgotten about in the back of a refrigerator, which finally gets to live a full happy life until dying at a moldy age.
And for those anxiously awaiting my next blog post (Becky Stefan) get excited for "The Napoleonization of Men."

Bridget Jones...I mean Deutsch

2006-09-03T10:09:00.000-04:00

I promised myself I wouldn't blog today. Seriously, I have a lot of homework to do, a presentation to finish for youth group, mass to attend, and a social afterward. I DO NOT HAVE TIME TO BLOG. So you're wondering what I'm doing aren't you? "Why are you blogging Bridget? Go do your homework!" I'll tell you why, I was innocently catching up on some reading (blog reading) while I consumed my breakfast and I suddenly came face to face with my cousin Kate's new blog entry. And now I have no choice. I have to do this.

It is absolutely insane how much my cousin Kate and I have in common. For those of you who are thinking, "Oh really, what do you guys have in common?" you obviously didn't click on the Kate link. Come on people work with me here! Go do that now. At least read the last two entries. I'll wait...
We good now? Ok.
I don't really know if it's just because we're both from Deutsch stock, or if it's a 21 and brunette thing, but darn it do we think alike. As I read Kate's entry this morning about the British inner monologue, my own inner monologue proclaimed Bloody Hell! Me too!
I'm sure you've all caught on by now just by seeing all the italicized type throughout my entries that I have an inner monologue that never stops. I mean literally, if you're talking to me chances are my inner monoluge is still going, no matter how much I try to quiet her. Although we're all aware that she's there, I've never really come out and talked directly about her. I most certainly have never mentioned that most of the time she has a British accent.

Time out...Is it weird I talk about my inner monologue like it's a seperate person in my head? I tried typing this entry with "it" in place of "her" but I wasn't feelin that, so "her" it is...time in.

Kate has a good excuse for her inner monologue going Euro on her seeing as she has traveled the world and she has fun British friends. I, on the other hand, have not really left the country (sorry Canada doesn't count) and the only accent I have been heavily exposed to is that of the Yooper, and goodness knows I don't want that.
Despite the odds, my inner monologue has some how gone British, and she has actually been that way for quite sometime. The sad truth about it all is that she's a byproduct of an innate desire to be Bridget Jones and a whole lot of Jane Austen reading, which has led to an unhealthy obsession with the 5 hour BBC Pride and Prejudice and any other film released dealing with any of Ms. Austen's novels.
Back to Bridget Jones for a moment.
Why on Earth would I want to be Bridget Jones? Well, I'm already more than half way there.
1) She can't ski...check
2) She can't ride...check
3) She can't speak Latin...check
4) She'll always be just a little bit fat...check
4) She's a horrid public speaker...check
5) She was often considered a spinster in the making...check (we prefer the term singleton)
6) She lacks style and grace...double check
7) She's an avid writer...check
8) She has a British accent...damn
9) She married Mark Darcy (Colin Firth)...YES PLEASE!
So you see really the only thing keeping me from marrying my own Mark Darcy is the lack of a British accent. And I believe this is the main reason as to why my own inner monologue has turned British on me. She's just trying to help me acheive my ultimate goal in life.
And then there's that whole Pride and Prejudice BBC issue. Um...have we seen this? It's amazing. And wouldn't you know Colin Firth is in that too, but this time as Mr. Darcy. Just a coincidence I'm sure. My obsession with Pride and Prejudice allowed me to branch out to many other BBC creations introducing me to television shows like The Office, and just about every mini series ever made. Fuel for the fire my friends. Fuel for the fire. I'm obsessed with any British film I can get my hands on. Love Actually, Four Weddings and a Funeral, Emma, Sense and Sensiblity, Notting Hill, hell even Nanny McPhee. You see this is a sickness. I want that accent, I need the accent. It's definitely in my head, but when put into practice out loud, it's absolute rubbish. I'm utterly ashamed of it. The Bridget Jones in my head does it perfectly, but I fear that when it passes through my actual lips, my stupid American tongue mangles it. So if you're ever wondering why I don't say much out loud, it's generally because I'm afraid one day Ms. Jones won't be content staying in my head, and I'll actually attempt a choppy, sorely off the mark, British accent aloud.
Clearly I'm unstable, and someone needs to fund a trip for me to go over to England so I can perfect my accent, and finally, like Kate, have a legitimate excuse for my British inner monologue.

Beware of the tall and skinny.

