oatmeal mondays

Sometimes I feel beige – hopelessly dull and plain. This moments strike at the oddest times and usually last for a flickering second. But this time it’s lasted for a month. I don’t feel compelled or inspired to do anything but bloat myself with mindless tasks that drain the minutes and eat the day. Waking, driving, working, driving, sleeping – I want to rebel from the tediousness of it all but I can’t even work up the strength to do that. Slap in some time for tea and Pop-tarts and that’s every weekday.

Every Monday, just like today, I’m just wishing for the weekend.

holiday shopping sucks

Christmas shopping has always been hard for me. I can never find the “perfect” gift. And this year I’m just completely freakin’ clueless. My family is hard enough to shop for. Mom might be clothes. Dad will probably be electronics. Sister will be happy with anything high-end, which is great for ideas, bad for the wallet. And now I have to add the boyfriend to the list.

So in my search for “perfect” gifts – I thought I would share a few failures. Or some that bomb so hard, they are brilliant. Enjoy!

Breakfast of the Month Club: I’ve heard of fruit and beer – but breakfast is wonderful. Nothing says love like flapjacks. Better than the Beef Jerky of the Month Club. And I’m not kidding - there is such a thing.

Adam and Eve: Add your faces to a picture of Adam and Eve. That sounds romantic. Post it in the living room. But do you really want your parents imagining you and your partner only in a fig leaf?

365 Warm Wishes: It’s a jar filled with little pieces of paper saying things about love, hope and happiness. Awwwwwwww. It’s completely adorable, right? And after your done reading all those messages, you can puke in the jar. It only costs you $30.

Slanket: It’s not an endangered species. It’s a blanket with SLEEVES. You would have to be an evil genius to come up with this. It looks like a fuzzy mu-mu. In light blue. I always complain about being cold, but I’d rather freeze than wear this thing.

Stuffed STD's: STD's shouldn't be cute - it's just wrong.

left field? more like outta the ballpark

A little more than a year ago I broke up with my boyfriend of two years. Don’t cry for me Argentina – you too Paraguay. So in between the break up and the meet up with my current (wonderful) boyfriend, it’s safe to say I “dabbled” in the dating world.

I went on one date with this guy – we’ll call him Jess (because that’s his name) – and he never called me after that one date. It was an okay date – walk around Hoboken in the freezing cold, grab a milkshake, talk about life’s randomness. He impressed me by bringing me flowers and a mini stapler (I was really special). You know, what 14 year-olds dream of for a first date. Without the copious amounts of giggling. At the end of the night we parted with an awkward hug and that was basically the last I heard from him.

That is, until Thursday. He decided to send me an email apologizing for never calling me – and calling himself a jerk. He detailed a list of personal family problems for excuses – and then explains that those aren’t excuses and he should have called me. (To any guys out there – don’t tell a girl your entire life story and then say “but I still had time – I could have called you.” That will just piss us off further. I promise.) He then says, several times, that his lack of communication has bothered him for months and he planned on emailing me much sooner.

And he should have – because I could have reassured him that I didn’t care. Did he think that our one date was groundbreaking, and by him not calling I would throw myself into a deep well of depression? Or that I was sitting at my computer, constantly hitting the refresh button, waiting anxiously for another email? Wondering, “Why didn’t he call? WHAT DID I DO WRONG?!”

Eh. I lived. And what do you even write back to that? “Yeah, um, sorry but – I kind of moved on. Months ago. Pretty much two days later. Sorry you wasted months toiling over whether or not to email me. You shouldn’t worry about stuff like that. Have a great life!”

The only time I remembered him was when that damn stapler broke. I miss that stapler.

sweet, sweet music

I learn a lot from my little sister - like how my style is outdated.

Last month my sister let me in on a site called Pandora. I'm sure the whole world knows about it. But for the people who are behind the curve (like yours truly) - you pick your favorite artists and Pandora links you with similar music. I am FREAKIN' in love.

Pandora is like having a wonderful, emotional boyfriend that makes you mix-tapes of music that remind him of you - and then names them after experiences you have together. Like compiling Jason Mraz and Colbie Caillat and naming it "Eating Cotton Candy."

My friends don't listen to my "kind" of music - which can be best described as mellow, weepy folk lite. So I'm glad Pandora can recommend more music that makes me want to soak in a warm tub surrounded by lavender candles.

aliens!

