KOIT Bingo

Don't ask me why, but KOIT radio was a subject that came up on mine and Jen's like second date. We were talking about which stations we had programmed in on our car radios, and I admitted to having KOIT on mine. She intially made fun of me, but then was like, "okay, okay... I have it too. But at least it's on FM2!"

Well, you know what: KOIT is awesome. There, I said it. I love me some KOIT, and it is my #1 station to listen to while driving. Love Songs After Dark? The Workday Kickoff? Guaranteed 30-minute Music Sets? Ninety-Six Point Fiiiiive... K-O-I-T.

That said, no longer will be closeted about our love for KOIT. No, we have decided to embrace the awesomeness that is KOIT unabashedly and play a game with it: KOIT Bingo.

And I am writing this so that you, too, can get in on the fun. Get a piece of paper, make a grid on it, and in each box, write a song that you think is likely to be played on KOIT. (More than Words by Extreme, Because You Loved Me by Celine Dion, I Can't Make You Love Me If You Don't by Bonnie Raitt, Daniel by Elton John... you get the idea.) Then, each time a song is played, cross it off on your bingo card. And whoever gets them all crossed out first gets a free dinner.

We played yesterday on the way to and from Napa. And let me just tell you: the combination of a red wine buzz and one of your songs being played on KOIT... well, there's not much more exhilirating than that.

Birthdays and Old Friends

My parents came to visit for 4th of July weekend, and before they left to head back to So Cal, my mom whipped this little gem out of her purse. Apparently she recently came across it while reorganizing; it is a picture of me and my best friend Devi on my 14th birthday. (I'm holding up a collage card that she'd made me.)

I decided to write about it because Devi's birthday just passed a few days ago. And with the passing of another birthday, I've come to realize that it is both a blessing and a curse having friends that go way, way back. Yeah, it's great, it warms the cockles of the heart, blah blah blah. But let's be honest: there is no one that has the kind of dirt on you that your old friends do. (Except maybe your sisters.)

Perhaps the best evidence of this is the fact that a few of years ago for my birthday, I got the exact same card in the mail from three of my high school friends--and it was totally unintentional. The front of the card said, "True friends know each other's weaknesses." And then the inside said, "Isn't that right, Little Miss Margarita?" Only ALL THREE of them had crossed out "Margarita" and written "Bacardi 151." (Incidentally, all three of them have stories that involve me puking on them.)

And Dev, since I know you're reading this, I just want to say that if you take this as your cue to tell the story about the time I passed out in a downtown SLO alley in a pool of my own vomit, I will be forced to tell the story about the time you wanted to play Lord of the Rings charades.

I mean... just kidding! OMG you guys, I totally made both of those things up.

Pink Elephant and Battle of the Crostini: Russian River Girls Weekend

This past weekend my six best friends from high school came together from New York City, Seattle, San Francisco, Los Angeles, San Jose and Davis for a long overdue girls weekend. We rented a house in Russian River Valley and had the quintessential girls weekend. We're talking everything from pedicures to Steel Magnolias. 

Here's a picture of us in high school, right before we all left for college: http://twitpic.com/8yxfa

And here's a picture of us (OMG in the *exact* same order) from this past weekend: http://twitpic.com/8yxiv

And here is a slideshow of the pictures from Katie's camera. (Mine--or Jen's, rather--unfortunately got lost somewhere between Point Reyes and my apartment. D'oh!) 

Hunky Jesus Contest, or, A Bunch of Sinners

I am way behind on updating, and don't have time for anything substantial right now, but wanted to post some pictures from Easter Sunday in Dolores Park, back in April. It was full of fun and irreverence, not least of which was the Hunky Jesus Contest. Featuring a pretty amazing Jesus look-alike--complete with "BRB" speech bubble shooting off the side of his crucifix--the contest was definitely a highlight. Other details from that day that are worth documenting photographically here (in order of appearance): gay men in thong easter bunny costumes; my shy, unshaved legs; and... god knows what.

Awkward Story, Or, A Typical Loreal Anecdote
Originally posted Friday, June 18, 2004

Yesterday, Andrew and I met each other for lunch on our breaks. In order to meet him halfway, I have to walk over this bridge near the Boston Harbor, and then 2 more blocks. Anyway, on my way back from having lunch with him, I was crossing the bridge back to my office, when I noticed someone coming up behind me.

My work shoes hurt my feet, which causes me to walk slow sometimes. So as this guy was coming up behind me, I thought he was trying to pass me. I was kind of offended, because I'm super competitive and don't like being the one that people try to pass on the sidewalk. So instead of moving to the side and letting him pass, I started power-walking. I was even pumping my arms a little bit. I meant business. I was determined to beat this guy across the bridge.

