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Is Road Rage Genetic?



If so, it's in my fam. I can almost guarantee it. Both of my parents are notorious for a lot of yelling, hand gestures, and creative name calling. And all for something as insignificant as someone not putting on their blinker, which most likely occurs every other lane change or turn. Obviously, this kind of road rage behavior is warranted for more serious driving offenses that risk lives. However, I usually find that my parents "defensive" driving is a tad on the aggressive side when it comes to their emotional reactions.

I've tried to tone down my own vehicular frustration down since I noticed friends feeling uncomfortable, even in situations where I wasn't driving. Constantly saying things like, "Sorry, I have road rage," sounds kind of like, "Sorry, I have hemorrhoids," and by that, I mean it's kind of lame and something you shouldn't be admitting to people. If you're easily frustrated while driving, take a deep breath and focus on something else (while focusing on driving of course...if you can't multi task, then maybe you should skip this step?). It's kind of like what you do when you run long distances; you know where you're going and when to stop and avoid others around you, but you're constantly in this secondary, auto-pilot zone where you can drift off into other thoughts.

I'm always reminded of my dormant disorder when I drive with my parents. Spending only a mere couple of hours with them on the road and I'm already susceptible to regaining strength in this inherited trait. My mother gets cut off at one point, and starts furiously flashing her high beams at the "asshole" in the beamer in front of us. She then decides that blinding lights in their rear view mirror could never equate to what they did to her, so she thrusts her middle fingers on both hands towards the windshield. Yet, you know you're really in deep shit when she sticks out her tongue and bites down on it, with this sort of animalistic grimace covering her entire face (my siblings and I are familiar with this look from our childhood). I laugh a little, shake my head, and explain that I didn't think her reaction was necessary, which is when she proclaims that it must've been from the head injury she suffered a few years ago in a bicycle accident. I tell her she should really stop using that as an excuse, because I'm 99.9% sure this kind of activity was never any different from how she would act behind the wheel before. At least the a-hole in the BMW got the picture and hopefully won't do it again.

On the ride back, I got to witness the glory that is my father driving. Now, I understand if someone has road rage and drives a Ford F150 or some outrageously expensive or large car. They need to make up for insecurities and therefore can cower behind their gas guzzler while screaming expletives through the four walls of glass and steel that wrap around a car. My father? He knows no such thing as the word insecurity even though no one should feel safe or secure in his pint sized Toyota Yaris. One has never seen a man so proud to be driving such a little and inexpensive car. The guy gives people the thumbs up any time he sees other Yaris drivers...seriously, every single time he sees one. Half the time, they think he's some creep commending their looks or something, but at least the other half nod back in agreement.

Onto the more negative side of his car skills, he also likes to yell at people for absolutely nothing. While doing so, he attempts to incorporate all of the latest "hip" slang, in an effort to practice adolescent jargon in order to impress the senior high school students he teaches. For example, as he drove onto an on ramp a few weeks ago, the car or two in front of him came to a crawl and almost stopped. Now, the first thing you'll learn in my family's driving school is that you never stop at a yield sign. I don't care if there are seven tractor trailers lined up in the right lane of the highway pushing 90 mph. You better make it on there, and it doesn't matter if that means eating up the breakdown lane, or even a lane made of grass and sand. As these cars slow to a halt, my father grips the wheel whiteknuckled, leans forward, and spurts out, "C'mon, peeps! C'MON PEEPS!!" I think he would've continued to express himself wholeheartedly, but I had to interrupt and explain to him that on the streets, "peeps" are more so your friends than random jerks who can't drive. He looked at me as if I had just explained addition to the dude from Good Will Hunting, and I soon realized I had insulted his intelligence. "Of course I know what 'peeps' means, who do you think I am?" I apologized profusely, for you never want all that pent up, motor vehicle fury to be transferred over to you.

The moral of the story is that if you ever catch me cursing while driving, or while in the passenger or back seat of your car, I'm sorry. But it's really not my fault. It's been passed down. Chill on the roads, kids, it's not worth the stress.
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I am a girl after all!

When my parents first saw me on ultrasound and realized, "Oh shit...we're actually going to have to stick together and make this work," the doc initially thought I was a dude. No, it's not because I had any other parts lying around, although it is still funny the 1000th time I hear that joke when I tell the story of my conception (not). It must've been the sight of my incredibly large head, which of course showcases my even more large and talented brain. Obviously, only men have these kind of brain capacities, so it's an honest mistake. Maybe next time, doc. Just don't misdiagnose the kid with severe birth complications. Could get awkward in the waiting room.

The original point of this post is about my tendency to swing with the gents and yet I demonstrate at the same time subtle hints of femininity. I was a bit of a tomboy growing up, and my high school was predominantly male (Seriously. It turned coed a year before I went there, and my father was forced to scrap together 25 females to begin a soccer team, of which maybe 4 had actually touched a soccer ball before gametime. No offense, those girls had heart and we eventually became a powerhouse in only a few years). The point is, I'm never really sure what to do around a gaggle of girls, but I have these hidden obsessions/collections with girly things like shoes and scarves. My neighborhood was mostly boys, and although barbies and American girl dolls were my thang, I was more often found outback digging up worms, playing spy games with my cousin, or unearthing secret xxx videos with the neighborhood friends under my brother's couch. I've got some sort of strange yin and yang balance in my head, where I don't understand the concept of being excited for the awards show season and yet I love my Laura Mercier sheer creme glow.

Here are some of my favorite guilty pleasures, in a his & her fashion to describe one multifaceted personality:

his.

     i have a penchant for douchey, alpha male tv characters



One of these things is not like the other one...sorry, Larry, you ain't hot. And yet, they are all successful, smart, interesting gents. Well done. Just don't pay attention to khal drogo's corset.



     mmm, the great outdoors

        


             
Bears, snakes, moose. The thrill of near death is always fun, while scrapes, bug bites, bruises, and scars leave some serious souvenirs (have you seen my chin? It's okay, you don't have to tell me it adds character). A girls gotta get dirty, as Xtina said. And scary stories are always a must. I was that asshole that scared everyone at the sleepover. I love getting yelled at by other people's parents (a big thanks to Erin & Eliza).


hers. 


     contrary to popular belief, i am not naturally this pretty all the time



Yves Saint Laurent's Faux Cils mascara is unreal. Trust me, I'm the type of person who would much rather buy drugstore brand make up for a solid $5-10 than splurge on something that does basically the same thing. That's how I felt until I met Yves (must be the French). It's kind of indescribable until you try it--it always goes on perfectly and doesn't clump. It lengthens, thickens, and basically does exactly what you want it to do. 