John Hodgman doesn’t just play a PC on TV! Hodgman can spin a yarn. Well, this video is more of a blanket. This video is hilarious if you like dry humor and geeks. Takes about 4:20 to mention New Jersey – but I think Hodgman misses the real aliens at the shore.

can i add life experience to my resume?

Help wanted pages always depress me. Not that it takes very long anymore – the pages aren’t enough to line a birdcage. What always bothers me is that most jobs ask for years of experience.

Ten years experience? I would have been 12 and pining away for Kevin from the Backstreet Boys – I always had a thing for square jaws.

Seven years experience? Yeah – the 15 year-old me would be rushing through high school halls lined with yellow lockers. Probably rushing to finish homework I had forgotten to do the night before because I was painting my nails blue and arguing with my first “real” boyfriend. And by “real” I mean I didn’t giggle and run away when I saw him.

Five years experience? Does booking hair and make-up from D.C. count as scheduling? What about freaking that you won’t get to Jersey before prom because you are stuck at a Model United Nations conference during a massive snow storm – crisis experience?

Three years experience? Pharmacy technician doesn’t work well on a journalism resume. But you try asking a crazy lady about her medical insurance while screaming at her devilish children. That prepared me for asking questions, listening and typing as fast as humanly possible – before those kids knocked down another Hallmark display.

All I have is one year of experience – an “internship,” which is a fun way for newsrooms to work you to the bone and pay you next to nothing. I loved every minute of it – calling strangers, setting up interviews, getting to the heart of things, taking pictures, pushing toward a deadline, looking over pages.

But it’s only a year. Maybe I can add that I know all the words to the “Larger than Life” to my resume. I’m sure that will give me some bonus points.

invading the personal bubble for journalism

I don’t pretend to know everything about relationships. But spending every waking moment no more than 15 feet away from your spouse and living in each other’s consciousness (whatever the hell that really means) seems like the quickest way to a divorce.

I love this video for so many reasons. I think these two are hilarious without trying to be, like the breakfast scene:

You took all the cinnamon sugar!

Well, go get some more. I have a child in my lap

First of all, you have diabetic.

(Which grammatically doesn’t make sense, but I’m pretty sure I quoted that correctly.)

I give them credit for going through the day without killing each other. And after 11 years of marriage they still learned things about one another – like how a brisk Fresca is essential in the morning.

But am I the only one who notices the horrendously large bunny statue in their home? That thing is scary!

why not an even 20...

Everyone has their guilty pleasures. Men. Chocolate. Men drenched in chocolate...but I digress.

My guilty pleasure is watching the Duggars. The parents believe in quiverfull - accepting any children that God bestows on them. This family in Arkansas has 17 children. Let me repeat: 17 children. With another bun in the God-lovin' oven.

And I'm not the only one who loves watching these crazy, home-schooling, prayer-reading, psalm-singing bunch. TV crews followed this family building their own house. There are few things scarier than a six-year-old wielding an electric saw talking about being a missionary when he grows up.

Now the latest saga is that Josh, the oldest Duggar boy, just got hitched at the ripe, old age of 20. The proposal was picturesque at a restaurant called Gator Landing, complete with plastic alligators dressed in sombreros. (I wish I was kidding.) After the proposal comes the dating. Yup - these two never dated before he popped the question, but through prayer Josh decided this was the right move. (Again, wish I was kidding.)

The scene was so touching - even though there wasn't that much bodily contact. Josh and his fiance decided that they can only hug or hold hands - the first kiss would be on the wedding day. No kissing? At all? They were even followed by someone, just in case they felt the impulse to lock lips. This is completely foreign to me - in fifth grade your popularity was ranked by how many boys you could kiss in the closet during the Bill Nye the Science Guy tape. (Good think I liked science a lot more than boys at that point.)

I'm torn between admiring their restraint to laughing hysterically imagining how awkward their first smooch was. I hope chapstick was mentioned in one of those hymns.

have a magical day!

Another week, another business trip. This time it was off to Orlando - just a monorail away from the Magic Kingdom. Here are the top five things I learned from my trip:

Florida boys can dance. My co-worker Kim and I kicked off the trip by spending a night on Pleasure Island, which isn't as dirty as it sounds. We order round after round of "Rage in the Cage" with glowing fake ice cubes and watched the regular crew dance their asses off. These guys had set dance moves they were pulling out - no wonder Backstreet Boys and NSYNC came from Orlando. But then again, anything more than the standard Jersey fist-pump would impress me.