2006-09-01T23:38:00.001-04:00

There I was, plopped on the couch dipping Tostitos into salsa and stuffing them one after another in mouth as I watched some quality VH1. Out of the corner of my eye I saw an instant message pop up on my lab top. I leaned over and picked it up to see the message. It was from my friend Dan.
"Hey want to go for a quick run later?" he asked.
"Hmmm," I thought to myself in mid-chew, "I did just eat a whole lot of chips." I looked down at the roll created where the chips had chosen to congregate and sit in my stomach, and thought hard about the fact I had to be fitted for a bridesmaid dress in 3 weeks. I swallowed my last chip and replied, "Ok, yeah sure."
Now let me explain something here. Dan and I were not on the same page when I agreed to this. When he said, "later," I assumed he meant 5 hours (sufficient time for chip digestion), when in reality he meant 2. That, however, paled in comparison to my misjudgement of how far he thought we would run. When I got over to his apartment he said, "How far were you thinking we should go?" I shrugged and before I could answer, "I dunno, like 2 miles," he said, "I was thinking around 4." My jaw dropped and the chips in my stomach did a back flip in rebellion. I was about to make a compromise of 3 miles when he said in his smug little way, "I dunno, I'm feeling pretty good today, but if you don't think you can go that far, we can do a shorter run."
Now he had done it. My stamina had been called into question and my pride was on the line.
"Oh I'll give it a shot," I said while my inner voice screamed You freakin idiot!
We head off at what I think is a pretty quick pace when he turns to me and says, "Would you like to pick it up yet or slow it down?" Which basically means, "This pace is pretty slow, can we go faster now?" But the chips in my stomach are saying, "Go any faster and you'll be face to face with us in 3 seconds." So I tell Dan our pace is just fine.
As we run along my inner monologue is no longer attempting to be a good sport about things. I start yelling at Dan in my head. Oh my God are you trying to kill me?! Stupid Mr. 6 ft whatever-I only weigh a hundred pounds-Dan! We approach a busy road and I get excited. Yes we'll be forced to stop for a moment, I can finally catch my breath and let the chips settle! As we reach the intersection I come to a dead halt but Dan just continues to jog in place, heaven forbid he lose a step today. Flippin' Rocky! I'm stopped for all of 2 seconds when he shouts, "We're good!" and goes darting across the street. The light hadn't even changed yet. Damn you!
We continue along and I keep glancing nervously at my watch. I know we're going faster than 10 minute miles although I'm trying my best to slowly decrease our speed without him noticing, and yet we are quickly approaching 20 minutes and still heading away from his apartment. For those of you mathematically challenged, when we reach 20 minutes it will mean that we've gone at least 2 miles, and we're still headed away from the apartment. Jerkstore! 4 miles my ass! My eyes begin looking for a good place to suggest a turn around, but I see that he's hell bent on making it to Presque Isle Park. We continue along the bike path and I keep debating suggesting pulling off to the side and stopping to stretch, but my pride gets the better of me. I begin to wonder if I might die out there. 20 minutes has come and gone and we are still headed away from the apartment and I start to will away my belongings. Cheryl and Liz can divide my Cubs stuff between themselves, Meghan can have my CD's, Ryne can have my truck (since his current car is a POS), Aimee and Tom can have...
"We're good!" Dan yells as he darts across another street without skipping a step. Jackass!
We approach the entrance sign to Presque Isle Park and I anticipate the turn around. We run right past it. I debate between bursting into tears or faking a heart attack.
"How you holding up?" he asks me without a hint of exhaustion in his voice.
I hate you! If I live through this I'm going to come after you with a baseball bat!
"I'm good," I say as I gasp for air.
We pass through the archway into the park and he doesn't even slow down, but I had, had enough so I slowly put on the breaks. He notices and says, "Oh should we turn around?"
F yeah we should turn around you skinny little...(I went on for quite some time here)...Prefontaine wannabe. "Yes let's turn around."
"Because we can keep going if you want."
I glance down at my watch which is now saying 25 minutes, so yeah we're talking at least 2.5 miles here, meaning a total round trip of at least 5 miles. "No let's turn around." I say, my voice ringing with desperation.
He laughs.
Asshole. I'll cut you!
We pass a drinking fountain on our way back and Dan asks, "Want a drink?" Good man!
We both stop and take a sip, but the entire time he is still somehow jogging. As in he's drinking from the drinking fountain and still jogging. Who is this guy? I stagger away from the drinking fountain and am in the process of trying to convince my legs that they need to start running again when I notice Dan jumping up and down and wheeling his legs around in a bicycle motion. Evil bad man!
Not once after the drinking fountain did we ever stop again, not once at each busy road did we ever skip a step because somehow "we" were "good" at every single street. I distinctly remember as we crossed over the last busy street seeing a white lumina coming down the street just as I reached the other side. "You're 10 seconds too late you jerk! You could have hit me and put me out of my misery!"
I start to sense that we are within five minutes of the end of this hellish ride, and I begin to thank God because my legs are screaming and my asthma is reaching its peak. Dan chooses this moment to turn to me and say, "I usually end my runs with some sprints and then a cool down."
Oh holy hell! With one eyebrow raised, an ounce and a half of oxygen left in my lungs, I wheeze and say, "Go right ahead, I'll meet you at your apartment." With that he takes off sprinting. Seriously, who is this guy? I come off the bike path and look at my watch which now reads "51 minutes." Over 5 miles! I didn't sign on for this shit. I look ahead and see that Dan is now walking. Thank you God! I stop and I walk. Dan waits for me to catch up and when we are about 200 meters away from my truck he asks, "Do you want to do lunges to your truck?"
In the words of Raineesha Williams, 'Does hell go with no?!'
"I can't do lunges that far."
"Ok we'll just do it for a little bit."
My pride somehow still exists and I begin to do lunges. I stop after about 20 feet of that mess, and Dan of course continues. I walk along side of him for a while feeling stupid, and so I try to start up again. I go down once and feel my hamstring tear in rebellion. I can't move. That's it! I officially hate you! We are no longer friends! You will carry me the rest of the way.
I must have yelped out in pain when my hamstring pulled because Dan was very concerned and kept asking me if I was ok. He obviously can't read thoughts though because he did not once attempt to carry me.
We stand outside his apartment building and Dan wipes away the single bead of sweat that has formed on his forehead, while I ring out my shirt, and he asks, "Do you want to go run again tomorrow morning?"
I hope you choke on your ego Twigman! "We'll see."
BEWARE OF THE TALL AND SKINNY!

