I was Upstaged by Jared from Subway

I know I know, I am without a doubt the world's most unreliable blogger. I faithfully dedicate time and energy to writing blog posts for my family and friends and just when you start to get comfortable in the knowledge that I will update regularly WHAM! I leave you with months of silence. I apologize and send you many virtual hugs and kisses for whatever that's worth. And here I am, back to writing about weird and oddly touching moments in my life. Consider this my Christmas present to all of you (you're welcome).

To begin lets rewind back in time a good 6 months to that wonderful summer month of July. If you are here in Ohio right now you will probably have to think really hard, as the terrible weather does its best to wipe any type of happy joyful feelings out of our brains. In fact, rewind to the 3rd Saturday in July (approximately 6:30pm)This particular day was a little rainy with a slight chance of sun and awesomeness. It was at this time that I would be throwing out the first pitch at our local farm team's Saturday night baseball game.

I could explain WHY I was in this position but that's not nearly as interesting as WHAT HAPPENED when I took the field.

I can't lie, I was nervous when they called my name to the field. As I stepped out onto the grass I tried to walk as nonchalantly as I could manage to the mound. Standing there waiting to throw out the first pitch I realized just how lonely it was at the top. Even the cheers seemed far away and while I reveled in my new found glory I also realized that if I messed up this throw I was going to embarrass myself really badly. Holding my breath I took aim, and there it was! That elusive sister we call success reared her beautiful head! The catcher caught the ball- I was home free (pun intended). I could hold my head high and walk back to my family and friends with the sweet taste of accomplishment lingering in my mouth (or was that tobacco? You never can tell with true ball players)

I skipped off the field with the full knowledge that this was going to go down in history. Everyone would remember that I threw out the first pitch and it was glorious. As I got to the sidelines I realized I was not alone. In fact, someone else was nonchalantly walking to the mound and he looked awfully familiar. It was at that time that the loud speaker came on to announce that TONIGHT (and only tonight) there would be a 2nd "first pitch."

WHAT!! How can this be?!

"Annnnnd" the loud obnoxious voice continued...."lets welcome Jared from SUBWAY!!!". The crowd erupted in cheers as the slim and svelte Jared wound up at the mound and threw a perfect pitch right into the catcher's glove. I think I actually saw a tear fall from his eye it was so perfect.

There I stood on the sidelines as Jared walked by me. His posse of dedicated fans following trying to soak up the glow of the glory as it slowly seeped from my shadow onto his. Later that night at the bar the 10 o'clock news did a segment on the home team's game and the first pitch. The headlining news that night was that Jared made an appearance. A bitter pill to swallow? Yes. My big night was overshadowed by a man best known for losing weight eating cold cuts. Yet as the night progressed and my friends Jack and Jose helped me live down the humiliation I realized something. No matter how important I become, I will never be able to fill the pants that Jared left behind. And sometimes you just have to be okay with that.

Holes in my ceiling, holes in my heart

Things have been going pretty well for me lately. And I say that not to brag (well maybe a little bit) but mostly to follow up on several of my past blogs regarding my terrible bad luck. I am in a transitioning period in my life and despite the stress that change brings I am very pleased with the direction both my professional and personal life is going. One thing I am NOT pleased about it the direction my ceiling is going. And that direction is down. As in, falling down.

Yes, thats right. My ceiling began caving in several weeks ago. It started in the hallway first, little chunks of drywall giving away half heartedly in order to let the steady stream of water coming from my upstairs neighbor's washing machine create nice little puddles on my carpet. Naturally, seeing this problem myself and my roommates contacted our maintenance people pronto. They arrived several hours later and weirdly did not share my concern for the fact that water seemed to be ruining my apartment (as this has happened before we thought they might be more proactive about it). But no, they merely checked out the problem, got the stream of water to seemingly stop and went along their merry way promising to be back the next day for further observation.

Unfortunately for us, the next morning brought further destruction. Upon waking we found the entire ceiling above our kitchen area to be bulging with (what we hoped) was clean water. Another emergency call brought maintenance men out to carve a HUGE whole into the ceiling. Again, very unconcernedly. They bid us goodbye once again and promised to be back the following Monday with drywall to patch up the gaping hole.

