Home, Home on the Brain

I don’t have a lot of requirements for my dream home. To be more specific, I have two.

1. I want a garbage disposal. I know. I know. They jam up literally all the time, they’re knocked completely out of commission by something as pathetic as a chicken bone, and it makes it about a million times more likely that something like THIS will happen to me.

But the thought of spending my entire life having to avoid rinsing a dish in the sink or be forced to clean out the drain trap with MY HAND is enough to make me politely look the other way in terms of those potential cons. (Besides, what are the odds that my disposal will be haunted…right?)

2. Bookshelves. Lots. This requirement is actually much more important to me than the first one (although the first one is still important. Deal with it.). As you know, I love grammar and reading, so this should really come as no surprise.

So why do I bring this up now? Well, as some of you know, I’m getting ready to move into my first place sans roommates. Which means the decor of which is left to my sole discrection.

Now, naturally I cannot create THIS look:

Or this:

But I do have two of these bookshelves (that I built with my bare hands. You may recall.). So…I could maybe do something similar to this:

Heck, it’s a start.

Images courtesy of Delight by Design and Habitually Chic

Goals for May

1. Update blog appearance (that’s right, little blog, you’re getting a makeover!)
2. Clean out my closet (again)
3. Begin the moving process (gag)
4. Find a dress for this fancy wedding I’m going to
5. Mail my sister the present I’ve had for her for about a million years
6. Figure out what my hair is doing (this may be crucial for my well-being)

That seems like enough, right?

Can’t sleep; won’t sleep

So, you know how (in general) I keep my crippling fears to myself? Well, prepare for me to break that rule. A little. Just this once.

My deepest, darkest fear? Being embarrassed. In my opinion, there is truly no worse feeling than humiliation.

If you read this blog regularly, you’ve probably realized that I don’t take myself THAT seriously. (And if you don’t read this blog regularly, what’s WRONG with you? Of course I’m kidding…but seriously.) But despite my penchant for self-deprecation, it’s a whole new animal when you cross that oh-so-fine-line from laughing with you to laughing at you.

For example, remember how I get nervous about team sports because I don’t want to get yelled at for letting people down? That stems from my fear of embarrassment. (I’m serious; that girl who yelled at me SCARRED me for life.)

Another aspect of my life that is forever effected by my phobia? My sleeping patterns. More specifically, my ability to sleep on trains, planes, and virtually any other public sphere. You already know that sometimes I just can’t sleep, but this is different. I could be legitimately ready to pass the heck out, but unless I’m tucked away in my bed where no one is LOOKING at me, it won’t happen. Sorry, Charlie, but I’d rather go through life all bleary-eyed than chance the possibility of drooling, snoring, or otherwise humiliating myself by doing something weird/gross in my sleep (AKA, looking like THIS guy) where someone could see me.

So WHY is any of this relevant? Well, if you’re referring to “relevant to life in general” and/or “important world affairs,” this blog is never relevant. So get off your high horse.

But it IS relevant to my life because in a month I’m moving a bit farther from the city where I work, meaning a longer commute. On a train. In the very early morning. When my natural inclination will be to sleep. But I won’t be able to. Because of the aforementioned fear.

I know what you’re thinking: “WILL SHE OVERCOME HER FEAR TO ATTAIN THE SLEEP SHE SO DESIRES?!” (Ok, maybe you’re only thinking that if you’re Don LaFontaine.)

But you know what? Maybe, just maybe in this brave new world where I share deep dark fears, I will be able to sleep on a train. I’ll keep you posted.

Photo courtesy of Amir Zamani

Such thing as a free lunch…and dinner!

So, remember that time (almost a year ago) when I won tickets to Shakespeare in the Park?

Well, even though I can say that my life did significantly improve from that point on (though not necessarily due to luck so much as a lot, lot, LOT of effort), my winning streak effectively took a leap off a cliff. As in, I haven’t really won a single thing since then except for Scrabble games against my cell phone.


One of the biggest lessons I ever learned from my dear friend Michelle (besides the best ways to tone my abs in pilates) was that there is a lot of free stuff out there to be had — one simply has to put in a minimal amount of work. Michelle always sends me email forwards to get free things like granola bars and chocolate and shampoo and whatnot, and this has encouraged me to seek out other ways to get free things.

Which brings me to yesterday.

On days when I don’t feel like going outside or when I’m having a night in, I’ll use a delightful service called Delivery.com to order food. Am I proud of this? Well…I’m not NOT proud.

I also frequent a little site called Twitter (have you heard of it? It’s shaking up THE WORLD.*), and one day I discovered that Delivery.com has its own Twitter feed. My Michelle-trained spidey senses started tingling, and I decided to follow it in case they ever advertised coupons or deals or something.

Well, yesterday they posted a tweet that if you re-tweeted it (that’s when you basically tweet the same thing they did for all of YOUR followers, Dad), you would be entered to win a free dinner.

Again, this took minimal effort, so naturally I did it.

And you guys. I. WON.

I had free sushi for dinner. And the leftovers will be today’s lunch. So that’s TWO free meals.

So I guess my luck hasn’t exactly taken a leap, just more of a sabbatical. Here’s to a lucky day every year or so.


Photo courtesy of emmas designblogg

Can’t find the words…so we made them up.

A list of words that I probably shouldn’t love if I truly respect the English language but do in fact not-so-secretly love:

totes [tohts], adj.: No, not like,
Jane: Check out my sweet tote bag that I bought at Borders!
Ann: Dude, Borders has the cutest totes!


Jane totes her books to class every day in her sweet tote bag.

THAT kind of “totes” is a real word. I’m referring to the abbreviation of the word “totally.” Totes is used to connote agreement or acceptance. As in:

Jane: Wanna get Pinkberry later?
Ann: Totes.

Yep, the first word on the list is an abbrev. Get over it (Max Plenke).

badongin’ [buh-dawng-in], adj.: possessing outstanding quality, good looks, or general awesomeness. See also: Words my co-worker Anja makes up that rule.

That wedding cake is badongin’.

I don’t feel like I need to explain this one any further.

lurrrve [lerrrv], verb: To feel extreme affection and positive feelings for.

Jane: Did you like that mixed CD I made you?
Ann: No, I lurrrved it.

Yes, the three R’s are necessary. As is thoroughly pronouncing each. You should purr like a kitten when you say this word, otherwise you’re doing it wrong.

ridonkulous [ri-donk-yuh-luhs], adj.: Beyond ridiculous, amazing, or stupid. Can be used with both a positive or negative connotation.

Jane: How was having your parents meet your boyfriend?
Ann: Ridonkulous. I don’t want to talk about it.


Jane: How was having your parents meet your boyfriend?
Ann: Ridonkulous. They’re ready to adopt him.

I didn’t invent this word. I don’t know who did. But I want to shake them warmly by the hand, because it caused one of the top two funniest moments of I Love You, Man to happen. Thank you, Mystery Ridonkulous Inventor. Thank you.