Stay Away From the Books

2006-08-31T17:46:00.000-04:00

Today I went to Target. It sounds harmless enough doesn't it? Well it's not when you're as financially challenged as I am. I NEEDED a few things, you know, for survival purposes. My budget is extremely low so I made a list to ensure I wouldn't spend too much. My list was as follows:
1) Notebook (for Cheryl)
2) Pens
3) Clicky Pencil (this is the scientific term for Mechanical Pencil)
4) Folders
5) Shampoo
6) Loofah (yes that's a necessity)
7) Laundry Detergent
See just a nice simple list. As I drove over, I told myself Stick to the list! Stick to the list! And no matter what, do NOT go down the book aisle. I had a plan, I was going to stick to it.
I walked confidently into Target and picked up a basket (notice just a basket, not a cart...budget tactic number one). I chose a route which would take me directly to the school supply section bypassing clothes and shoes (budget tactic number two). Unfortunately on my way over to the school supplies something shiny caught my eye. And yes I am that pathetic...something shiny...like a moth to a flame. It was the jewelry section, but more importantly the watch section. I needed a new watch. The ten dollar cheapo watch I had purchased a week before had successfully worn away the skin around my wrist and so naturally I needed to upgrade to something more classy like a $15 dollar watch. It was just a tiny added expenditure. And so the first item to enter my basket was $15 worth of "not on my list." After that I was right back on track. I headed straight to the school supplies. Just stay away from the books I repeated to myself. I found myself standing in an aisle filled with folders and notebooks and overflowing carts manned by women arguing over what to cook for dinner. These women were standing between me and Cheryl's 3 subject notebook. Not wanting to be rude, I slipped back out the way I came and attempted to cut around by way of the next aisle over. But when I turned to go down this particular aisle, again I was met with arguing women and overstuffed carts. I jumped over another aisle...same thing. Without thinking I turned down the next aisle over only to be met with shelves stacked with...you guessed it...books! "How did this happen?" I said aloud, a wide grin spreading across my face. "I'm not supposed to be here," I whispered to the books. I looked suspiciously around. Don't touch them! I tried to walk away, I did. But then the Shopaholic Series was staring me right in the face. I'd heard good things...I wondered if I'd enjoy them...just needed to read the first page...I reached out...I picked up...dammit the book was in my hand. I read the first page and laughed out loud. I wanted it, but there were so many of them. No! Wait till Christmas! I put the book down. Hurrah! Good job me. I continued to walk down the aisle, and then I saw it. My eyes lit up like they do when someone sets a package of oreos and a glass of milk in front of me. There in front of me was none other than The Idiot Girls' Action-Adventure Club by Laurie Notaro. "Mine!" I proclaimed, picking it up without thinking and depositing it in my basket. Then right next to it another Laurie Notaro book, I Love Everybody (and other Atrocious Lies). Again I reached out and grabbed it up, but my reason rose up for one last stand, keeping me from depositing it in my basket. No Bridget...too much money. I flipped the book over, $12.95. I quickly grabbed up the other one from my basket and flipped it over $11.65. $25, no Bridget you can't afford that. You can buy it cheaper on Amazon.com. Yes, I could buy it cheaper. The books start to gravitate back toward the shelf and then the crazy half of me rebels, But if you buy it used for $2.95 is that really supporting the author? Laurie needs our support. Buy her book for real! Dammit. Laurie is my hero, she's so damn funny, I have to help her. And into the basket the books go. That's $40 of "not on my list" floating around in my basket if anyone's keeping track (not including tax!). I gathered up the rest of the items on my list (minus the detergent because my basket was too full for that at this point) and I'm almost to the checkout when I realize how hungry I am. I'm suddenly convinced that I will perish before ever reaching my apartment again if I don't eat something in the next 5 minutes. I rush over to the snack aisle and pick up a little 97 cent box of Honeynut Cheerios. Good investment. Unfortunately I exit the aisle on the other end which backs up to the coolers. I just scan over them as I walk toward the checkout, and then I notice the little tiny pizza in there. Mmm...pizza. I don't even like frozen pizzas, but I suddenly felt the NEED to have this one. I picked one up ($5 of "not on my list") and scurried for the checkout. That's $45 dollars of "not on my list." Somehow this hasn't even registered in my head as the innocent cashier tells me my total. My face takes on a psychotic look of dismay as she asks for $72 dollars. I just stare back at her. Oh holy geez. It's not all for me, I try to comfort myself, as if Cheryl's $2 notebook was what had sent me soaring over my $20 budget. "You owe me big Laurie," I mutter out loud as the cashier gives me a strange look. "Real big."