Laura Mercier's Sheer Creme Glow is something that was originally forced on me at Henri Bendel. I hate when sales people make you try things, since it's usually a product I would never buy or it's an item that doesn't ever wow me. This stuff is really neat though; it's basically an illuminator for your cheekbones (and corners of the eyes). You dab it lightly on those areas and it creates a nice subtle highlighting effect. Really cool stuff.


     omg, shoes!


 

 The pump is from Isola, a sub brand of the women's comfort footwear company Sofft. As a result, it is incredibly comfortable. I love the fact that it differentiates itself from the rest of the nude color heels out there with its gold speckled cork heel and lift under the toes. Anytime there's some height under the ball of the foot is joy to a woman's eyes, and feet, because it adds height to our legs without adding severe pain from such rigid angle. 

The flat is from FSNY and while it's difficult to tell from the picture, it has a snake print of sorts. I have been meaning to get a pair of these for a while, and I loved the extra lift in the heel and the intricacies of the subtle pattern with black on black. It makes it worthwhile to spend a bit more on a flat since it's not just your run of the mill black leather flat.




Don't worry though. I'll never cheerlead, get my hair dyed, or give two shits about whether or not my workout clothes match.
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Please stop posting the most intimate details of your life.

Because I don't care. And I guarantee that 95% of your Facebook "friends" don't give two shits either. Actually, I take that back. I am willing to bet that even your so-called best friend wants you to shut the hell up. Sure, we all over-share a tad here and there. It's the repeat offenders I'm thinking of. The one's who still have pages riddled with smiley faces and kissy pictures with their significant others. No offense to those of you I actually like as friends, but isn't that kind of sophomoric? Or maybe even high schoolic? Even though that's not even a word?



Here's a good test. Go on a friend's fb home page for a few minutes. Examine which of their friends are monopolizing their newsfeed, and with what kind of posts. Do you find your name to be a recurring theme? Do you feel agitated by your own actions? Maybe not, cause you're most likely oblivious to the fact that you of all people could be considered annoying, but you are. And I don't want to see a picture of the sock you bought for your dad down the street. I'm glad you think your life is thrilling, but the rest of us don't agree. A friend of mine had an interesting remark about how the 'book has transformed our behaviors into these secondary reactions to what we could potentially post on facebook. One might feel more prompted to snap a photo at Sally's birthday last weekend just to feel in line with the desire to be constantly uploading one's life. God forbid you only share the moment with the three or four close friends who were actually there.

I think we should all go back through the unfriending process. If you haven't done it before, you're either oblivious, lazy, or insecure about watching your friend count dwindle. Unfriending makes the social network slightly more authentic because you won't be showing pictures of you and your boyfriend half naked in bed to a kid you met once in bio freshman year. I know I am guilty of an overshare every now and then as well--but after freshman year I realized it really wasn't interesting anymore. If you have enough time to like and comment on 189 different wall posts and statuses, you clearly need to look into a part time job. And if you're thinking about putting something up? Refrain. Unless it's funny or actually intelligent (and please, please, PLEASE don't spell anything wrong), don't bother. You're wasting my time while I'm wasting my time, on this coveted virtual network we call Facebook.
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Why do I even watch TV

I don't even know why I watch television. Does anyone else feel the same way? I don't tend to watch that much of it in general, but anytime I turn on Bravo, it's like someone's eating away at my soul. Whoever pushed this reality TV craze off the edge should be burned at the stake. People are "famous" for being manipulated by dimwitted producers to stir up so-called drama within the superficial, inauthentic team of bimbos that they've recruited for these cracked out series. 

Not that Bravo's the only culprit; MTV, VH1, E!...they're all guilty. I feel like a shitty person for even knowing what channels they're on since it makes it pretty evident that I've actually watched a few episodes.  Television production companies create far too many projects and series that just end up under the "filler" category in my book. Not to mention, people don't need to watch this much TV anyway! I probably sound like my father, but you might feel dull and peeved after watching these shows because they're seriously not good for the brain. It hurts my eyes and ears to listen to Real Housewives' reunions. I flipped between that and Shark Week the other night for a solid 10-15 minutes, and I honestly couldn't tell the difference. Only, Sharks are silent predators, whereas the nightmare wenches of Bravo TV sound like screaming banshees. 

And then she talked behind your back.
No!!! How could she!!
Say it to my face. (Now, repeat)

You have to admit, it's outrageously aggravating and ironic that people curse our President and government for failing to keep our economy afloat, but most of the population knows more about Snooki and her counterparts than whether or not they've reached a final decision in the debt conundrum (final decision? no. temporary? kind of). Friends update their statuses and argue over Panera broccoli cheddar soup about how "the Republicans ruined their lives" or how "Obama has singlehandedly destroyed our government." In actuality, they haven't even bothered to dip below the surface of what everyone's Twitter updates have said about the Congress in order to investigate what's really going on. That would require reading or listening to major neutral news networks like NPR, or anything but Fox. 

There are so many creative, alluring television programs out there that are the results of someone's hard work and determination. We should support these series that are born from talented screenwriters and produced by people who appreciate the arts in all forms. Real, live actors are hired to play the various roles, and a plot line evolves from that first episode into a whirlwind of characters and bad decisions (sometimes good) that illustrates the vast array of human behaviors one could encounter in a lifetime. It's far more fascinating. Give me HBO and AMC, and I'll be all right. 

And don't even bother bringing up contestant shows. Don't waste your breath on another episode of American Idol. I shudder when I think about how it's probably true that more of the population votes for this dumb show's contestants than for the President or members of our House and Senate. Then again, I don't really trust Bertha's opinion if she's so sucked into the television set that she hasn't realized the Ben & Jerry's pint container is stuck in her ass cheeks. So she can keep her vote, but for the rest of you, do yourselves a favor and turn it off. 
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Hop on the Bandwagon

It's incredibly popular in our culture to proclaim intangible property rights on a new team, song, band, idea, movement...basically anything.

Bandwagon, literally

"I was there first..."
"But, I've been listening to them for over a year now..."
"I was wearing jeggings like, 6 months ago!"

Even though, there was most likely always someone else who beat you to it. You just don't know it. But don't worry, out of your insignificant group of friends who don't even care about your firsts, you were no doubt everyone's introduction to Florence and the Machine. I mean, you knew about them before Florence realized she even had a machine. Totally.

