Today I'm an evil monster

But I have a number of good excuses for the highly cranky behavior that has been inflicted on all those in my path since I rolled out of bed this morning:

 

1. I keep waking up at 7 a.m. for absolutely no reason and am overtired

2. My sister is moving back to school and that's sad in and of itself

3. My sister moving backing to school means that I have to go move her back in, which means that I will be inevitably depressed because I wish that I was moving back to college where I could once again be young and carefree and fun

4.  PMS (always an excellent, though probably overused, excuse)

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Never again

Do I want a job that requires me to pack a huge feedbag to get me through the day... 

Lunch boxes are really just not cool after third grade.  They're probably not even cool then.  

You'll notice that this particular lunch box happens to be ginormous.  That is because when Mama so kindly went out in search of a nerdy lunch box for me to cart my piles of snacks to work, she proudly returned with an EXPANDABLE lunch box.  Yes, this is the lunch box at its hugest.  And it often needed to be expanded to this gigantic size to fit my food.  

Because I eat.  A lot.

I am a weather stalker.

Yes, that's right, I said it. A stalker of the weather.

Perhaps it's simply an extension of my other natural stalking tendencies and a propensity for obsessive compulsive behavior.

Regardless, apparently its weird.

I'm not quite sure when it started, but at some point in time I became a fanatic checker of The Weather Channel. Every morning I'd make a dash for the remote to try and catch the "Local on the 8's." I'm thinking it was probably related to trying to plan what to wear for school, always an ordeal in and of itself (particularly during the first grade daily tantrum-due-to-cowlick phase ).

I then upgraded to the frequent check-in on weather.com to examine the 10-day forecast. And, of course, to keep an eye out for any of those flashing severe weather updates potentially warning about a threat of tornadoes or flooding or extraordinarily large hail.

Now, I have reached the critically disturbing point of becoming intimately involved with the interactive radar map. You know, just to see whether there are any large green/red/yellow masses of future precipitation heading in my direction.

I just want to be prepared. I don't want to be caught without an umbrella if a storm's a-brewing. I don't want to wear pants if its going to be a scorcher. I don't want to plan a day trip to the beach only to have my fun-in-the-sun cut short by thunderstorms. Clearly I am just planning ahead and remaining informed.

However, it has recently been brought to my attention – by a weirded-out boyfriend and disturbed coworkers – that apparently it is not the norm to masquerade as an obsessed meteorologist. Apparently some people don't even know where the Weather Channel is on their TV! In fact, one individual imparted the shocking fact that "Um, the weather is the weather." i.e. "You cannot change the weather (you weirdo) so why in the world do you feel the need to remain abreast of its every gust and droplet?"

Well then.
Point taken.
I'm working on it.

Ugh

Is this election over yet?

This could be a problem

As I have pointed out numerous times (and what many of my nearest and dearest get to hear about day after day after day to the point that they probably want to stab themselves in the eye with a fork) I am in the midst of a job search.

A never-ending job search.
A job search that continually leads me to determine that, perhaps, I am simply not meant to work.

Every job posting I come across, every career path I consider, sounds like it could be fun… for about one day. Any longer than that, not so much.

I am cursed with office-claustrophobia – i.e. freak out when confined to a desk for long periods of time with a numb rump, computer-glazed eyes and unfortunate fluorescent lighting. You see how this really narrows down my options.

That said, today marks the conclusion of my eight week summer institute program developing materials for standardized tests. So, as of five p.m., I will once again be unemployed.

The disturbing part?

When I woke up this morning, I was giddy.
Because I will be unemployed again.

There is nothing I hate more...

than loud open-mouth chewing in addition to / accompanied by audible finger-licking

It's like nails on a chalkboard.
But worse.

Potty Party

Since I've been subjected to the confines of an office once again for the past eight weeks, my peoplewatching radar has really spiked. Truly, when you are imprisoned in a single location for 8+ hours a day, there is nothing more fascinating than observing your coworkers. Especially when they are a rather bizarre bunch. And they pretty much always are.

So, with my return to the office, one of my pet monster peeves has surfaced again. With this I refer to the uncomfortable horrors of the office bathroom.

A representative anecdote:

Two women come into the bathroom. They are having a detailed, professional discussion.

Chat chat chat.
They throw around some statistics and numbers.
Chat chat chat.

They enter adjacent stalls.

Here is a moment that inevitably presents an awkward etiquette dilemma: do you continue talking, or stop the discussion and pretend that the spindly walls of your stall actually provide a semblance of privacy?