Normal College Student

2006-08-31T00:00:00.000-04:00

For those of you who need clarification, when I spoke of a "normal college student" my prototype was indeed Megan Sager. And to those responsible for the onslaught of emails Megan has recently received in regards to graduation, I'd ask that you cease fire. She's not ready for that, and you'll give her a complex. That is all.

Is it too late to drop out of school?

2006-08-29T13:08:00.000-04:00

I have returned for my fourth and final year here at NMU. Haven't heard of it? That's because it's in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, which for most is a land over the rainbow, never ever to be trespassed. And I commend you for this decision. I, however, made a different decision. I signed away my life to the tundra for four consecutive years. This place has the most beautiful falls, but unfortunately the fall season lasts all of 3 1/2 days...and then...the snow comes. It comes and comes and never ever stops. When I leave in May there will be piles of snow litering the parking lots, but I'm ok with that. I'm ok with the ten degree temperature drop between Illinois and Marquette. I'm ok with the fact that in three weeks I'll be scraping snow off of my windshield. I'm even ok with 90% of the radio stations being all country all the time (ok I'm not completely ok with that).
What I'm not ok with is the fact that I leave my apartment everyday around 9:45am and I don't walk back through my door until 8 or 9pm. I'm not ok with the fact I haven't been able to read more than 3 pages of my Laurie Notaro book since I got up here. Furthermore, I'm not ok with the idea that while I'm sitting here typing this blog entry I can't stop thinking about all the things I should be doing to prepare for my next day of classes. I literally loathe the fact that I have not yet finished my educational experience. I am not a normal college student. Normal college students look foward to their return to school all summer long. They love being at school. They can't stand the idea of graduating, and refuse to have it mentioned in their presence. I, on the otherhand, dream of dropping out everyday. I dream of a wonderful alternate existence where people are born with all the knowledge they need, and there is no need to drill it into them. In this magical place all one needs to be successful is a desire. If you desire to write books, that's all you need to worry about. There's no concern about whether people will buy your books or not, it's a given, it will happen. You do not need to wonder if you've had the right education to make you credible (in other words, that you've spent the last 3+ years studying in the medical field, and now you're far more interested in writing novels), your livelihood will be guaranteed. This is, by the way, no reflection of my own current situation.
Unfortunately this alternate universe does not exist, or if it does, I have not yet figured out how to cross over to it. In the mean time I have two options in front of me.
1) Find my rich doctor so earning a living is no longer necessary
2) Turn to a life of crime or something similar which allows me to write and have an income at the same time.
Or I guess I could just finish my undergrad, complete my two years of grad school, get certified as a PA and stop my bitching. I do, after all, generally enjoy this field.
And to all my devoted readers (yes all half a dozen of you) if you're thinking, "When did Bridget turn into such a ranting, bitter, super wench? Why doesn't she just go back to ridiculing idiotic people?" Well I'd love to, I really would. But I spend my days now in classes like Organic Chemistry and Exercise Physiology and when put into perspective I'm probably the biggest idiot in the room.
Because you've been so patient though, I will leave you with this alarming piece of information. My sister Aimee and her fiancé Tom have officially decided on "Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy" as their entrance song into the reception. Now Aimee and Tom, I'm not at all suggesting this makes you idiotic, simply just the delusional "I can't remember, was I born in Nashville?" type I mentioned in my hoedown bashing entry. Love you!

