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Showing posts from January, 2011

Pointe of Contention

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I am not coordinated -- not by a long shot -- which is weird because I played all kinds of sports growing up, and I was even moderately good at them (I even played field hockey in college for a year).  But try to teach me the Macarena and you'll be wondering how it is that I'm able to walk and chew gum.  When I was in high school, my friend Katie decided that she was going to start taking ballet . . . so I decided to join her.  That's what I did in high school -- I joined things.  I was a prominent member of the student government (that's right, prominent), and on the yearbook staff, field hockey, swimming, and soccer teams, SADD, and even the Spanish club for a year, I think.  Our ballet teacher was a humorless woman named Madame Bailey (which she pronounced like Ballet--barf).  She never smiled and she took herself -- and ballet -- very seriously. Everyone in our class was an adult, so we weren't alone in our lateness to the game.  At 5'6" and 95 pounds

Bittersweet Stink-phony

Today my bus smelled like feet.  This is not unusual -- my bus often smells like feet.  In fact, I'd hazard a guess that feet is the most popular--albeit not the most offensive--aroma on the bus.  Granted, I haven't conducted a scientific study, but based on personal olfactory experiences, I've reached this conclusion.  There's a smorgasbord of other odors that frequently present themselves on transit.  Please, allow me to elaborate--there are a few distinct categories of stink (in ascending order--least to most offensive): food; mechanical; excretions; body; and miscellaneous. Food Stink -- Everyone knows that food and beverage aren't allowed on Metrobus or Metrorail, but the threat of arrest  doesn't stop some people . There are a couple of subsets of this variety.  First, is the "delicious" food.  Its perfume taunts you and teases you (pizza, burgers--or my personal favorite--fried chicken) as you slog home from work, starving, but going home to

Yes, and . . .

Sometimes I can be a little . . . pessimistic.  I'm not generally a sourpuss, but I can certainly see the glass half empty from time to time.  I like to call it realism, but I get that sometimes my "realism" isn't appreciated.  I'm not sure what got me me thinking about this, but I'd like to try to turn over a new leaf.  This reminded me of an improv concept (yes, I have improv training) called "Yes, and . . ."  The idea is that when doing a scene, rather than shutting down your fellow improv-er, you want to agree and add to what's being said.  So, for instance, if your scene partner says, "Oh my gosh, my grass hut is on fire!" your response might be something like, "Yes, and so is your grass skirt!" thus building the tension and the heightening the action.  I've been toying with adding this technique to my daily life.  Let's think about it, shall we . . . "Yes, and . . ." At Work: think of all those time

A Blogiversary

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One year.  It's hard for me to believe that one year ago today, after a particularly ridiculous bus ride , I started this grand endeavor.  I thought about doing this for a very long time, and sitting here today, I'm not sure why I waited so long to start.  But I did, so let's not dwell on that.  Instead, let's think for a moment about what's transpired here in the last year.  I've bared my soul (or my ass , as it were) and shared my husband with you.  You've gotten to know my vivid imagination and my quirks . Together we've survived a blizzard , putting my house on the market , and the Metro .  It's been quite a ride.  And maybe it didn't change the world, but it did change my world. Photo by Marcin Wichary via Flickr And let's face it, anniversaries are pretty important.  They mark the passage of time, and often an accomplishment of some sort.  Of course, I can't hear the word anniversary without being reminded of one time whe

The Chosen One

A friend of mine is looking for a job.  In fact, she's applied for a job and has decided that this job is THE ONE.  She sent me an email earlier today lamenting the fact that they haven't called yet.  I know exactly how she feels, and I suspect, so do you.  You see, looking for a job is a lot like dating.  In fact, I'd dare say it's almost exactly the same thing.  Let's review the similarities, shall we? The Resume -- During the job search, you submit a written resume with a brief professional history.  Dating is the same, especially if you're doing it online.  You outline your strengths and try to present yourself in the best possible light. When you meet someone for the first time, you give them an overview (who wants to let all the demons out of the closet right away?).  But it's fairly superficial.  Someone is going to judge you for your typos (or your metaphorical typos, like if you say "supposably" or "anyways").  Waiting For th

Champagne Wishes and Caviar Dreams

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The Mega Millions jackpot is $355 million.  I'm pretty sure I'm going to win.  Wonderful Husband and I have periodically played the lottery for years.  Not often, not regularly, but off and on. Whenever we buy a ticket, we start planning what to do with the spoils of our victory. These plans have changed little over the years, and always include travel and property. It would do you good to make friends with us now, because once we have all that cash, we might find your motives dubious.  Image courtesy of Robert S. Donovan via Flickr You always hear about these poor fools who win the lottery and then two years hence are penniless and working resetting the pins in a local bowling alley.  In fact, this " curse " is so real that E! did a True Hollywood Story on it (twice! so you know it's newsworthy).  What I can never figure out is how someone goes from being a multi-millionaire to broke (this also often happens to professional athletes, but that's for an

The Boob Tube

I have a love-hate relationship with television.  I watch more TV than is really necessary (is any of it actually necessary ?), and, yet, at the same time, I constantly feel like my intelligence is being insulted.  Just when you think we can't stoop any further, television takes us to a new low . . . and I'm there every step of the way.  I've mentioned several times my confusion with the content of commercials (see here , here , and here ), but this goes beyond that.  This goes to the full-length programs that network executives continue to greenlight.  I do have my standards, of course (no Jersey Shore for me, I swear), but they're quite Lilliputian (I had to throw that word in so at least you wouldn't forget that I'm well-read.  Trust me, after this, your respect for me will wane).  The people in TV land, I think, are constantly trying to figure out just how low they can set the bar and then continue to limbo beneath it.  There are the histrionics of Jeff Le