Only cute kids are allowed in Disney. We did not see one ugly kid while we were down there. I know, I know - all kids are "cute." But these children were mutantly adorable. Rosy cheeks, pig tails, gap teeth, light up sneakers. The works. And some were dressed up in Halloween costumes for a parade (a ploy to buy more Disney merchandise) and the kids were dressed up as cowboys, Nemo and even a golfer. We were drowning in cuteness.

Fanny packs are en vogue. No respectable tourist would walk around Disney without it. Some were even in fluorescent colors. I didn't think anyone sold fanny packs any more, but there must be a secret store right outside the gates that were giving them out. I just didn't get the memo.

They must drug the water. All the employees are ridiculously happy and are just waiting to help you. And they shout "HAVE A MAGICAL DAY!" at the end of every conversation. I had to supress my Jersey instinct to throw the bird everytime I heard it.

When they say 'all-you-can-eat,' they mean it. We stopped at Ohana's where they bring out exactly a ton and a half of food. We kept repeating we were full, then followed that by another dumpling. Then when you can't finish your meal, they heckle you and give shove skewers of meat in your face. But at least they roll you back to your room.

why journalism?

People always ask me why I went into journalism.

I took up journalism because I have no skills. Just kidding - sort of. 

I'm passionate about writing. There are some nights that I'll suddenly wake up from a deep sleep and feel the need to write something down. I keep a notebook and pen near my bed just for that reason. I learned from fumbling in the dar, hitting my knees against furniture, cursing a little then completely forgetting what I was going to write - leading to more cursing. It only took six years. 

But until I write the newest, greatest American novel (I'm thinking girl meets guy, they fall in love, she turns out to be an evil cyborg bent on destroying human life, fin. I'm thinking about casting Paris Hilton in the movie version so it's believable), I'm sticking with journalism.

It was either starving artist, literature teacher, public relations or journalism. I like food, so starving artist is out. I don't want to be a lit teacher because they over-analyze everything. I mean, what if Moby Dick wasn't an allegorical novel for the human condition and man's relationship with a supreme being? What if it was just a story about a whale and a deranged captain? Public relations is out for now because I heard you have to sell your soul. And I already sold my soul for a peanut butter chocolate milkshake two years ago - and it was completely worth it. 

airspace = foreign policy experience

I like to keep up-to-date with my politics but I have to shout out to my favorite blog, Dooce.com, for alerting me to this one.

I'm more than a little scared about the upcoming election. And Sarah Palin scares me. It's not the gun-toting or the moose-killing that has me nervous - it's the fact that she didn't own a passport until last year. She has no foreign policy experience when this country desperately needs to mend international relations.

And this video tells it all -
http://www.cbsnews.com/video/watch/?id=4478156n

So, Russian airplanes crossing over Alaska gives you world cred? And you need to "keep an eye" on the Russians? And don't forget about those shifty Canadians!

And another part that bothers me - she has a journalism degree but isn't allowed to talk to reporters? How does that work out? She should be willing to talk and anticipate the questions since she's been in the field. Are people supposed to feel comfortable voting with her on the ticket if they have only heard what she stands for through handlers or old speeches?

I say switch her out for Tina Fey.

NEWS FLASH!

Apparently Clay Aiken has come out of the closet (!!!) according to People magazine.

Thanks. I think the rest of America kinda figured that out.

I could learn more from the National Enquirer at this point.

D.C. is the way to be

I have dreamed about living in D.C. since my first trip there eight years ago. Be prepared for a walk down memory lane - or a light jog.

It was a Model United Nations trip (yes, I'm that kinda nerd) and it was my first long trip away from home without my parents. You would think all sorts of young mischief would ensue - graffiti, under-age drinking, public nudity. Nope - remember it was Model UN. We got our chuckles from making obscure references to World War II. (Gettin' with your mama was as easy as invading Poland in 1939!)

The days were filled with hot debates, shoddy treaties and strong declarations over Midi Cafe freshly squeezed orange juice on Connecticut Ave. The nights were shared with laughs and whispers over Best Hunan's steaming dumplings. We all dressed in our "Western business attire" and playing "adults" for the week.