MONDAY!? That was 3 days away! What if we had been planning a fancy, tea cup drinking, sophisticated hat wearing party for that weekend? We weren't, but WHAT IF WE WERE? How could we possibly be respected as denizens of class with wires hanging from the ceiling threatening to electrocute anyone who came too close? (okay no wires were hanging ) What if President Obama (who happened to be in town that day) was riding in his limo, and despite excellent car service experienced a flat tire? What if it happened right outside my apartment and because of recent storms his cell phone service was down and had no choice to knock on my door and ask to use my telephone while unabashedly drinking lemonade and waiting for a ride? WHAT WOULD HE THINK about the giant hole in my ceiling?! I wouldn't be able to take the judging!

Luckily (for me and our great country) none of this actually happened. Though I could have probably given him some good advice on how to manage the oil spill. (after all if James Cameron can then why not me?) But the point is this- our apartment people throughly disregarded the fact that we might have to entertain very important people over the weekend and even if I spent most of my days off in my pajamas ordering in pizza I'M a very important person and would definitely appreciate a little sympathy.

All joking aside, the hole for the most part didn't bother me much. Of course I ended up having to live with it for over 2 weeks so perhaps what they say is true; familiarity breeds tolerance.

Back to Reality

Once again, I fail to maintain to regularly keep up this blog. I'd like to say its because my life is so incredibly busy, doing things like "saving the world", "inventing new technologies" and figuring out how to solve a rub-ix cube in under a minute but that would be a flat out lie.

It is what it is. World peace still eludes us, the I Pad is still a stupid name and I am no more talented at succeeding in mastering the complex puzzle that is the rubix cube than I was several weeks ago. But I have succeeded in several things in these past few weeks and those are the wonderful situations and moments that I choose to focus on today. Important? No way, but not everything you write should be Pulitzer worthy.

My arm is now (almost) completely straight. I know I know, these accomplishments don't seem like much. But remember it wasn't long ago that a bright blue cast was my trademark. Its hard to keep your arm bent for 7 straight weeks. I could attribute this to physical therapy I suppose (the fact that my arm is close to straight) but I would rather take the credit. Sure, stretching and icing might work- but I am more inclined to believe that my straight arm is the result of sun and copious amounts of pina coladas. (a girl could float to china on the amount of liquid coconut I have consumed over the past few weeks) Let me know if you would like me to be YOUR future physical therapist. Consider it alternative medicine.

I am tan. Okay, not tan like- I am a stay at home trophy mom with my own private pool and personal masseuse (poolboy?) tan. But I do have a slight tinge of color to my skin which is nice. And for all you skin enthusiasts- I can attribute my color to a week spent in Florida- NOT a tanning bed.

I swam with manatees -and survived! If you've even so much as glanced at my blog you understand I have a great love of manatees. To my shock and awe I had the opportunity while I was vacationing in the great sunny state of Florida to get up close and personal with the gentle sea cows. It was a great success outside of the fact that I was almost mauled by what can only be called the most vicious manatee in all of Florida. Imagine this: it was my first time snorkeling (who knew you had to be an experienced mouth breather to find this comfortable?), I have a gimp arm and my instructor gave me 2 different sizes of flippers(its like he was intentionally sabotaging me). So I am struggling, without an imminent threat of death. And then, out of the darkness that is the abyss we are swimming so cautiously over comes a giant 1000lb manatee straight at me! WHAT DO YOU DO IN THIS KIND OF SITUATION? Its not like I know the rules of the ocean. Do I move? Does he move? Are we playing some sort of life or death chicken? Do I look like a girl manatee? (Say no) I had no idea. Luckily my girly underwater scream scared him and he veered downward just in time. My brush with death was downgraded to a simple brush of the flipper. So i survived but I can't yet say how this trauma will effect me in years to come. If only you had seen the look in his eyes.

For my last accomplishment I give you "mushroom hunting". Yes it sounds silly-after all its not like the mushrooms are running away and hiding (or are they?) but let me tell you it is surprisingly elusive. One can spend hours surveying the forest floor in high hopes that one, just one, mushroom will give itself away. Alas, this was not to be for me. I found no mushrooms, only small little heart shape plants that over the long hours I spent unsuccessfully searching the woods started to look more and more like broken hearts.