Multitude of Questions

2006-08-23T21:18:00.000-04:00

1) What part of I'm on a TIGHT schedule is difficult to understand?
I'm supposed to leave for school tomorrow morning, which obviously requires some packing. I'm getting down to the wire here, and still have hardly made a dent in my effort to box up everything I own (It's part of my "No CD/Book/Movie left behind!" campaign). In addition to this hassle, I have all other sorts of fun things added in like dinner with Aimee and Tom at Tom's parents' house and a movie later. As I'm headed out the door my mom says to me, "Hey can you pick your littler sister up a trapper keeper on your way back home? She really NEEDS one." First of all, no one NEEDS a trapper keeper. Second of all..."on my way"? There is no place along my route from Tom's house to our house that I can just run into and pick up a trapper keeper. I kindly mention this fact to my mother, who calmly replies, "Well I meant on Randall Road." Oh Randall Road...30 minute roundtrip out of my way Randall Road. Fan-freakin-tastic. Being the obliging daughter I am, I agree to the task despite the major threat it poses to my already limited packing time. On my way over to Tom's my brother calls me. Odd...he never calls me, in fact, I'm shocked to see his name on my caller ID.
"Hey, Mom says you're school shopping."
"No I'm not. I'm wasting my precious time picking up a trapper keeper."
"Can you pick me up two 2" binders, and two packs of 5 dividers."
"Oh, you need stuff? Perfect, you can go out and grab that and Lizzie's trapper keeper, and save me a lot of time."
"Well you're already out, so why don't you do it?"
"Because it's out of my way, I'm on a tight schedule and you need the stuff not me."
"Well aren't you getting Lizzie's trapper keeper anyway?"
Idiot! Did he not just hear what I said?!
"I won't have to if you just go do it," I said through gritted teeth.
"Mom said you'd do it. Bye."
SOB!
Thank you Mom.
2) Who let the idiots loose in Target?
After dinner I head over to Target because I'm what one might call a SUCKER! When asked to do something, no matter how ridiculous I might believe the task to be (picking up binders for someone who is 17 years old and is currently sitting on his ass doing nothing might fall into this category), I always do it. It's a curse. I can't stand the idea of someone being less than pleased with me. Once inside Target I'm met with an alarming discovery...someone had let a truck load of idiots loose in the store, and they all seemed to congregate around the school supplies. Psychotic mothers grabbing up all the folders they could get their hands on, blocking aisles as though to say, everything in this aisle belongs to me until I say otherwise. Despite the psycho soccer moms, I found the aisle with the binders and slid in unharmed. I noticed a girl about my age with a dopey looking brother who reminded me a lot of my own brother. I mentally sympathized with the girl thinking yeah we drew the short stick today didn't we, but at least you dragged your sorry excuse for a relation along with you. Mine is probably kicked back eating a bowl of ice cream right now. Just as I sensed our bond of tormented older sister growing strong, she took her cart and parked it right in front of all the binders. I couldn't see a damn thing. She just left it there too. My eyes narrowed to dagger slits as I verbally abused her within the confines of my mind, and debated whether a brawl in Target would be frowned upon or not. She wasn't even looking around. She just put it there and stood reading over a list of supplies, because apparently her idiot brother could not read the list himself. I just stood by waiting because I also hold the title of PUSHOVER! and I frequently allow myself to be tortured. After these two decided on highlighters as their next objective and moved out of the aisle I stood there staring at the binders. 1", 1 and 1/2", 1 and 3/4 ", and then nothing. No 2"! Most would have given up at this point, and called it quits. But not I. Not the fearless-no none of the things in my basket are actually for me-shopper. I cut over to the other side of the store to check out the office supply section and sure enough, there were more binders. I scanned quickly and found a 2" binder. "HURRAH!" I exclaimed. I snatched it up and reached for a second one, only to realize that was the only one. GAH! I ransacked the shelves...nothing. Defeated I went to the checkout line. It's necessary for me to now explain that I can NEVER pick the best line to get into. Without fail, I will choose the line which takes longest. It's a fact that I've learned to accept over time. So much so that when I get into line with only one woman ahead of me, I'm not at all surprised that one of her items requires a price check. I wait patiently (because like I said, I'm used to this...in fact, normally I bring a book along just for these occasions) and I watch everyone in all the other lines fly right through, out the door, and on with their lives. I don't even bother to change to the next cashier because I know my fate will be the same there. People come in behind me and box me in, and I'm not even phased. And then it hits me. Oh my God I've found her. The idiot ring leader is standing in front of me in line. Yes it all makes sense. She must have been the one to unleash all of the other idiots unto the store. I start to realize that this really isn't a price check at all we are waiting for. She realized how cheap the pack of colored pencils she was buying were and sent her daughter back to the circus school supplies portion of the store to grab 10 more boxes. And the cashier (also an escaped idiot) just stands by and allows this to go on. When Princess Idiot gets back with a handful of colored pencils Queen Idiot is unsatisfied with the quantity and asks that the back of the store be checked. I turn around and ask no one in particular for a gun.
3) Are we seriously having this conversation?
I returned home defeated, tired, and irritated. I attempted to inform John that I could only pick up one binder for him, and he'd have to go out and get the second himself because I ran out of time. My words, however, fall on deaf ears as he is on the phone with is psuedogirlfriend (girl he denies dating, but calls and talks to every night for a minimum of 2 hrs). I then search out my mother and inform her of the binder situation:
"Hey mom, I was only able to get John one binder, that's all they had."
"What?!" she said angrily to me.
"I could only get one," I said attempting to remain calm.
"Where did you go?"
"Target."
"Well I told you to go to Office Max," she snapped back.
LIAR! If you'll scroll up twenty pages you'll see she just said Randall Road. This includes about 100 different possible stores. And unfortunately my mind reading skills have been on the fritz lately. My bad.
"No mom," I began the tension clearly in voice, "you didn't specify which store you wanted me to go to. Johnny can go out and pick it up," I continue, "but I have to go now."
This response seems to anger her. Apparently the idea of my 17 year old brother doing something for himself is out of the question. Yes the same brother who she informs me on a regular basis is actually much smarter than me, and has the tests scores to prove it. He just doesn't apply himself and that is why my grades are considerably better...yata yata yata...blah blah blah...I'm glad your favorite child is a slacker.
As I turn to walk away because I'm late for my movie, I say "Oh and you're welcome." To which she says, "You should've gone to Office Max!"
For all of you concerned about Lizzie's trapper keeper, yes I purchased that too, and the best damn one in the store. She said thank you...what a concept.
4) Is there a cure for this?
I got home from the movie just before midnight, and I attempted to get some packing done. That damn missing binder continued to gnaw away at me because like I said, I can't handle disappointing people. Finally I broke down and grabbed my keys and headed out to every 24 hour store I could think of until I finally came up with a 2" binder. It's sitting up stairs with a little yellow bow on it and a tag which says, "For His Highness...The Royal Sir John."