To my surprise, once I started walking faster, so did the guy behind me. I was so pissed! I couldn't have walked any faster without moving into the realm of running, so I just gave up. After a few seconds, he was right next to me. I turned over to glare at him, and upon doing so, I realized who it was!!

It was the retarded guy from my work! He was coming back from lunch, too, and was trying to catch up with me so we could walk back together! And I was running away from him! I felt so bad! He has this really bad limp, and I was making him RUN to catch up with me!

I'm a horrible person.

I happen to be very sophisticated, so just shut up
Originally posted Wednesday, May 5, 2004

Last night, I made myself dinner and then sat with Robbie and his friends Cate and Lizzie to watch the final episode of Friends. While we were watching TV, we saw a commercial for the movie Mean Girls and I sheepishly expressed to them my strong desire to see it. Cate and Lizzie looked at me oddly, as though they didn't know whether or not I was being sarcastic.

I felt that I needed to somehow let them know that I was serious, and I also needed to let them know that those kinds of movies were not retarded, but in fact wonderful sources of entertainment. So instead of just dropping the subject and letting the awkwardness fade away, I piped up, saying:

"You guys--it's probably actually really funny. It has Lindsey Lohan, the same girl from The Parent Trap remake and Freaky Friday. Didn't you see Freaky Friday? It was soooo good. I have it on DVD." When I finished talking I was proud of myself for being honest and defending my occasional affinity for teen movies.

I looked over at them only to see them both make eye contact very obviously. Then Cate said "Omigod, she's serious!" and they both laughed out loud for a good few minutes.

I was kind of offended, so I finished my dinner, quickly and quietly, then ascended to my room where I listened to the Beauty and the Beast soundtrack and sang aloud to "Be Our Guest" a few times. It made me feel much better.

How dare they insinuate that I'm childish. Whatever.

With Nothin' But A T-Shirt On
Originally posted Friday, April 23, 2004

I'm embarrassed to admit that I really like Jessica Simpson's new song. I've had it in my head all day. "I can let my hair down... I can say anything crazy, I know you'll catch me right before I hit the ground..." It's very catchy.

I think it's hilarious that she became so famous for being such a moron. (Not that her gorgeousness had anything to do with it). I mean, don't get me wrong--I love Newlyweds just as much as the next person. Her dimwitted antics never fail to make me laugh. I just think it's a little excessive to use her "Chicken of the Sea" and "buffalo wing" episodes as fodder for her career--in particular, their usage in her music video. In the video, there's a scene where she's dancing around holding a messy buffalo wing in each hand.

I'm sorry, Jess, but it is impossible for anyone--even you--to look cool when your dance partner is a buffalo wing.

Actually, I take that back. I could probably pull it off.

How I Spend My Afternoons
Originally posted Thursday, May 18, 2006

Today was the long-awaited "Luau Luncheon" that the landlord of our office building hosted. The awkwardness started yesterday, when a plump, rosy-cheeked, giggly woman came into our office to pass out leis and nametags. "Don't forget to wear something festive!" she chirped. I wanted to punch her. Then, this morning, I shared an awkward elevator ride with two men donning too-big Hawaiian shirts. Clearly, they were dressed for the occasion, and were sort of beaming and looking for a compliment. But I refused to comment. Instead I repeatedly pushed the the number 7 button until the elevator doors opened and I was free on my floor.

The awkwarness returned a few hours later. My palms became sweaty when my fellow co-workers and I entered the party at lunchtime. The problem is not that I'm bad in such social situations. I'm actually quite good at small talk. But I hate hate hate it. I really can't think of much worse than having a twenty minute long conversation with a 50-year old anthropologist about all the crap he has gotten over the years for vehemently refusing to cut his disgustingly long pony tail (which he lovingly nicknamed his "freak flag"). I was able to nod and politely smile as he talked about the crazy conservatives in 1970s Kansas who chased him down with scissors. But when he started talking about how his long hair paved the way for hippies and hipsters today, I got annoyed -- partially, I admit, because I was disappointed that there were no Mai-tais at the party -- and blurted out "You know, if you went on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, Carson would snip that long, grey fucker off within seconds." An awkward silence followed, and then I walked away to get some more lemonade.

I used to love socializing and mingling, but now I have absolutely no desire to meet new people. Is this normal? I've always been such an extrovert -- could it be that I'm crossing over to the other side? The Dark Side of introversion?

At any rate, after the Luau, I came back into my office and shut my door (this supports my introvert hypothesis). Since I had little to no work to do (this week has been slow because our issue just came out on Monday), I spent even more time than usual on Facebook and MySpace. Also, I sent some superfluous emails out to people. Here's a gmail conversation that I thought was kind of funny.