They choose to continue talking.

After a few moments, the sound of...intestinal rumbling...echoes loudly from one of the stalls. The rumbler continues talking right over the awkward moment of punctuation. She raises her voice and just keeps on talking, pretending it never happened.

It did happen.
Her discussion buddy knows it happened.
We all know it happened.
We all have ears.

When they exit their stalls they are still talking, unfazed, because nothing has happened.


Moral of the story:
Office restrooms were designed by a cruel architectural demon.
No one - I mean absolutely not a single soul on earth (unless you are a major creep that gets your jollies out of this kind of thing) - wants to be privy to the bodily functions of their subordinates or higher-ups. It is a breeding ground of awkward situations and embarrassment. It should be outlawed.

I can't wait to be unemployed again.

Diamonds are a girl's best friend

Especially when she's as obsessed as I am...

I just stumbled across these rings from Brides.com, which I had bookmarked quite a while ago...

one

two

three

Home in a Box

Very cool MSN article about metal shipping containers transformed into stylish eco-friendly homes...

Longing for...

These JCrew jersey-knit pants - a classier older cousin of the legging

Yum

Inspiration of the day, courtesy of Daily Candy
http://peoplespopsicle.blogspot.com/

Communing with Nature

This evening's highlights:

Getting peed on by the neighbor's dog, hydrant style (According to my neighbor I shouldn't be offended, "it happens to anything vertical")...

The first signs of fall...

An absolutely amazing sunset

This is not normal

This is what happens when I visit the dangerous bug-ridden swamp lands - aka my boyfriend's suburban home in Northern NJ, 20 minutes outside of Manhattan.  

For whatever reason, the bugs in his town seem to enjoy feasting on fresh Central Jersey flesh.  Even at ELEVEN A.M.  What kind of bugs do this at 11 a.m.?  On a Sunday.  Isn't Sunday a day of rest?  Doesn't that include these monsters?

And I have been getting more and more obscene reactions to bug bites all summer....  Honestly, this isn't even that bad, compared to some prior specimens.

Pity me.

Pondering

Why am I immediately sent into a claustrophobia-induced tizzy when forced to remain in anything remotely resembling an office environment for more than an hour or two...

Pondering

Why people spend an hour at the gym, sweating on a Stairmaster alongside crowds of other sweaty characters, but never take the stairs if there's an elevator in sight...

Jenny

My sister has demanded that I post a picture of her, as younger sisters are wont to make demands.  

And yes, she IS younger.  I just want to get that out of the way now.  She is FOUR years younger.  SHE is just starting her sophomore year of college.  Not ME.  She is not 23.  She did not graduate in 2007.  Believe it or not, I am the older one.  

I am aware that I perhaps look young for my age.  I know I know I know - I'll appreciate it later on in life when everyone else my age is old and drooping and wrinkled and decrepit and, oh look!  I finally look like I'm in my twenties!  But for now, let it be said, that most twenty-three year olds will not take it as a compliment if you say "Oh my goodness!  You look like you're about sixteen!  But oh you are going to LOVE that when you get older..."

I'm just clearing that up - perhaps you've noticed it's a slightly touchy subject...

Pondering

Why any country would spend $40 BILLION dollars on a two week athletic extravaganza... (much of that $40 billion going towards creating acrobatic human torches and city-demolishing quantities of fireworks)

Don't get me wrong, I am all about the Olympics. I rooted for my country and stared at Michael Phelps' abs as much as the next girl. And watching the closing ceremonies just now was incredibly impressive. It was a visual masterpiece.

But I just find it hard to fathom that $40 billion dollars would not be better spent on other things

(PS - that is probably the only semi even-remotely-related-to political commentary that I will ever make. enjoy it while it (doesn't) last)

Eating

Tonight I went out to dinner in the city (disclaimer: when i refer to "The City" i always mean NYC) with my boyfriend and his family for his parents' anniversary. We went to The Capital Grille, which is a really absolutely gorgeous restaurant in the Chrysler Center. The service was perfect and professional, and the setting itself is exquisite. Plus the weather was absolutely perfect, just cool and breezy enough, which never hurts when you're traipsing through Manhattan.

In my opinion, you can always judge a restaurant based on the bread (or other complimentary treats) they bring to the table right before or after you order. I have a real problem when restaurants don't give you something to nibble on while you're waiting for your food. If I'm paying (or rather, my boyfriend is paying) $40 for an entree, I expect to get at least a slice of bread to tide me over until I get my food.