I admit, my last "success" was actually not successful at all- but to be honest I just really wanted to include the phrase "mushroom hunting" in this post- and can you really blame me for that?

For my next blog post (and who can say when that will be) I will be discussing the "most impossible puzzle ever created". And no, I'm not exaggerating. Get ready.

The Glory of Competitive Eating

Okay Okay so this blog initially started out as a nice little forum to share all my crazy childhood stories. However the response to my last post about my cursed manatee necklace was so positive I thought I would continue with my digression and post an update on my recent and slow return into Karma's good graces. How do I know that the heaven's are giving me a slight reprieve? Well thats what this blog is about. That and my triumphant conquering of the famous 3/4th of a pound fully loaded Thurman burger.

It was a beautiful Wednesday night. The kind of early spring night that makes you crave a delicious grilled hamburger and a cold draft beer (or coke depending on your age, or Pepsi if your like me and enjoy the undeniable sweetness that comes in a blue can.) Add that to the fact that it was my sister's boyfriend's birthday and the only reasonable thing I could do was strap on my sling and travel, one armed to the world famous Thurman's Cafe in German Village. Now if you've never heard of this burger joint you are either a. a vegetarian, b. live under a rock or c. clearly never watch the best show on cable tv, "man vs, food". It is a local burger restaurant famous for their 3/4th a pound "Thurman burgers." And these are not your average burgers-there all all sorts of tasty and super-healthy toppings. For those who are extra ambitious there is also the lofty "Thurmanator" which consists of 2 huge patties instead of one. The birthday boy ordered this treat and when they brought it out i thought we were going to watch him code right there. THAT is what you call a delicious heart attack on a plate.

Anyways our burgers arrived after a short wait and a plate of French fries later and my stomach growled at the sight. I tentatively picked up the monster and tried to take a bite as lady-like as you possibly can when you only have one functioning arm. While I lost some valuable topping I was impressive in the skilled and efficient way i managed to cram that beef and bun in my mouth.

I started to slow down (understandably so ) with 1/4 of the burger to go and began having daydreams about take home boxes when i looked across the table to see my sister nonchalantly polishing off HER burger like it was a day in the park. NO way was i going to let my baby sister out-eat me! Invigorated I showed the finals bites down and chased the last of it down with my last sips of water. SUCCESS!

I was able to successfully beat food in my very own food standoff! It was now all so clear why people are competitive eaters- the rush of adrenaline, the glory! It was like a runner's high with out the health for your heart. And thats when I knew that my karma had returned.

No one choked on the large portions of food. No one threw up. No one passed out or had a heart attack and i found the inner strength to complete the challenge. Clearly the only explanation is that my good luck has returned. I mean, lets be real here- if I'd have been wearing that manatee necklace there is just no telling what might have happened. Certainly there would have been rain instead of the wonderful sunshine and warm weather we've had. In fact, i'd like to think that the nice weather we've had is entirely due to me and my brand new good karma- so for those of you basking in the (literally) warm glow of my success feel free to send cash, checks, or ice cream my way and I promise to put in a good word for you next time mother nature and I have a chat.

Manatees and Broken Arms

I know its been a little while since I've last blogged and I promise to do better in the future but in all fairness my reasons for not posting are pretty legit. I am currently a one armed, bus riding, sling wearing member of society, all because of a little incident with black ice. Yes thats right, I was jogging to my apartments workout facility (because it was just too dangerously slippery to run outside) when I slipped on that tricky black ice and went down harder than a rotten sack of potatoes. Just like that Canadian Alanis Morisette said,

'isn't it ironic?"

Anyways, my point is that typing one handed is no easy feat and add that to the string of bad luck I've had in the short time that has been 2010 and it's easy to see why I've been distracted. You see, my broken arm isn't the first bad thing thats happened, its just one thing in a long run of incidents that I at first attributed to bad karma. With the amount of unlucky circumstances I've had (my apartment flooded, I got my first speeding ticket, my dog died, and i got the flu) I figured I just really made the karma gods mad somehow. Then I got to thinking- I'm a good person! I make poverty wages voluntarily! I volunteer! This cant be a case of bad karma. So i made the only other logical connection. My bad luck must be a result of the manatee necklace my boyfriend got me for Christmas. Yes you heard me right, I own a manatee necklace.