This is one of those cultural constants that has stayed with us since 3rd grade when it all started. "My mom bought Shark Bites first!!!" Ok, Billy, we get it. Your mom's the one with no career path who stays at home loading up the snack cupboards so your friends will pretend to like you. It's okay. You'll lose all of this supposed coolness much later in life. And yet, we never lose this tendency to claim that we're better than anyone else who wasn't aware of Nicki Minaj's new video last week. No offense, (and I do this, too) but doesn't that mean the latter have a bit more of a life? Not to mention, I don't always have the time to dig up weird music and follow every single sports team in the city of Boston. And yet, there's this negative term the "bandwagoner."

Here are some things I totally knew first...or at least followed from the start:
--the band Phoenix
--the iPhone (had that original gangsta back in '08)
--"American Boy" by Estelle
--Any music heard while I was abroad. That was all us before any American based folk caught on. Think Fedde le Grand's "Put your hands up"
--Any fashion I saw while I was abroad. Booties anyone? Leather jackets make a comeback?
--US men's and women's soccer teams
--Empire of the Sun's song "Walking on a dream"
--Game of Thrones

And, admittedly, here are the wagons I've snuck in on:
--The Bruins. I loved hockey in high school though.
--Shearling lined boots; I refused Uggs for the longest time. And still do--I prefer Minnetonkas
--Jewelry. Still can't find a desire to wear much of it, besides earrings
--Well, blogging
--Onions (Does this count? I used to hate them)
--True Blood, Mad Men (best decisions of my life)
--Running, may have something to do with my job
--Pizza with ranch dressing (second best decision of my life)

Trends I still have yet to pick up
--Twitter
--Twilight
--Most of reality TV
--Obsession with entertainment news
--Glee, musicals in general. Really make me want to die.


Be honest, what things have you pretended to like from the beginning, but really didn't care about until last week? It's okay, we understand that the video about cats was preoccupying your time for so long. I'm sure I'll only be bandwagoning more as I get older; I already find myself acting like my parents when thinking about the new technologies offered. Oh well.
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Do you believe in ghosts?

The Spalding Inn

This weekend I visited Northern New Hampshire to celebrate a bunch of 59 & 60 year olds' 40th high school reunion. My mom used it as a reason to get the family together, and I don't blame her. The White Mountain region up there is rich in vacation value. There's ample hiking, mini waterfalls, natural swimming pools, animals, warm sun, etc. I love it. My mom has constantly brought us there while weaving in folklore and family stories, so it's always had this warm family tie to the region and it always evokes nostalgia when I go.

Partnered with the stories, it's exhilarating to get riled up about New England's nature and history. You start to wonder about bears along the hiking trails and whether you're going to have to slam on the brakes at 11:00 at night to avoid getting killed by a moose through your windshield. You also strain to remember the semi eerie stories of avalanches, underground railroads, and the old days in general deep in the mountains. All the crazy things the White Mountain region experienced according to my mom.

We stayed at a nice resort plopped down in the middle of a luscious field of green grass surrounded by even more luscious green trees. When you show up to this type of place at midnight, however, it looks a little more like a snow covered, deserted, sprawling inn filled with ghosts, and you half expect Jack Nicholson to run screaming out of the front door. The next day, we headed off to the dinner down the street, at The Spalding Inn. This quaint, cottage type accommodation looked inviting, in it's old New England charm kind of way. We soon learned that the place was riddled with ghosts, to the point where the actual Ghost Hunters guys from the Syfy channel purchased the inn and proceeded to film one of the episodes there.

Apparently the carriage house in the back of the property has the most "activity," and I immediately looked out the back windows of the dining room as soon as I heard to see if anyone popped up in the windows. There's something about ghosts that I'm fascinated with and extremely frightened of at the same time. As long as I'm with a few other people, I could probably stick out a couple of hours in a decrepit sanatorium. The unknown aspects of hauntings and ghost stories make most people unsure about whether or not these things really exist, and you have to admit it's thrilling to discuss in various attempts to freak one another out. We didn't try to do much ghost hunting of our own, but it reignited my interest in exploring Salem and other places in Massachusetts this year. You should do the same.


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Beats Rhymes & Life -- A Tribe Called Quest Documentary

Wow. NPR usually depresses me (even though I love it) with their news briefings and saddened stories. Today they threw me a real zinger though--discussing the new documentary about the legendary hip hop group A Tribe Called Quest.

Hip Hop royalty

I was unaware of this development before now, so I commend you if you had picked that up earlier. What fantastic news. I wish I could fully articulate how elated I am just because of this movie's existence. Like Nas referred to them as "The Beatles of hip hop," they are the founding fathers. They solidified what real, true hip hop actually meant. Meant, in the past tense, because there's mainly garbage out there nowadays. At least in the mainstream. And yeah, maybe I'm a white girl from Maine, but I can recognize their passion, their wit, their poetics. Quest's music is timeless. It can compete with anyone who has ever surfaced and anyone that will. There simply is no competition. To know that starting tomorrow, I'll be able to watch an entire two hours or so unfold about their lives and why they disbanded, it brings hip hop tears to my eyes. Tears of lyrical joy.

The big question popped during the movie will mainly consist of whether or not they're going to make music history and start producing again. Honestly, I'm just happy to be able to watch Phife, Q-Tip, and Ali (occasionally Jarobi) in action. The money I would pay to see them in concert--and yet, you know they're not about the dough; they would never charge obscene amounts for tickets like the rest of the musical world.  I have goosebumps just thinking about it...check out the trailer for yourself, and visit the website to see when it will be available in your neck of the woods by clicking here.

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Taking it back to the old school


Raphael Saadiq knows what's up. I love when artists create music that sounds like the classics of the 60's but is released in the 2000's. Saadiq is a child of the 60's however (born in '66), which may have had some influence, but regardless, he has not fallen ill to the evils that is our current radio hit list, which is the most important aspect to underline here.

I have to admit, post college with no free time I have found little motivation to hunt down new music. I now understand when older people like parents or older siblings aren't even aware of a new trend or artist, because I find myself occasionally falling under the same category. Who's Nicki Minaj? Nonetheless, I will do my best to be a hip parent, but my point is that in discovering Raphael Saadiq for myself, I certainly understand that maybe you were there first. And I'm okay with that. I'll address bandwagoners in a separate post.

Saadiq's vintage music exudes a passion for life, something you don't get much with today's songs. They may be catchy, but I don't feel like shouting them from the sunroof of my car while I have goosebumps running up my arms. Ray Charles's "I Don't Need No Doctor" and Jackie Wilson's "Higher and Higher" don't have shit for competition in today's music industry, but Saadiq's beats emulate them in his own contemporary way--and I am liking what I hear.