That said, the bread at Capital Grille was delish. A big basket full of different options - including an amazing warm, pumpernickel raisin bread of sorts. I knew we were off to a good start. Next was a fresh mozzerella, tomato and basil salad with aged balsamic. Let it be said that I was already completely satiated by this point in the meal.


I ordered the scallop special, which was well-cooked and tasty, but very plain - pan-seared with not much else, a mini tricolore salad and a few plantains on the side. We also ordered a number of the semi-family style side dishes - including the ultra-creamy mashed potatoes and roasted mixed mushrooms.


Dessert was worth taking pictures of. The monstrous hunk of chocolate hazelnut cake was just rich enough, and balanced out by the thick, creamy chocolate hazelnut icing. The waiter also brought over a complimentary cheesecake for the anniversary celebration, and I can honestly say it was the best cheesecake I have ever tasted in my entire life (and I am not usually a cheesecake person). I think it had something to do with the caramelized cinnamon and sugar on the top, which added just a hint of unexpected crunch. Yum!

The best time of day

The best time of day:  Late spring thru early fall, sundown, when everything is at its most quiet and still; epitomized on the beach when everyone packs up and gets ready to go to dinner, and you're left on a perfectly deserted, no longer-scorching stretch of sand

Introducing Kathy

A few years ago I acquired the nickname Kathy for my slightly sassier alter-ego that appears after half a glass of wine.  I am a hyper-observant twenty-three year old with ADD-esque thought patterns.

A mere billion years late, I am finally joining the blogosphere.

Honestly, I’m a bit self conscious about blogging and whether people will read this and think what I often think when I stumble upon a new blog:

• This person is a complete narcissist. Why do they think anyone cares about the trauma of their recent breakup?
• This is not well-written. This is not funny. This is a sad attempt at online entertainment.
• Again, who cares?

Despite my reservations, I clearly have enough narcissism stowed away somewhere to think that the rest of the online world would be better off if they had the opportunity to hear my ramblings on a daily basis.

I graduated from Rutgers University in 2007 after reading thousands of pages of English and Spanish literature and eating hundreds of dollars worth of cinnamon oreo ice cream.

I worked in Manhattan for a year doing healthcare PR. I commuted four hours a day to get there from central New Jersey. This can be referred to as "the lost year." I was miserable, quit, went to Spain, came home and spent a lot of time by the pool.

I am now trying to figure out what to do with my life. I am beginning to concoct increasingly bogus plans since I have eliminated virtually all full-time job options as horrible breeding grounds of boredom and torture. Whatever I decide to do, I would like to make obscene amounts of money that would allow me to live in a beautiful exposed-brick-laden penthouse somewhere in the Village in NYC. Suggestions are welcome, as long as you are willing to support my delusions.

Food consumes approximately 88% of my thoughts every day, including what I have eaten, what I am currently eating, and what I plan on eating next. If I am working in any kind of office, I have a designated snack drawer. On trips or any kind of extended travel, I bring a feedbag. I have the constant, fickle cravings of a pregnant woman. I think it’s a sin to skip breakfast. I want to love to cook, but really all I want to do is eat what someone else has already prepared for me.

The other 12% cannot even be categorized because it is a massive jumble of hyperactive, obsessive, random thoughts. Because I've started a blog, you are now privy to a small portion of this jumble. Lucky you.
I tend to peoplewatch more often and more intensely than the average person. I intend to share my thoughts on that quite often.

I am very politically incorrect. Prepare yourself. I seem to have gotten considerably less tolerant of the human race over the past five years. I also harbor a considerable degree of road rage.

I wish that the U.S. would ban SUVs and skyscrapers. We should also institute the whole European plazas-everywhere thing. And tapas.

I have trouble telling stories in a linear fashion. I’m warning you now.

I enjoy: the best time of day, wine so sweet it tastes like juice, oatmeal with chocolate chips, tapas, autumn, bread, bookstores, plazas, driving with the windows down and AC on, RU, Audrey Hepburn movies, ballet, "yikes," virtually every dress ever made by BCBG, la lengua española, Old Spice deodorant, yellow gold, roundabout stories, the beach (particularly at the BTOD) , recently vacuumed rooms, New Jersey

I have issues with: mayonnaise, people who like to hear themselves talk, heavy breathers, most dogs (and people who thinks their dogs are people), sniffling, remaining sedentary, loud public nose-blowing, long commutes, overtime