Let me explain, if you know me you understand I have an illogical but great love of the gentle sea cows of North America (who also seem to have bad luck). So for Christmas this past year my amazing boyfriend bought me a silver manatee necklace online. I immediately put it on and decided with great relish that I was never taking it off. Now some people may have become annoyed at the constant inquires as to why I was wearing a furry dolphin around my neck but no, I just found my silver mammal to be an excellent conversation starter among both friends and strangers. Until bad things started happening and continuing to happen until one day the necklace fell off (and because I am one armed right now -stayed off). Once I quit wearing the necklace my good luck returned. I found out I didn't need surgery, my work presentation went well and I stopped getting sick!

But why you ask would a simple manatee necklace be cursed? The answer is simple, my boyfriend bought it online, we don't know where it came from. Perhaps it was stolen from a grave on a cursed Native American burial ground (this seems to be the likely explanation) or perhaps a tragic story of a zoo-keeper and her favorite pet manatee is attached. Likely we will never find out and its also likely my manatee necklace will need to be exorcised before I can wear it in good conscience again. But I will say this- not many girls can say they have been given a cursed manatee necklace for Christmas so Mike, you win in the categories of originality and excitement. And to my readers, never fear my crazy childhood stories will be back shortly-right after I'm done Googling "how to de-curse your beloved manatee necklace." I am sure Apple has an App for that.

Sell that Yogurt!

I spent alot of my childhood in the kitchen (which oddly isn't really reflected in my cooking skills today). My mom, growing up in a large family with lots of mouths to feed thought it was very important that my sister and I acquire competent cooking skills so that later in life we would be able to not only eat real meals but also cook for others. (Sorry mom) I suppose somewhere in the many hours we spent "helping" her in the kitchen these values were ingrained but to be honest I was too busy to notice at the time. Time spent in the kitchen for ME was more about whipping up disgusting and unrecognizable concoctions and stroking my ego by pretending to 1. be the star of a cooking show or 2. be the star in a commercial (notice the theme here?).
Yes, instead of focusing on making healthy, delicious food for my family I chose to instead practice my fake smile at an imaginary camera and tone my "adult superstar presenter" voice. I practiced stirring while looking at my imaginary audience and telling funny stories. I didn't care so much about how even my batter was so long as I looked good. Lest you think I am the conceited one in the family, my sister did the same thing. Sometimes we would even make guest appearances on each other's "shows" (the kitchen was less noisy that way). Did my mom notice this was going on? Of course. Did she ignore it? Without a doubt. She had much more important things to worry about- like making sure the family wasn't going to be poisoned by my sister and my lack of attention.

Occasionally (if my mom kicked us out of the kitchen in utter exasperation-which is impressive as she is the most patient person I know) we would resort to the less glamorous but still fulfilling, commercial acting. Instead of trying to give our audience helpful tips about cooking or baking we would try to sell household items or food products. Our favorite thing to sell (by far) was yogurt. Carefully we would open the carton by pulling the lid back, every so gently filling our spoon with creamy yogurt-y goodness and murmur a delighted "mmm" . There was NO ONE in that fake audience that didn't want to try our brand of yogurt when we were done. NO ONE. Not only did I learn about brand loyalty but these play commercials were a wonderful opportunity to practice my accents (which would come in handy as a fun way to entertain myself at the bar).

The best days though, were not as famous superstars on a critically acclaimed cooking show (because of course the imaginary critics loved us) no, the best days were "concoction days". A concoction day was a day when my mother decided to forgo teaching us the logistics behind baking brownies or chocolate chip cookies and let us come up with our own (in)edible dishes. We would go crazy on these days. No longer bound by the strict regulations of a recipe we would pull spices and sauces and baking ingredients from the kitchen cabinets and create a bigger melting pot than all of America. Somehow these mixtures, despite the fact that we used different ingredients every time, always ended up looking the same. Rachel and I were, in fact, the world's foremost chefs in making inedible brown mush. To this day I don't understand why the FoodNetwork never approached us as shining examples in the cooking world. It sounds easy but its harder than one thinks to create a mixture that looks and tastes like death. At the end of our concoction session it was our parent's duty to taste-test the salve and give us a raving review (thats positive parenting right there) and they always did.