I cannot wait to show my dad, since he loves new music that is anything but your usual top 40's (Sorry Katy, Ke$ha, Lil Wayne, etc). Here's one of my faves, along with the classic oldie I mentioned above. I suggest listening to all of these at a high volume. And follow up with my earlier post on 60's music for some more grooves.

Raphael Saadiq - Heart Attack

Ray Charles -- I Don't Need No Doctor

Peace, love, 60's music.
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So she killed her kid, who cares?

I'm constantly surprised by the American (and global) media hype over the most random of stories (think back to the J. Crew executive's kid with painted nails). How much free time do people really have?

Most recently, as you may be able to deduce from the title of this post, I am amazed that people care this much about Casey Anthony. She's some white trash-ish woman from Florida who sliced and diced her kid according to the various strings of a story she pieced together. The American justice system blew it in gathering enough evidence to convict her, and now she's free to chop up other little kids. So there's a murderer on the loose.

Murrrderrrerrr!!!!

Do you ever think about how many other people out there have committed murder and you will never know? There's probably someone in your neighborhood. My point is moreso that we should just let this die (ouch, too early?). I don't understand why people waste hours and hours of their lives soaked up in this "drama" to the point where some poor innocent woman was almost killed in Oklahoma because she looked like Casey Anthony.

Twinsies!

know; the story is awful. I feel terrible that a little girl's life was taken, and it was most likely taken by her own mother's hand. However, there are a lot of bad people out there and Caylee Anthony is not the only victim in the past year...unfortunately there were quite a few. I just can't imagine following this case for the past several weeks and even years since it first surfaced, and then calculating how much time I wasted that I could have spent doing something else...like googling how to make chloroform. If she got away with it, then so be it. There's nothing we can do about it, and if someone feels like hunting her down to cut her up, I don't know why anyone would bother. An eye for an eye doesn't ever give you back the first eye, so what's the point? Hopefully she feels like a piece of shit, but if she doesn't, there's no way that Joanne from Kentucky is going to change her mind with her SUV and set of brass knuckles.  

I feel like there's an echo on this blog, but does anyone care about focusing on more important matters? Why don't you get your lazy ass up and study criminal investigation or hit up the law school nearby. That would actually be beneficial to yourself, your ig'nant family members, and the variety of future Caylee Anthony's that I'm sure (unfortunately) will be gracing our front pages in the following decades. Nahh mean?
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Consignment -- Look it up

One of the great things I've taken from Eliza besides learning how to buy designer jeans and where to find the most obscure and awesome indie music, is consigning one's clothes. I've told you all to look it up because I'm always surprised at how many people aren't really sure what it is. What it is...is GENIUS.



Instead of throwing away all of our fabulous garb to the po' folk of the community (charity >> boring) we can try to sell it first! And I don't mean we have to take individual pictures and upload it to eBay in hopes that someone will pay $10, including shipping, for some shredded up shirt. eBay is kind of...lame to me at least in terms of what I try to sell. I don't exactly have like thirteen authentication certificates and a set of Pokemon cards. Consignment shops are far easier and all you need to do is have some nice clothes. Hell, even Forever 21 passes some of their inspections.

Basically, you clean out your closet because there are sure to be 37 items in there that you haven't worn in the past year, or maybe even past four years. If the items are still in good condition and "seasonal" aka no jackets in the summer and bathing suits in the winter--you know, common sense--then you can arrange an appointment at a consignment store to have people actually sell it for you. You can watch your cash money pile up online over the course of 1-4 months, and every quarter you get a fat check. I usually make a solid 400-600 a year, just selling clothes that I wouldn't wear even if they were taking up spaced in my very cramped closet. Despite being bored of the characteristic frilly, fashion crazed girl, I seem to have shit that really does pile up. It doesn't stink though like a regular pile of shit. Just wanted to point that out.

My go to consignment liaison is Second Time Around. They began over 30 years ago outside of Boston, and now they are one of the most popular and successful consignment businesses. STA is all over the Northeast and even spreads into Chicago and DC. Most consignment stores are either cash up front, which means you get far less for your money, or you have to twiddle your thumbs while you poke around for six months waiting for your stuff to sell. STA, like I mentioned, can track all of your items online so you know when they're sold, what the tally is, etc. They are high end, but can take any sort of trendy pieces whether you paid $15 for it or $415. The place sucks you in, too, meaning you want to use all of your money towards all of the sweet threads they have in store.



Buffalo Exchange is also a good one, but again, you get your cash up front which usually means less dinero. Buffalo Exchange is typically for the hipster in you, so depending on what kind of clothes you're looking to sell (or buy) you can determine which store/system would work best. If you frequent Free People, Urban Outfitters, LF, then you should probably take your hobo bags of clothes to the Buffalo. Also, some of us need money to the point of selling crack for a quick dime, so clothes are always a good substitution especially with BuffEx in the 'hood. Cash up front is always a good quality. Although, they were rather picky the one time I tried to sell stuff there. Granted it was men's wear, it was a plethora of items straight out of a Ralph Lauren commercial. They only took one blazer, and threw me a measly $15 or something for it. Regardless, I would definitely give them a second chance if I needed some quick money. You can get more $$ back if you decide to take a store credit, too, instead of the bills. So, that's always neat.

So clean out your ug shit and make some pretty green. Your trash is someone else's treasure.
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My mother's generosity

Along with being batshit crazy and having the mouth of an 77 year old pervert, my mother is also incredibly generous. This characteristic of course benefits all of us needy children (perhaps too needy at times) but more importantly it reaches the outskirts of generosity where few are likely to go.


Her assistance has helped a variety of significant others that myself and my siblings have had over the years including free tickets on vacations as well as any other gifts and gadgets they may have needed if they were less fortunate. Not many families include significant others on every family trip with no questions asked and no checks demanded. We're not talking road trips to New York City. I mean full fledged, here's a ticket to the Caribbean, as well as free hotel and food/drink. Don't have a vital piece of apparel or equipment for the trip? If she's got the money, she'll buy you one. The woman may seem financially retarded because she couldn't save a dime if she tried, but as she always says, "You can't spend it when you're dead."