L to T:
Today we had a luau luncheon with all of the businesses in our whole building. It was appropriately awkward, complete with a cake of which there was not enough. But one cool thing was that I met some hip people who work on the floor above me, at a nonprofit that advocates animal rights and encourages vegetarianism. (And they were none too happy that pork and ribs were being served at the luau. Whoops!)

I just thought I'd tell you since you're my token vegetarian friend, and as such, you probably enjoy hearing about all things vegetarian. You know, just like all black people like hearing about hip hop and stuff.

T to me:
the question is, any of them single and good looking and male? also, i've always wanted to be the token friend for things, this is great.

L to T:
As a matter of fact, there was one single and good-looking male. He's vegan, though. Do you swing that way?

T to me:
if i can do a meat eater, i can do anyone. obviously.

L to T:
hahaha that's so true. And rest assured, I'm going to quote you on that.


And so ends another work day.

Art and Patrick Swayze: A Recipe for Disaster
Originally posted Saturday, September 11, 2004

The cool thing about this semester is that I don't have any classes left to take for my major or minor, so I get to take fun classes. For example, I'm taking a wheel throwing class at the School of the Museum of Fine Arts. It's so fun! I made a fool out of myself the first day of class, though... oh boy.

So I already stick out like a sore thumb in the class, because I'm a "preppy" Tufts girl, (or at least it seems that way when you compare me to the rest of the pierced, hot pink haired, paint-splattered jean-wearing, art students in the class). Plus, I went to the first class straight from Boston magazine, and I was wearing a black pinstripe suit. Not the best attire for pottery. I got a few eye-rolls, that's for sure.

Anyway, to make matters worse, I took notes. For reals! I took notes in an art class! Our prof was talking about the different methods to sculpt, and I wrote them down. The other students looked appalled!

Then, our prof allowed us to take a stab at the wheel. I sat down, wet my hands, and began mold the slab of clay that sat before me. But instead of metamorphosing into a bowl or a vase, it became a wet pile of crap and chunks of it started to fly about the room and onto my new black suit pants. My professor had to run over and save me.

But the most embarrassing part of all was as the scene died down and everyone began to work intently on creating a masterpiece on the wheel. Suddenly, I thought of Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze in the movie Ghost and, as I smirked, I began to sing softly "Ohhhh, my looooove....my da-arrrrling...I've huunnn-gerrred for your touch...a long....lonely time....and tiiiiime....gooooooooes by....so sllllooooowwly..." (you get the idea). I expected people to at least smile at my ingenious movie reference, but instead I just got more eye-rolls! Lame.

Now that I've relived that embarrassing first art class via this blog, I think it's time for me to call it a night.

The Old Man and the T
Originally posted Tuesday, August 02, 2005

Today on the T, I heard an old man's voice from beside me and it caused me to look up from the book in which I was engrossed. I turned to see that a very elderly, wrinkled man had just taken the seat next to me, apparently because a nice young fellow had sacrificed his own seat so that the old frail gentleman would not have to stand.

The elderly man, in his old voice, said to the young fellow "What a kind gesture. Do you want me to pay you for the seat?"

"No, sir, of course not. It is my pleasure," replied the younger fellow.

Then, the old man turned to me, and a diatribe, that went something like this, commenced:

"A nice, young American fellow has sacrificed his seat for me, and he doesn't expect even a cent in return. Am I wrong to be in shock that such a pleasant thing would happen in the United States of America? He must not be American if he is willing to turn down money. I am an old man now, and what I have come to realize in my lifetime is that Americans no longer worship God, they worship the bank. There is no such thing as a benevolent friendly gesture anymore; everything in this world is just a means to an end. You look like a nice young lady, but do you believe in God? Do you believe in values? Are you kind enough to listen to an old man like me, or are you just thinking about where this train will take you: downtown, to some skyscraper, where you will work some corporate job so that you can earn your next paycheck, which you will probably spend on some expensive car that you care more about than God. I can see you there, holding your breath. You don't like this conversation, do you? You probably hate when strange old men talk to you on the train. Well, young lady, that is what I am talking about. That is what is wrong with America. You sit there, holding your breath while I speak, just waiting for the second that I get off this train so that you no longer have to listen to me."

Just then, we arrived at Park Street. The train slowed to a stop, and the old man hobbled off.

I sat and exhaled deeply. It was true what the old man had said about me holding my breath. But I'm afraid that it had nothing to do with the fact that I paid heed to anything he said.

I held my breath because that old man's breath STUNK! Sick!

Whatchu Gon' Do When They Come For You?
Originally posted Saturday, May 1, 2004

Andrew and I are subletting a room in an apartment from a Chinese guy who went home to Hong Kong for the summer. This morning we were moving our stuff in, when I noticed that there was a shelf in the room that still had some DVDs on it.