Despite my mother's best intentions my sister and I still rely way too heavily on that wonderful modern invention, the microwave. If I've learned anything though from my time under those bright kitchen lights it is this- perfect that smile, learn to wink and find someone (anyone) who will cook for you. Because like the wall hanging Rachel and I have up in our kitchen says, we definitely kiss better than we cook.

This is what you do when you don’t own video games

I am not a gamer. I have never owned any type of video consul in my life. No Nintendo 64, no Game Cube, X-Box or any of the other various types of electronic devices that allows you to live out your dreams of being a small Italian racecar driver or a fanatical killing machine. For some unknown reason, these things never held my interest when I was young. Not growing up in a world of Tetris and Halo, however, has had a number of interesting effects on my life. One is that I have without a doubt THE WORST hand-eye coordination of any moderately intelligent, competent human being. I wish I were exaggerating but this is sadly, not the case. If only I had spent more time testing my reflexes with the soft touch that is required to blow the head off of an alien or round a curve in a high functioning car. Alas, I am forever destined to be the girl everyone is afraid to get in a (real) car with.

The second effect this has had is that I REFUSE; absolutely refuse to participate in any type of party, group gathering or family function that requires me to play one of said video games for fear of jilting embarrassment. Unfortunately this has led to a lifetime of sitting on the sidelines, drinking heavily (tragic I know) while my friends/significant others battle each other in the ultimate showdown of dominance. Instead of relying on a common ground in the world of gaming to get to know my peers I instead had to rely on that other social lubricant we all know and love-alcohol (but only after I was 21 of course).

I digress. One positive thing that HAS come from a lifetime of deprivation in the world of electronics is that it forced my sister and me to creatively come up with interesting alternatives. So instead of mindlessly staring at the TV for hours on end, Rachel and I would make up stories. And believe me, our stories were better than any make believe video game world (SO LAME). Our stories were based on magazines.

That’s right, you heard me. Magazines. And not interesting magazines, like Time or People or even BusinessMoney (oookay maybe that’s not so interesting). Our stories were based upon the khaki and pastel clad men and women of L. L. Bean. Yes, it may have been a clothing magazine to you. But to my sister and me it was a wonderful world full of people showing off their rugged but all-American look just waiting to jump from the glossy pages of the magazine and come to life in the middle of our living room. There were pictures upon pictures of men, women and children climbing and hiking and running and playing till their hearts content. Through them, even in the darkest of winter, we could live in a wonderful outdoor adventureland. We would sit for hours making up classy stories full of mysteries and intrigue. Like the story of the mother and her daughter trapped on the mountainside (snappily dressed of course-there were ample descriptive words used in these stories) waiting for rescue, hoping to outsmart the ravenous mountain lion waiting in the shadows. Or, if it was a Christmas catalog (those were the best gosh darn it!) we would weave splendid tales of family drama and occasionally (If they were advertising pet supplies) stories about regal looking golden retrievers. Believe me, you haven’t really lived until you’ve felt the steady increase of your heart as you wait in anticipation for the mail to arrive, and with it your beloved quarterly magazine. Take that gamers.

So while I may not have had the opportunity and the luxury of practicing my hand-eye coordination and while I don’t have quite the thumb dexterity that my peers have achieved over a lifetime of video game dominance I do have a vocabulary ripe with detailed words and I will never mistake calling an L.L. Bean shirt PINK when it is so clearly Magenta.

The Ken Conundrum

For the most part, every little girl plays with Barbies (and some little boys do too) at some point in their childhood. So it stands to reason then that almost every little girl has come across and run into at some point what I like to dub "the Ken Conundrum." what is the Ken Conundrum you ask? Aside from being phonetically intriguing, it is the idea that the ratio of Barbie dolls to Ken dolls (in a typical household) is usually highly unbalanced in the favor of the blonde bombshell. In fact scientic studies done to support my theory show that the Barbie to Ken Ratio is actually 30:1. (disclaimer- i totally just made all that up) keeping these numbers in mind, the ken Conundrum is the problem of deciding which Barbie's get to date Ken.