Other instances of random generosity include a stop at her favorite gas station along Route 1 North outside of Boston. She stops at the "Pump N Pantry" every time she heads back to Maine to grab her classic Diet Pepsi and to make one last bathroom break (that is, until the 40,000 Diet Pepsis she drinks force her to stop at the Maine/NH border). Last year, she was making the usual stop at this prized gas station when she started talking to the cashier about her evident pregnant belly. If you don't know my mother, please note that we are never allowed to diss our periods due to the sheer fact that the menstrual cycle allows you to give birth. Do you find that this statement was too much information? If so, are you surprised by finding it on this blog? Regardless, my mother would have 17 more children if she could. Childbirth is kind of her religion since she's pretty much atheist--she believes in what it represents, how amazing it is, etc. So when she started talking to this cashier, she realized that the woman was nearly 8 months pregnant, still working at a gas station, and clearly without significant income. So my mother handed her a $100 bill and told her how wonderful having a child truly is. The cashier nearly burst into tears. What the cashier didn't know is that my mother doesn't have like millions of dollars. This is truly giving when it isn't just excess wealth; it's a sacrifice or a compromise. The same rule applies with volunteering. It's not whether or not you have the free time, it's moreso about sacrificing or making time to dedicate yourself to someone else for free for a few hours.

A similar event happened at the same gas station (like I said, she literally stops here every trip back to Maine). Some young traveller was pressed for change and asked my mom for some spare quarters. He wasn't pregnant; at least she didn't think so, but he was polite, seemed responsible, and was clearly trying to get his act together. She handed him a $20. Another $20 she maybe could have used towards my school bill, or our mortgage, or one of the various things that needs financial tuning in our family life, but instead she figured he needed it more.



More recently, she called me upon her arrival at Boston's Logan Airport after flying in from Italy. She exclaimed, "I met these really interesting Ukrainian men on the plane! They're going to come to Portland with us and staying over, and I'll drive them to North Conway in the morning!" Of course, I was thinking of movies like Taken and other Eastern European creepster characters I've encountered on screen, and immediately thought that this was a strange and probably dangerous idea. I said, "Men?? Is that safe?" And she corrected me. She had said women and I must have misheard her. Anyways, it ends up that these Ukrainian girls who were around 20 years old were coming to the US for the first time to work at some summer program in Northern New Hampshire in order to learn English (as they well should; everyone knows American English is taking over the world....jokes). My mother is from the North Conway area and most likely got into a passionate conversation about life with them while they probs just nodded in agreement having no idea what she was saying with their broken English. While I was semi-surprised by her invitation to them to stay over and then drive to NH in the morning, I get it. As I've said repeatedly before in this blog, life is far too damn short to not take chances, help others, and in the end help yourself grow.
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True Blood -- Still flowin'

I don't care what you normal, non TB fans say. And by TB, I'm not referring to tuberculosis. Although, there is a strong support system for that as well. Nothing like a solid 19th century disease to ravish half the population.  You can even like it on Facebook. Not joking; look it up.



TB in our realm of science fiction/fantasy dramas (brought to us so lovingly by the premium channels HBO, Showtime, etc.) actually refers to True Blood. Which in turn, refers to a four year old show littered with vampires, werewolves, shape shifters, fairies, witches, maenads...and any other creature you'd stumble upon in ancient folklore. This past weekend showcased the season four premiere of True Blood, and it was mesmerizing as always. "It" representing Eric Northman, played by Alexander Skarsgard.


Or, you can also call him my boyfriend. He just isn't aware of this fun fact yet. Zooming out to the entire show, I am glad that the season four premiere kept me hooked. After Pandora's box of mystical beings was opened in the last season, I wasn't sure how much longer I could watch with so many weird, unlikely occurrences. Nonfollowers, don't get me wrong. It's far from Twilight, which, besides vampires and werewolves, has literally nothing in common with Sookie Stackhouse and her gang of sex craved castmates. Abstinence education is the furthest thing from a True Blood episode; sorry, Edward and Bella (or whatever their names are). I'm not going to beg and scream until you get into it, so don't expect me to exhaust all of my energies on a miles long tirade about the importance of watching this series. If you're already locked in, I hope you're enjoying the next route we're heading towards. And if you have yet to watch more than a few episodes in a row (key note, start at the beginning), I would highly encourage you to do so.

TB is fun for many ages. There's really not much else like it, with its southern charm and ignorant hick personas. And while it's nearly impossible to make vampires sound cool thanks to a guy who "sparkles" in the sunlight and has ridiculously large hair, trust me, TB will help to change your opinion.
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Dis(patch)appointed


If you are a Dispatch fan and bought tickets for the Boston show(s) this weekend, you are probably seething along with the rest of the extremely loyal batch of supporters. I don't know if this was a deliberate marketing move or a malicious attempt to screw over anyone who was willing to spend some extra cash to ensure that they and their friends would be in attendance, but I cannot believe what is going on with the ticket sales thanks to their presale shenanigans. 

I can see this happening with an artist like Taylor Swift or Lil Wayne, big name, top ten artists who sell out concerts constantly and are more concerned with making money overall than whether or not Joey from Manchester, NH makes it into the venue. While those types of artists may appear to have "loyal" fan base, it's far more materialistic than a band like Dispatch. But Dispatch? People eat, breathe, and shit Dispatch. They have most likely listened to them for over 10 or 15 years, have known about every reunion concert in every city and can cite the bandmates' names, birthdays, parents' names, social security numbers...maybe not SSNs, but you get the idea. This isn't a DMB bandwagoner or Grateful deadhead--Dispatchers are something else. I don't consider myself one, but I have developed secondary anger seeing my friends who are devotees initially hemorrhage money for extra tickets and then get completely screwed by them releasing additional tickets at a later date and opening up a third concert. This nearly exponential ticket surge of course entirely depleted any demand since there was such a high supply. Econ 101 anybody? Bueller? 

Now, since all of Dispatch's most loyal admirers have purchased an excess of tickets, there is no one left wanting to buy, and certainly no one who would buy at face value, let alone a higher value that would actually make a profit. I hope the band realizes the sour taste they have left in everyone's mouths as we approach the big weekend. Three shows, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. I hope it's all worth it.
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Learn how to drive a stick.


Not only is it incredibly cool, fun, and better on your mileage, it is a great skill to have in case of emergency. It's really not that difficult, either. It takes maybe 15, 20 minutes to get the hang of it. After that, stall-outs are not allowed. It helps decrease road rage (I can't stand other drivers most of the time) since you're not bored to tears nonchalantly pushing on one pedal or another. If you know someone with a standard, ask them to show you sometime. Maybe not on the hilliest street in town or in the middle of a busy intersection; parking lots and side streets are perfectly fine practice spots. Not to mention, it's funny as shit watching your friend freak out cause they keep jerking the entire car forward. Always put people down to make yourself feel better. Just kidding.

I'm not just saying the "in case of emergency" blurb because I'm trying to sound like my mother--I've actually encountered a situation where I was the only one who could drive the one car available. My brother was in a diabetic coma, and at the time, his girlfriend had no clue how to drive a manual transmission. Earlier in the day, I was tempted to leave the house, so for everyone's sake I'm glad I didn't. Of course, they would've called an ambulance, but in terms of saving thousands of dollars and getting my brother to the hospital on time, it was clearly almost vital that someone was around able to drive a stick. Maybe people don't constantly go dying on us or fall into a medical condition that requires professional assistance immediately, but you never know.
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Poop Burger -- Nuff Said

Mmm...finger lickin' good.