I walked over to browse through them and see if the guy had left anything good. But all of the movies were Chinese films, with Chinese character titles that I couldn't even read....

....except for one: Bad Boys II. Clearly.

Eye of the Tiger
Originally posted Sunday, April 18, 2004

Today I went downtown to go shopping, not realizing that the city of Boston would be way overcrowded due to tomorrow's Marathon. On my way home, the T was crowded with people wearing blue "Boston Marathon" windbreakers. When I saw all of these people in their Marathon apparel, subconsciously, the Rocky Theme Song got stuck in my head.

I spaced out at this point and began to stare out the window. After a few minutes, I snapped back into reality and looked around. I noticed that everyone on the subway was staring at me and snickering.

Then I realized that I was loudly whistling the aforementioned song, and that I had been for the past few minutes.

God Bless America
Originally posted Wednesday, March 01, 2006

I went to the post office on my lunch break yesterday. On my way back, I noticed an foreign woman--I think Eastern European--standing at a bus stop across the street. She was shouting loudly, so I stopped and cocked my head in her direction to listen. My goodness, she had quite a potty mouth! She was obscenely expressing anti-American sentiments, but directing these sentiments to passersby. At the moment that she and I made eye contact, I suddenly became the embodiment of the Americans that she despised. "Jesus slut!" she shouted. I turned and began to briskly walk toward my building, the woman's angry shouts bouncing off my back.

Just then, I passed a Bank of America, where a slight, dark, white-mustached Indian man (whose resemblance to Pagoda from The Royal Tenenbaums is uncanny) works as a security officer, standing guard at the entrance. Clad in a black police officerish uniform, complete with hat and badge, he never says a word when people pass; no, he merely tilts his head forward to acknowledge people's presence. As I passed by, the angry lady still shouting obscenities across the street, the man and I made eye contact. Then, he said, in a perfect American accent:

"That's a crazy bitch over there across the street, right?"

I smiled and said "Yeah, seriously!" And we both laughed, sharing a moment.

How on earth could that crazy foreign bitch have had ill feelings toward us awesome Americans?

Resurrection?

I find it somewhat ironic that I sit here on the evening before Easter debating whether or not to resurrect my blog. In fact, the only reason I am writing this at all is because I asked myself, "WWJD." And clearly, Jesus would rise from the dead. So I realized that I should probably follow suit, via this electronic journal.

Despite what my previous post implied, I never started a friends-only blog; I stopped blogging all together, actually.

Over the past few weeks, though, because of the urging of friends, I have been toying with the idea of bringing it back. I'm still undecided as to whether or not this will be permanent, but I thought in the meantime I would re-post a few of my old entries. So stay tuned, because those are about to follow in a series of subsequent posts.

Happy Easter!

Blogging: An Unnerving Addiction

For the past few years, I have kept a blog at Blogger. I also had a Sitemeter, so that I could keep track of my visitors. As the sitemeter's capabilities grew (I could find out exactly what company, city, and state people were logging in from; how they found the blog; and what exactly they read on the blog), I became more and more freaked out. I had started my blog primarily for the entertainment of myself and my friends, but evidently my blog had a pretty high google rating, and any number of everyday terms resulted in my good ol' bloggie popping up in the popular search engine.

To make matters worse, I read a few New York Times articles (Article #1, Article #2) on blogging. I encourage you to read them. They each tackle the blogging phenomenon, and the frightening ways in which complete and utter strangers can find out the intimate details of your life by simply reading your blog. I suppose this is something about which I should have been aware upon deciding to publicly air my thoughts on the world wide web, but I naively thought, "Who would want to read about my boring life?" The answer is, quite frankly, a lot of people. Including former boyfriends, schoolmates, professors, coworkers, bosses, etc etc etc. In a nutshell, uninvited visitors who made me feel uncomfortable. After reading the aforementioned articles, I started toying with the idea of deleting the old blog. Sure, we had had some good times together. But all good things come to an end, right? Still, I wavered.

It wasn't until last night at a get together with some friends (some of whom were also being stalked by random web surfers who were being directed to my blog), discussing this issue, that I finally caved and decided to take drastic measures: delete the thing.

But because I'm slightly addicted to blogging (and, for the life of me, I can't understand why. It's almost as if it's become a part of me. Wait, did I really just say that?), I decided to go on over to LiveJournal, where I can post privately. Now I can write the same old shit, but I get to choose who reads it. You have to sign up for a free account, though, and add me as a friend. I know, it's a hassle. But I'm sure some of you have nothing better to do, so just suck it up and do it.

And with that, I bid you farewell, anonymous internet stalkers. (And, I realize I'm not really one to talk when it comes to internet stalking. But at least I know the rules of how not to get caught! Ahem, google cache, anyone?)

It's been real, yo.