Little girls have a couple key decisions to make when faced with the Ken Conundrum. One, they can choose to dip their toes into the drama of having Ken date more than one Barbie (which usually ends in tears). Two, they can choose to pair up their elusive Ken doll with their Favorite Barbie, leaving the least favorite Barbies sad and alone. Three, they can forgo Ken (men) altogether. A fourth option is available however and this was the option that my sister and i typically chose (we were pragmatic afterall).
Instead of whoring Ken out, exulting a singular relationship, or turning Barbie lesbian my sister and I chose a more independent route. Our Barbies were hot-to-trot divorcees. Independent and attractive dolls who left the troughs of an unhealthy relationship. Often we brought in Ken as the occasional date or ex-husband but most of the time we simply left him to rot in his plastic bin. Our Barbie's were career women (albeit with skimpy clothes) who didn't need a man to validate her. Often times we even threw in a Stacy doll and made them single mothers. (Stacy, for those of you unlucky to be intimately familiar with the Mattel World, is roughly an 8 year old girl (ahem, doll) who actually is supposed to be Barbie's younger sister).

So the lesson is this; instead of fretting over the fact that you don't have an adequate amount of Ken dolls, break up your Barbie Dream House, throw in a child and let go of your childish notions that you have to have an equal number of Barbie and Ken dolls (because everyone knows that is JUST not going to happen.)

The Great Tree

Every little kid plays make believe at some point or another. Its pretty much a given fact. And there are any number of ways in which they will achieve this. Some will pretend they are sports stars. Some will pretend they are teachers. Some will even pretend they are animals. And some kids, kids like my sister and myself, will pretend their Christmas Ornaments are living breathing creatures with a destiny.

Yes this is a true story of bravery, valor and adventure. And no, I am not kidding. If the ornaments didn't take the long journey from my parents coffee table to THE GREAT TREE (also known by everyday average people as a so-called "Christmas Tree")how were they going to enjoy the month of December as Christmas decorations? And more importantly, how were they going to keep an eye on my Christmas presents? (We all know the elves try to steal presents when Santa isn't looking).

So my sister and I came to the conclusion that OUR Christmas ornnments deserved much better than a simple tree hanging. They deserved an adventure! To begin we would pile all the ornaments onto the coffee table. Then, depending on the year we would create some sort of story line that would involve an angel visitng the townsfolk at night warning them of a great disaster and encouraging them to make the trip to the Great Tree where they could finally rest at ease. Naturally we had sevreal ornaments who we used as leaders. These ornaments, the wise and mysterious unicorn, the warm and experienced kitten and several others took on the responsibility of transporting the entire town safely through dangerous mountain ranges (the stairs), intimidating forests (our parent's fake plants), and lastly the cliffs of insanity (the kitchen counters). Like any great journey there were a few casualities (which our parents were none to pleased about) but the majority of the ornaments reached the welcoming branches of the Great Tree without harm. The adventure was full of heartache (Mickey and Minnie usually had some sort of falling out) romance (Barbie usually managed to find a man), and intrigue (sometimes non-ornaments would make an appearance). Needless to say, getting a dog in middle school threw a whole new element into the mix as the ornaments had to avoid being crushed by the large and ferocious beast. And yes I just admitted that we did this well into middle school. Stop judging!

Once the ornaments reached the Great Tree they had to decide where to be placed. This was important because certain ornaments could not be next to each other or fighting would ensue -and the Great Tree is too busy shining brightly and full of Christmas cheer to have that kind of a distraction. So it was up to my sister and I to make sure that everyone was placed appropriately and in a spot condusive to the zen like quality we wanted the tree to maintain.

I like to say we did a good job- as every year our tree looked beautiful and even though its admirers had no idea the trials and tribulations it took to make the tree look just so, they appreciated it all the same.

The lesson is this, next time you are putting your tree up consider how your ornaments feel. Just because they can't talk (without your help) doesn't mean they aren't important.

How will you hand YOUR ornaments this year?!

My childhood

If you know me, then chances are you have been privileged (or maybe not) to hear many of my unique childhood stories. I grew up a normal girl with a big imagination and my sister (she will be so angry is she doesn't get a shout out) and I had what resulted in (unbeknown to us at the time) a very unique childhood full of awkward and funny stories. This blog is a collaboration of stories that over the years have made for some interesting tellings. So sit back and enjoy the foray into my world.