Really? Realllllyyy? I mean, a poop burger? Am I that surprised that an Asian scientist came up with it? Talk about innovation. There are so many terrible puns in the news lately. First Weiner, now shit burgers. They're probably far healthier than McDonald's and Burger King. I just can't even begin to fathom--then again, I guess we could always recycle the corn in our shits. Along with blueberry skins, extra lettuce. Anything else that surfaces. How is he so sure that it's clean though? Are there going to be massive outbreaks of E. coli infections? Is that covered by insurance? "Uh, you ate a burger. Made out of poop. Good luck with that hospital bill."

All I know is that we need to ship one out asap to Shooter McGavin. Then he can eat pieces of shit like Happy for lunch.
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Oldies but goodies


I hate that saying. But Oldies are great. My favorite Pandora station? "Stand by me" radio. You'll be jammin' out like it was 1960 all over again. As if any of us were around at that time...sorry to the older folks who happen upon this blog. 1960? My mom was 7 and my dad wasn't even born yet. Yeah. She is a cougar if you weren't aware of this already.

Back to the music. Here are some of my favorite oldies songs. They're such feel good tunes, and never go out of style. I wish I could find a club that would play them more besides Bingo night at the Elks club. Gotta love my seniors, but Delores just doesn't get down the same way anymore with her bad hip.


Jackie Wilson -- Higher and Higher

Love Affair -- Everlasting Love

The Temptations -- Ain't too proud to beg

The Jackson 5 -- I want you back

The Beatles -- Twist and Shout

The Supremes -- Baby Love

Put on your poodle skirts and pretend to be prude and conservative 
while you groove to these smooth beatz of the 1960's...
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NHL Finals - Cue the skanky team outfits

Round of applause for Rebecca of the Bruins Ice Dancers...

I can't wait to tally up how many girls will be wearing low-cut, cut off, short sleeve or tube top, incredibly small Bruin's shirts tomorrow. Staples is going to be sold out of scissors in about 30 minutes Wednesday morning just so girls can slice up their shirts to reveal even more skin. "I wanted it to fit better, hehe!" No, you wanted to look like a whore at a sports bar pretending you give a shit.

I feel like Bruin's fans can get a little trashy (no offense to Boston). It's just a phenomenon my friends and I have noticed at several sports bars around town while watching the various playoff games. That's fine. Just don't take your trashiness into your wardrobe so heavily while still trying to be that "guy's girl" who likes sports and wears team gear. If you want to wear a Bruins jersey, get a real one. Not saying you have to get an XXL and sport it around like a potato sack, but I don't really take you seriously if you're just wearing some yellow washcloth with the tiniest Bruins logo. And to be honest, I don't think any guys will honestly think you're that much of a cool girl either. Sure, they may want to sleep with you, but that doesn't mean that they actually care. Come on, ladies.

A real guy's, sports watching, beer drinking, wings eating gal will be for the most part actually interested in the game. Any memorabilia will consist of a legitimate jersey or loose fitted men's t shirt. Any moron who wears tight exercise clothes in general should die, and anyone wearing tight, team specific apparel should die a very slow death. Unless you're actually on the Ice Dancers or whatever the f they're called, keep it real and keep it classy. Otherwise, you basically end up the laughing stock of 90% of the bar. Good luck trying to tell yourself you look good.
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Pumped To Learn

An important quality to take away from any parent - child relationship is the eagerness to educate oneself and others. Both of my parents pretty much nailed that child rearing requirement, even if they completely missed out on the opportunity to teach me responsible financial management.


I am a huge nerd. I come from a long line of huge nerds. I like to get nerdy with my parents and grandfather and uncles and cousins. Learning is incredibly cool to us.

I was reminded of all this the other night when I was talking to my dad on the phone about his graduate school program this summer. He is enrolled at the Breadloaf School of English of Middlebury College. It is a graduate program spanning 5 summers that you must complete within 10 years. This is his fourth year, and every summer he goes, he unleashes all of this newfound energy and exhausts it on incredibly dense literature and profound, eloquent thesis papers. He goes into extreme detail discussing what classes he is taking and how excited he is to tackle some of literature's biggest challenges, the toughest adversary probably being James Joyce.

While I may roll my eyes a tad because his enthusiasm can seem overdone, it's refreshing to have parents that understand that there is always more to learn, more to soak up. They have yet to throw in the towel and succumb to a life on the couch watching second rate sitcoms. They both embrace life and plan to enjoy it for a many number of years to come. That includes a heavy immersion in further education, whether that be in a classroom, during a conversation with a significant influence, or in a provocative piece of literature. My dad always says, "I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up." There is always something that you can better about yourself and work towards. I'm not suggesting we all become perfectionists, but I'm pretty damn sure you could use some more reading material.
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You're really that surprised...?

...that Sarah Palin butchered American history? 
Do you think this is a Sarah Palin thing or a US education thing?
Can the average American depict an accurate retelling of the story of Paul Revere?
The even larger question is why are we still talking about this. Sadly, the current media market's strongest suit is beating stories like a dead horse. 


...that a guy with the name Weiner tried showing some ween of his own?
Yeah, and Boehner is supposed to be pronounced "Bahy-ner". Right. 
And this was all on Twitter, which sounds terrible itself.

...that the Bruins just kicked ass? 
Granted they need to spread themselves a little thin over the entire series
instead of just hammering in eight goals in one game, they are finally playing like the champions they are going to be, as long as they don't choke. It's not like thus far they're our only hope for Boston sports or anything since the Pats and the Celtics failed and we've got seven more years until baseball season is over. They are also the only team left in the ranks who needs to their act together and win a ring. Then we'll prove to everyone that we have the greatest sports city ever--that is, if they weren't sure of it already. 

...Lebron made that snooty comment to one of the reporters post game three?
The reporter questioned his game by illustrating Lebron's failure to capitalize in the fourth quarter, a necessary facet of a championship, all star player. Lebron clearly got his panties in a bunch and said he was letting Dwyane do his thang, and that the reporter should ask that question again after the next game. Uh, what are you, three years old? Shots not fired. Actions speak louder than words. Always.



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Pictures That Reveal My Maturity


Universal Semen Sales, eh?
Do you think they have samples?