Self esteem boost anyone?

2006-08-20T20:43:00.000-04:00

If you're looking for a fun new way to boost your self esteem listen up. Apparently all you have to do is enter to run a road race in which you are the only female in your age group...
As I stood at the starting line of the 14th Annual Mark McCormick race, I mumbled to myself about what an idiot I was to agree to such self torture. I stared disgustedly at the giant hill rising in front of us which they had the gall to incorporate into the first 200 meters of the race. My 11 year old little sister stood at the starting line next to me and I glared down at her thinking You skinny super wench, you're gonna kick my ass! Who races for 3.1 flippin' miles?! The gun went off, and I consequently took off like a bat out of hell (which in my world equates to something slightly above a slow jog). I attacked the hill thinking just stay with Lizzie. About 3 minutes into the race my mind quickly changed over to just finish the race. About 2 miles in I was more in the mindset of just don't die. Running is 90 percent mental, or so I'm told, so it's probably not a good thing that the entire race thoughts ran through my head like This course is from hell, designed by Lucifer himself! and Holy geez I'm either going to die or puke on the next person who passes me. Somehow I managed to finish the race and was handed a little card with my race time and average mile time on it. As I looked indifferently at my less than mediocre 8:59 average mile time, I noticed that I was ranked as first place in my age group. I laughed and started to make my way toward the table full of giant cookies, when I all of the sudden I was handed a shiny gold metal as I passed the awards table. I stood there jaw ajar staring at the ribbon that it dangled from, which had "1st Place" printed over and over on it. I looked around suspiciously for hidden cameras and Ashton Kutcher and then placed the metal around my neck. As if on cue, the Rocky theme music immediately started in my head and I took a victory lap to the cookie table.
When I caught up with my family, my mom looked at me incredulously and asked, "How did you get a metal?" as if I'd stolen it from some faster skinner person unable to defend herself. "I'm a champion," I responded, and her eyes rolled. Lizzie (finishing over a minute and a half ahead of me), now glared up at me because her 3rd place metal didn't look quite so spectacular compared to my shiny gold one. Take that twig! I shot at her through mind waves. Moments later a reporter came up to verify the spelling of my name and I nonchalantly gave her the information as if this kind of thing happened to me all the time.
So in the end I left the course beaming with pride and relatively unscathed, minus the chub rub (to all my skinny friends, disregard this reference, I'll tell you when you're older and you've developed into the woman God meant for you to be).

Dolphin Time!

2006-08-19T10:51:00.000-04:00

I'm headed downtown today to see the Dolphins in the Shedd. Only Aimee truly understands what a huge event this is for me. Aimee and I were in Atlanta earlier this summer where they claim to have the largest aquarium in the world (http://www.georgiaaquarium.org/), however they spew lies. I went there, I walked through the whole flippin thing in like an hour and a half. Excuse me, but no. Most distressing of all, they had absolutely no dolphins...not a one. What kind of aquarium has no dolphins? The lie spewing kind. So now I'm headed to Chicago's own trusty Shedd Aquarium (http://www.sheddaquarium.org/index.html) where I most certainly will see an entire dolphin show because we don't mess around here in Chicago. Screw you Atlanta. I also get to hang out with Kaitlyn and Ryan all day so I'm sure I'll have some crazy things to report tomorrow.
P.S. If you are perusing the websites and see that Atlanta claims to have thousands of more animals it's because half that number encompasses the tiny little water insects and schools upon schools of little fish I can see when I go to the dentist office.
Not to deter you or anything.
And while I'm ranting...don't get the yogurt parfait in the cafeteria there, even if you haven't had breakfast yet...jigga ick.

Eat your veges

2006-08-18T01:11:00.000-04:00

Popcorn counts as a serving of vegetables right? I mean it's corn and all. If so I've filled my quota for the rest of the week. And while we're clarifying things...that cream that you find in the middle of oreo cookies is actually a healthy serving of skim milk right? I'm assuming that's the case, and so I've already filled that quota as well. Damn I'm healthy. Now I just need someone to verify that laughing is so much more beneficial than running 5 miles a day, and I can rest easy at night.

No me gusta la musica COUNTRY!