Now when I go into D.C. for work, talks are over Jack and Cokes. This time I have to listen - my job requires me to be unbiased and listen. (My favorite word - What?) But I miss voicing my opinions - as loud and obnoxious as they may be. And I still feel like I'm pretending to be an adult.

sorry...is my geek showing?

You know those "You might be a redneck..." jokes? the Large Hadron Collider. Ya know -

"If directions to your house include 'turn off the paved road,' you might be a redneck." (Thanks Jeff Foxworthy!)

Well, if you know what the Large Hadron Collider (LHC) is...you might be a geek. Stay with me here - the LHC is one of the most exciting things to happen for particle physics - they are going to collide two opposing proton beams and will watch to see what happens. And they fire this baby up tomorrow night!

I don't have a degree in particle physics. Hell, I almost failed high school physics. Well, a B- is like failing to me.

But I am excited to see what happens with LHC. I'm in awe of just the sheer size of the project - more than 8,000 physicists worked on it. It's on the border of France and Switzerland and has a 17 mile circumference.

Sure - everyone thinks that it will blow up the earth. But that makes it all the more impressive. And they do school tours! That sure beats our trips to the Meadowlands.

sunburn and beer - the best combination

I'm not big on sports. I watch two "sports" on television:

1. Legends of the Hidden Temple - Try and tell me that you never dreamed of being a Red Jaguar or a Silver Snake? (No one wanted to be the Purple Parrot - they always lost.) Olmec's baritone voice always got to me - and the temple guards still haunt my nightmares. (By the way - google "Olmec: Sex Therapist.")

2. Ninja Warrior - Do I need to explain this one? These guys just can't get enough of that wall crawl. And the translations are the best.

Anyway, sports. First was the Yankee game on Sunday. I stupidly forgot to slather sunscreen on my translucent skin and got burned on one side. ONE SIDE OF MY BODY. I would have been fine if I was evenly scorched - but I don't like looking like half a tomato. My boyfriend lovingly referred to me as Two-Face. At least I'm going to say it was lovingly for his sake.

Then yesterday was Rutgers football. Tailgate started at 11 a.m. - skip breakfast, just pass me the Blue Moon. Five hours and a few drinking games later we hit the stadium - at least I think we went in the stadium. It was a little fuzzy after the first "RU!" chant. Since my college didn't have a football team, it was just fun to watch students and alumni scream at players at the top of their lungs. I wanted to tell one very loud girl behind me, "I'm not sure if Kordell Young heard you offending his skills, manhood or mama. You should repeat that just in case." But I promised not to start a fight that day. Darn it.

Two days, two games - and both teams lost. I feel like a damned Purple Parrot.

the internet is my playground

Sometimes, when I'm extremely bored, I like to read personal posts on craigslist. It's an awful habit - kind of like watching "Moment of Truth." It's a damn train wreck, but my lurid curiousity gets the best of me.

My home state of Jersey is just a subtab and the juicy stuff always happens in the city (New York City for people living outside the tri-state). Missed Connections always get me. My favorite are the men who write about women - they are modern-day sleuths. They detail everything -

You were on the E train at 7:14 a.m.

You pushed your hair behind your ear before crossing Lexington

Saw you at Whole Foods - you picked up the extra spicy organic salsa

Really? Really? I am sure that those girls were making a mental note - that guy looked at me. I must check craigslist for a post about our immediate attraction to one another! I have a radical thought. Why not...wait for it...talk to the person? It sure beats refreshing your e-mail for week and then catching a beer with your friends, saying, "I should have talked to that girl!" You might have an engaging conversation, exchange numbers - even get their name.

Then at least you can Facebook stalk them.

end of summer, beginning of a blog

I used to hate when Labor Day approached. You spend the whole year planning what you are going to do once summer hits. Drop a few pounds. Get a tan. Pick up painting. Hit the beach. Dance at clubs. Just exploit every minute of extra daylight you have.

But then Labor Day weekend comes and you realize that all you did was watch Maury reruns while sitting under the air conditioner with a pint of coffee Heath Bar crunch. Summer's over and you have to go back to school.

Good thing I'm done with school! Now turn up the volume, I want to hear "You ARE the FATHER!"