Just sayin...
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Stuck in my head

Steve Miller Band - Abracadabra

Why? I have no clue. I woke up this morning singing it. I proceeded to sing it out loud for my coworker as we were driving to work. She said she had no clue what it was. This is typically her reaction to anything I do. I wasn't sure either until I put it all together. 

Clearly my brain does strange things during the night. Who knows what my latest REM stage consisted of. Must have been some sort of 1980's dream setting where there's puffy silk shirts, heavy flirtation, and crimped hair coyness mixed with some Harry Potter references, judging by the super groovy beat and creepy magic oriented lyrics. I would love to participate in a dream/sleep study if they could somehow view your imagination in the middle of the night. Although, maybe it's best if we don't know what goes on. It could be mortifying.
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This is worse than when Bush won the presidency

This came up in my google search. 
Far superior to the three ug faces that could've graced this blog post.


The Heat are en route to a national championship. I hate to say it. No, I really hate to say those words. I never thought they would make it. People like Lebron and Bosh don't deserve this, and Wade already has a ring. Why is this happening? This is not American. America is about underdogs and hardwork, not about silly oafs (who happen to be good at basketball) milking the marketing of their bad boy bball personas and actually achieving championship status in the end. It's hilarious that the entire country more or less loathes the team. Not only is Miami a cesspool for drug trafficking, it's now America's least favorite sports city. To top it all off, CSI: Miami sucks, too. Definitely the worst one.

I've been trying to determine what exactly is feeling I have in my stomach when I think about the Heat winning a title. I've discovered it's rather synonymous with the aching I experienced when I learned that George Dubya was on his way to run our country. I honestly would like to leave the US for a few weeks until celebrations die down. Unless there's rioting. In which case, I'll stay. And participate.

It's difficult to even begin to describe my disappointment...in the Celtics, the Bulls, and now the Mavs. Maybe it's not over until the fat lady sings (or until Lebron gloats all over every form of media ever invented including a telegraph),  but let's face it. Dirk put his finger so far up Lebron's _ _ _ that it is now broken. Thus we are losing our only hope of halting their onslaught. Thanks a lot, Dirk. To think I actually started to like you a smidge. Hopefully the Bruins can pull through to keep our Boston sports heart beating. Tsk tsk, Boston, and the rest of the NBA nation, tsk tsk.
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Treat others as you'd like to be treated





I'm a big advocate of the golden rule. In pre-school, my teachers asked to meet with my parents to discuss how I needed to learn to stick up for myself. It's not that I let people walk all over me; it's just that I'm usually content with whatever I am given because that is how I would want others to act around me. So when my cousin would insist on taking all of the good barbies or playmobil characters, I found myself pleased with whatever shabby dolls I was left with. Most of the time, it's because I tend to be happy if the person I'm with is happy, and if they're more spoiled and selfish then so be it. Of course, there are instances where I put my foot down, but why would I want to be a bitch? I don't enjoy spending time with bitches, so I'm not going to ruin my friends' amusement by being one myself. I don't understand when it became cool to be a bitch, and why a guy would ever date one. I don't care where we go out to eat, and if I do, I'll politely suggest that we eat elsewhere. I don't need to put people down while I express my feelings; there is a way to openly explain what you would like to do without sounding like you have a stick up your ass. There's no need to make people's lives miserable just because you're unhappy with everything. Try to embrace anything that rolls across your path and see what happens if you appease your friends and family. You'll find yourself much happier because they're happier, and then they'll realize they should let you choose the venue next time around. It's a win-win situation.
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"May I please speak to Gay-breee-uhl Del-vehrt?"



No, you may not. I'm going to hang up the phone now. You probably have nothing good to say, as you're most likely some white collared version of a vagrant standing on the median with that "I'm homeless" poster even though you've somehow purchased the most recent style of Nike dunks.

Telemarketers and the other organizations that feel the need to harass folks for undeserved money should put forth at least a measly effort to find another way to keep people on the line. Maybe every 1000th person to answer the phone and to stay on for at least sixty seconds wins an iPad. You know once you throw an iPad in the mix, motivation and morale rise tenfold. Although, it may take a while for that trend to catch on as I'm sure it's nearly impossible to get 1000 people to actually listen to your dreadful voice while you read off a script that asks them to donate $50 to the ASPCA. We know, Sarah Mclachlan's voice floating through those appalling pictures of animals in need was truly heartwrenching. But I don't think many 23 year olds in this economy would be willing to drop hundies on their nonprofit organization, not with our median post grad income lying in the $20,000-$30,000 range. Not that the ASPCA has been asking for money--although, I guess I'm not really sure who is calling, since I refuse to listen. 


All I know is that you butchered my name, which, besides the "T" at the end, is really not that difficult. Sit in for five minutes on an entry level French course. You'll learn how to say it real fast and understand that you kind of sound like a moron.

The same agitation goes for those blokes on Comm Ave or in Coolidge Corner. Your companies haven't brainstormed a better way to reach out to people? Free is the key word here--people will listen to you for hours if you give them something small for no charge, whether that be some pens, water, dog biscuits. Make an effort to reach out so you don't look like you're verbally accosting innocent citizens on the sidewalk who would rather risk getting plowed by traffic in order to cross the street and avoid you. I don't care how awkwardly you smile at me with your stupid clipboard and eager eyes. I'm going to say I'm busy, even though I really just don't give a shit and don't want to listen to your feeble attempt to lure me in and have me hand over a check. Oh, and if you're the oh so intelligent squad with the Obama/Hitler comparison posters? Not only will I not speak with you for 15 minutes, but I may also decide that spitting on your face is accurate way of explaining my feelings (and most likely every other sane person's) about your organization and philosophy regarding our president.
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Doc Zhivago's got it going on

Separately, all the movements of the world were calculatedly sober, but as a sum total they were unconsciously drunk with the general current of life that united them.

-Dr. Zhivago, Boris Pasternak



I have to admit I lost Crime and Punishment. Not that I'm lazy and couldn't handle it, I mean I physically lost the book and I'm not sure where it is. I believe it's lost in the confines of the Dalvet household, probably next to a fresh poop smear thanks to my dog. 

My dad gave me Dr. Zhivago for Christmas, or something. When the back of the book suggested that this translation (by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky) successfully captured the essence of Pasternak's nuances and voice, I shrugged my shoulders knowing that translations are never quite the same, especially after reading several novels in both French and in English. And I don't speak Russian, so it's not as if I would actually notice a difference, but I have to admit that the book seems to capture someone's very distinct voice, and if the original text was written by Pasternak, I'm tempted to agree with the critics on the back cover that the translators didn't just throw in the Latin alphabet and call it a day.