2006-08-16T23:40:00.000-04:00

My gut instinct has been the guiding force behind all my decisions for many a year, and has to this day served me very well. Sometimes (because I like to punish myself) I ignore these impulses of mine. For example, when my oldest sister says to me, "Want to go to the Cadillac Ranch with me?" My gut instinct screams, "ABSOLUTELY NOT!" This would be the appropriate response as I despise country music and have not the desire nor coordination necessary to line dance. The Cadillac Ranch is a hell hole which embodies all these things. It's basically a hoedown which one must drive 30 minutes to attend because such a gathering has been banned by the rest of the Chicagoland area. It's filled with a bunch of Chicago suburbanites with identity crisises who actually believe they were raised in Nashville. They show up in cowboy hats and boots purchased from who knows where and line dance until their pseudocountry hearts are content.
How do I know all this?
Well because after my gut instinct screamed NO, and I obediently replied NO, my sister did not give up. Text message after text message led me to believe she was in some sort of despair and needed me there with her. After about an hour's worth of text messages, I hushed the persistent "NO!" in my head, and said to myself, "How bad can it be?" Consequently, I hopped in my truck and headed over there. As I walked across the parking lot I could hear my sister laughing from their outdoor deck (she's very loud), and the first twinge of regret hit me as I realized she was obviously not in any kind of despair. We pushed through the first half of this establishment as I looked around horrified at all the people dressed up like cowboys and cowgirls. I poked my head out a window half expecting to spy some livestock, and as I looked down at my polo and sneakers I suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable and out of place. Yes that's correct...I felt abnormal amongst the freakshows...imagine that. I wanted to hop up on the bar and shout, "Do you know where you are? The city isn't even an hour away!" My sister and her friend dragged me excitedly to the backroom, which of course was just a large wooden dance floor packed full of "cowpeople" line dancing. Aimee and Merideth quickly joined in, informing me on their way to the dance floor that I could join in whenever I was ready. I watched mystified as I realized every song had it's own special line dance to it, and all these people just automatically knew what it was without any direction. I found myself unconsciously twitching, and decided I would take advantage of this place's only draw...$2 Margaritas. Let me just take this opportunity to say that there are not enough Margaritas in the world for the hell that would ensue, especially considering I would have to drive myself home. Perhaps the most alarming part of the whole evening was that every now and then they would switch from single's line dancing to couple's dancing and crazy cow driven people would suddenly go searching out partners. Aimee and Merideth immediately informed me this was the portion of the evening to make yourself scarce, unless you wanted to end up dancing with some sixty year old man in tight jeans (which surprisingly enough there was an overabundance of). Luckily it seems my "normal people" clothing was a warning flag for all experienced dancers indicating, "Warning! She's not one of us."
Needless to say I survived the evening, and learned an important lesson: No means no. Trust your initial assessment of every situation, well unless you're Tom Cruise.

In other news...
I spent the entire day today water skiing, tubing, and eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Yes, I am an adult.

Life Lessons

2006-08-12T11:24:00.000-04:00

It's only 10:30am and already I've learned some valuable life lessons today.
1) Rollerblades and train tracks do NOT mix.
2) I do not have a built in GPS system in my brain, or a compass for that matter.
3) When rollerblading in a town other than the one you grew up in, it is unwise to choose your route by simply turning whenever the inclination strikes you. 30 minutes later when you determine you are indeed lost you will not remember "right, left, left, left, right, left, right, right, left, right, left, left, right, right" and will no longer be able to go back the way you came.
4) When lost in a creepy Pleasantville like subdivision a cyclist bearing saddle bags on his bike is your new bestfriend. Follow him, he will lead you back to normalcy.
5) Rollerblades and train tracks especially don't mix after you've been rollerblading for an hour and have lost all coordination.
6) When you leave the house with the intention of only rollerblading for a half hour, and don't return again until an hour and a half later, your body will like you a little less. Don't take it personally.

Fat Cow Disease

2006-08-11T19:10:00.000-04:00

It's happened. I mean I knew it would happen sooner or later. Once Mad Cow Disease started spreading like wildfire I knew it was only a matter of time before Fat Cow Disease followed suit. I think I've contracted it, or at least I have all the symptoms. Perhaps it has been lying dormant in my system for the last couple months, lulling me into a false sense of security. But now it's rearing its ugly fat cow head. This disease is gruesomely forcing me to consume all that is in my presence at all times. I've made enemies with anything remotely resembling a vegetable, and my sickend body only craves that which will turn me into something resembling large cattle. This ailment has created a degree of dementia which causes me to think crazy thoughts like, "I don't need a man dammit! Not when I can eat a pint of ice cream garnished with half a package of double-stuffed oreos!" As it slowly overtakes my body, I have become more and more lethargic and "exercise" has become an evil word that sends waves of repulsion through my body and causes me to lie convulsing on the floor. My future is grim unless a cure is quickly found. I'm not exactly looking for a little pill to whisk away this problem. In fact, I'd be happy with just a nice large oreo shake that tastes like heaven, but which will actually make me thinner. Get to work!