Take this quote for example. If this does not demonstrate the English translation of a quote from a Russian author who is considered one of the greatest language poets in his country and around the world, then I'm not sure if the translation is the problem or if you're just not getting the picture. This statement defines life, if defining life were at all possible. Life exhibits a variety of meanings, and its abstract existence illustrates the depth and complexities inherent in not only each individual on our weakened planet, but also in each community and through each aspect that affects our vie quotidienne. Microscopically, we observe life through ourselves or those individual entities surrounding us, but there lies a much greater ebb and flow fabricated by every minor movement and thought, resulting in a giant amalgamation, which, with each sober process, could seem quite inebriated when regarded macroscopically.

In short, Pasternak could not have said it better. I look forward to the next 500 pages, Yura.
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Modern Family, how I love thee

If you haven't discovered the joy that Modern Family brings to one's life, then you must be one of those Glee fanatics or someone that still enjoys Grey's Anatomy. Let's face it, people don't break into song in everyday life unless you have issues, so you can stop trying to argue, "But Glee's actually reeaaallyy funny!" And the last time I watched five minutes of Grey's, they actually did start singing mid surgery so clearly they've gone off the deep end.

Modern Family is first and foremost a great idea for a sitcom. The show's characters include mixed race families, second marriages, adoption, gay parents--all familial characteristics that our culture proudly exhibits in the 21st century. Luckily, the script isn't tainted with corny sitcom lines and forced audience laughter. Instead, the dialogue is well written and the cast delivers it brilliantly. I'm not sure who is in charge of casting for the show, but they deserve a raise. The show isn't well done simply because one actor makes it so; the each actor blends all of their wit, personality, and talent into the finely knit fabric that is a blended, truly "modern" family. I'm not a huge TV gal and typically stick to one or two shows each season, so it takes a lot for me to get into a show and feel like I should promote it. Modern Family didn't take much, as soon as I saw Phil Dunfey interact with Gloria. Here are some of my favorite clips, and maybe you'll start watching, too. Wednesdays at 9 on ABC!

To set the backdrop for this clip, there is a bit of malentendu between The Dunfey's and Gloria. The kids have just walked in on Claire and Phil having sex so the Dunfey's assume Gloria is discussing sex, and Gloria thinks that Claire is upset because Gloria accidentally sent her a nasty email. Phil clearly can't handle his increasing heartrate or bloodflow elsewhere...

Phil once again gets in touch with his feminine side. He does this rather often.

Claire has some problems creating signs. And understanding context.

Can you fondle a gay man and it doesn't count?


Enjoy. If you don't find these funny, then you better get checked out.
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You've never wanted to be a mascot?

That's weird, cause I have. Maybe it's the reason I was voted "class clown" in middle school.

Life's too short not to want to be goofy and dress up like a giant animal or inanimate object (like a shoe). So, I volunteered to be "Newbie" at the Girls on the Run 5K this past weekend. And no, you cannot embarass me; I volunteered to be a giant shoe for 3 hours. I don't think I find things embarrassing. I signed autographs, took pictures--are you supposed to smile through the mesh?--and even got pummeled by some chubby, brown haired kid, whose address I will be finding in order to track him down and return the favor. Just kidding. I was tempted to throw him over the railing into the Charles, though. Maybe he'd drop some lbs while he was swimming for dear life. You don't mess with the NB shoe. 

All in all, it was an interesting experience that I will probably not sign up for in the future. But I highly recommend this and other nutty activities to all of you. We don't live long enough to not participate in absurdities at least a few times a year. Corny as it may seem, you learn something about yourself and realize that other people's thoughts and opinions don't really matter...at all. So when my colleagues gasped and gave me some strange stink eye face for signing up, I explained that if mascot-ing didn't fit my personality perfectly, I'm not sure what else would (jokes). I get it's not for everyone, but if you sign up for something beyond your comfort zone that allows you to help others, make them smile and laugh, and you get to contribute something not only to the community, but to yourself, then it's always worth it. There's nothing like the feeling of pulling on a giant Styrofoam, cloth, wood(?), and who-knows-what-else costume and being loaded onto the tiny truck bed of a small go-kart and delivered to the event. Although, the real kicker may have been signing autographs with giant shoelace hands. Damn, that was hard.



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Overalls? Welcome back from 1992. Me likey.

I'm not big on going too cray cray with different odds and ends in the fashion department. For example, if LF stores dressed me, I would feel like a crackhead. Although, to be honest, I think most people (unless they go to Emerson or NYU) would feel out of place in head-to-toe LF clothing. But I do occasionally venture out and grab something funky that sparks my interest. I find that separating yourself from the norm is an important exercise to do in different arenas. You shouldn't always follow the rest of the lemmings. Like in fifth grade, when everyone claimed their favorite food was pizza, I refused to admit my burning desire for a few cheesy slices and instead opted for something unique. Or at least a food item that I thought was unique at the time for a child of eleven years old. Don't worry. I still like pizza (Natalie's with ranch, please).

I've noticed overalls beginning to dig themselves out of the deep, dark grave that the 90's placed them in. I looked dashing in them back in fourth grade, so I figured I should relive those moments, only without the boyish haircut and extremely broad shoulders (see my former facebook picture for reference). Also, OshKosh B'Gosh isn't exactly the right overalls designer for women in their 20's. So I've listed some alternate options below:

Maison Scotch -- Salopette Overall Jeans
Maison Scotch has this really cool twist off of overalls, or salopette in French. It's a halter top with not-your-average metal hook closure system--it's cloth. Funny thing about the French word for it? Salope means whore. So ho it up in these.

Urban Outfitters -- BDG Low-slung Overall
You can always count on Urban for your under $100 everyday hipster necessities. This is a nice take on the ole salopette, although, unlike the French word suggests, I would recommend wearing a solid shirt underneath. Dark is nice, since I feel like the wrong blue jean color in overalls could look a little too farmer, even for the grungiest hipster's taste.

Forever 21 - Overall Denim Romper
And as we're all broke or at least cheap in this day and age (thank you, American economy), I know I have to include Forever 21's version of this trend. Rompers have taken over the past few summers and I think they're just splendid. This is a nice mixture of the two, and the shorts don't reveal your entire buttcheek...a separate trend I'm not understanding whatsoever.

If you're feeling even more innovative than just your basic overalls, invest in suspenders. Wear them to work, as long as you don't look like a dude in the first place, or venture out at night and pair them with a skirt and shirt (think maybe American Apparel leotard). In the Boston area, you can grab some suspenders at The Garment District as you sift your way through the plethora of costume and vintage clothing. They're fun and they hold up your pants. Sisqo will be so disappointed.