News Flash! Bicycles are NOT Motorized Vehicles

2006-08-08T16:49:00.000-04:00

Bursting someone's bubble is a sad, horrible thing...and by someone I mean a 9 year old who firmly believes he is Spiderman (AKA my cousin Nick). On the other hand, bursting the bubble of a psychotic cyclist who believes the fancy clips on his pedals have earned him a place on the road is not only my right, but my duty. And so to all you delusional cyclists, contrary to popular belief, calf muscles actually don't constitute as engines, and since I know for damn sure your bike is not equipped with a hemi, GET OFF THE ROAD!
Before everyone gets their biker shorts in a bundle, let me clarify a couple of things. First and foremost, I don't have it out for cyclists the world over. I love a good bike ride myself, minus the aching feeling I get in my ass by the time I'm done. Secondly, I'm not addressing the innocent leisure cyclists who keep to the sidewalks and bike paths, or the little kids riding around on their cul-de-sacs. You know who I'm talking about. The roiding cyclist who believes he can bike as fast as traffic and who is usually found perched in a turn lane waiting for the light to turn green, or riding along in a manner which makes him impossible to pass while the empty bike path 10 feet to his right taunts you as you contemplate running him over.
For all of you who fit this profile I'd like to take this opportunity to say that unless your nifty little bike has a jet pack that has simply escaped my notice you don't belong on the road with me. And no, I honestly don't care that you've spent hundreds of dollars to make yourself and your bike flawlessly aerodynamic. What does concern me, however, is the fact that the police refuse to arrest people on the grounds of, "He's an idiot!" yet they won't hesitate to lock me away for life should I accidently run you over. Yes, yes...I'm sure you can go very fast, but I'm also positive that my V8 engine goes faster. It's the nature of the beast my friend. While you are madly pumping away at your pedals I simply have to rest my foot on mine. If this is a hard concept for you to grasp, swing by and I'll strap on my running shoes and dart around in front of your bike not allowing you to pass. Chances are you can ride your bicycle faster than I can run and you shall become annoyed very quickly. And when that happens, apology accepted.
Although you are quite possibly the next candidate for a Bud Light's Real Men of Genius jingle, Mr. I'm Too Good for the Sidewalk Man, that does not give you any real celebrity status, which may have otherwise prevented me from leaving a nice tire track down your backside. And while I have your attention, answer me this: What's wrong with the bike path? At what point does your ego get so large that it prevents you from riding on the area designated for you? I don't ride my truck down the sidewalk, can't you show me the same level of courtesy by staying the hell off the street? Have a good one!

No Thanks

2006-08-08T00:13:00.000-04:00

It's inevitable. The other half of the shed must be painted. What do I speak of? Hmm...where do I begin? While I was away at school my parents decided that the old, rusty, spider infested shed leaning up against our pretty new deck must go. I heartily agreed. Its shabby metal doors had been dented in to an extend which made opening them as difficult as breaking free a CD from it's 80 million layers of plastic wrap and security stickers (I HATE THAT!). By the time I arrived home in May all that was left of Rusty was its rotted foundation, and days later a stack of fresh lumbar was delivered for the new shed to be built out in the back corner of the yard. This is where the trouble began.
My father and I marched out to tackle this project head on with hopes in our hearts and a gleam in each eye. How hard could it be? Just a little bit of saw cutting, pop in a few nails here and there, and then slap on a coat of paint. We foolishly believed the project would only take a few days. In fact I remember from my own ignorant lips the comment, "We can have this done before the sun goes down."
Silly foolish girl.
We began to haul the wood around back. We continued to haul the wood around back. Still hauling....even more...sinking feeling...I began to consider the idea that perhaps we were not building a shed, but a one car garage or perhaps a guest house...still hauling. After we finally got all the wood around back I shakily voiced my concern, "This is no shed is it Dad?"
"It's actually more like the size of a barn," he laughed. Not funny. Seriously, once the frame was up it was determined we could park my sister's car inside and still have room for all of our bikes.
The size alone was daunting, but the real treat was to find out that this "easy-to-do" shed kit was put together by Satin himself. He slid the wrong directions into our box, warped our wood, possessed our circular saw, gave us nails which leaped freely from the wood and across the lawn as we tried to hammer them in, and worst of all...the most horrible offense...he used his demonic powers to make the wood super-absorbant. A month and a half later (yes it took us a month and a half!) we came to the painting step. It was crunch time now, with just days left till the rehearsal dinner. My dad was overwhelmed with other preparations and so I boldy proclaimed, "Don't worry Dad, I'll get the shed painted."
IDIOT!
Again (because apparently I don't learn from my mistakes) I marched out to our shed-barn optimistic, and ready to take on this simple task. I popped open the primer, stirred, and dipped my brush in. I held the brush in my hand hovering over the shed wall. A naive smile sprung across my face as I imagined how quickly this large wooden structure would transform into a beautiful red barn. As I made my first stroke the smile began to fade. The paint was sucked up instantly and I barely got through my stroke before the brush decided to no longer administer paint. Confused, I dipped and tried again. Same thing. In case I've failed to mention it...this shed is the size of a barn and suddenly my mom's clever thought to paint it as such no longer seemed amusing to me. 3 strokes in I was fuming. 4 strokes in I glared angrily toward the house cursing the rest of its 6 inhabitants not helping me. 5 strokes in I debated knocking the whole shed down and blaming it on a very region specific earthquake. 6 strokes in I prayed one of the many falling acorns from the tree above would hit me atop the head and knock me unconscious. 7 strokes in I decided it was only necessary to paint the two walls of the shed which could be seen from the deck. 9 hours of brutal work spread over the course of 3 evenings and the two walls had been primed, covered in two coats of paint, and I had even painted white trim for the barn effect. I walked away from the barn feeling a sense of accomplishment and relief. I smiled contently as our guests later that week commented on how wonderful the new shed across the yard looked. After the night of the rehearsal dinner, I never once thought of the barn again.
Until yesterday.
My father had a big grin on his face as I walked into the house. "Guess what I bought for you today!"
I didn't trust that possessed look in his eye and I looked past him out through the back door. There sitting on the deck were three cans. My eyes squinted as I read the words PRIMER, and BARN RED.
H to the NO!
Pictures to follow.