I've often been called peripatetic
With a serious thing I'd forget it
But there'd be hell to pay
If I forgot to say
I have a new blog with a nicer aesthetic.
That's right folks, I have a new blog. So if you want to keep up with me, please check out www.fullstinahead.com. I know, I know. I am just powerless when it comes to cheesy puns. So, thanks, Blogspot, but I think I'll take my leave of you now. It's been fun, but I need to move on.
Update your browsers! Hopefully by the end of the weekend, I'll be caught up on setting the thing up.
Thanks for reading!
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
A Running Stream of Consciousness
Yesterday (ETA: Two days ago. I didn't get this up in time, as I lost interest yesterday. Today will be another running day, so we'll see how that goes) I ran for the first time in weeks. Aren't y'all proud of me? I had gotten to the point where I'd be fine doing weight-lifting with minimal cardio, but had gotten into some kind of mental block when it came to running. This seriously needed to end, since I was bulking up on muscle, but not cutting fat. Not the most flattering set of circumstances. So I drank half of a Venom Energy Drink that I had in the fridge, hoping beyond hope that it would energize me enough to quit stalling. It, uh, worked?And now a minute-by-minute breakdown of the run, on Wednesday June 22, at FFC on Halsted, circa 9:15 PM.
Min 1.--Tank top! Woo! Now I know that I'm serious about running. Gotta go stretch. Stretch stretch stretch.
Min 3.--Stretch stretch stretch. Wow those thigh exercises really worked yesterday. The groin stretch hurts. Heh, groin.
Min 5.--Stretch stretch stretch. Okay, maybe now you're stalling. The treadmill can wait all night for you, ya know.
Min 6.--Okay! Treadmill. Ooh, first I have to find Bravo, 'cause Top Chef: Masters is on. It's a tradition to run to the sweet sights of gourmet food and overly dramatic chefs. I need to be in my comfort zone. Speeds 1.0 & 1.5.
Min 7.--Speeds 2.0 & 2.5. We're walking, we're walking. Come on, I'm ready to go! Symphony this weekend. I wonder what I'm going to wear.
Min 8.--Speeds 3.0 & 3.5. I should buy a skirt or something. What? You mean not pants? I know, what's up with that? What is this boy doing to you? Maybe you should wear an aporn and bake a pie. Hey, let's not get ahead of ourselves now. I'm far from domestic, coaster obsession aside. But seriously, coasters are necessary on wooden tables like ours. Rings look horrible in the wood. JUST USE A COASTER.
Min 9.--Speeds 4.0 & 4.5. Woo, speeding up. This is more like it. A light jog for my little legs. Ooh, I'd like a mandarin orange right now. Thanks Top Chef. Who are these people? And that is just not Padma. I'm not sure how much I care about these "Masters." They're too respectful of everyone, and the critics just aren't as mean. Where's the fun in that?
Min 10.--Speed 5.0. Aaaand we're running. Hurrah! Ow. No, seriously, OW. I, uh, think I need a new sportsbra. Dang. This really hurts. Will I look like a complete dork if I just hold my chest for a little while? Until the less bouncy speeds. I mean, I'm running next to girls. They'll understand.
Min 11.--Speed 5.5. Aww, yeah. Here we go. Ow, still hurts, though. What was the name of that thigh exercise I did yesterday? What muscle group is that? Not the Quads. That other muscle. Well, whatever, those muscles are still kinda sore.
Min 12.--Speed 5.5. Doo doo doo. Jogging along, singing this song. Doooooo. Whoa, plating drama on the show! How exciting could this get?!
Min 13.-- Speed 5.5. Wow, I'm out of shape, aren't I? I'm already starting to get slightly winded. That's not normal. I still have over 15 minutes left of actual running. And it's only going to get much worse. Just watch the TV. Let TV solve all of your problems.
Min 14.--Speed 5.5. This episode is really boring. They're too nice to each other. The food looks good. Look at the food. Not!Padma isn't very interesting. But, hey, Gail Simmons. She's a good standard for the Top Chef viewing experience.
Min 15.--Speed 5.5. Woo-I'm so excited, and I just can't hide it. I'm about to lose control and I think I like it! I'm so excited, and I just can't hide it. And I know, I know, I know, I know. I know I want you, want you!
Min 16.--Speed 6.0. Here we go. This is the stuff. I missed you, 6.0. The two of us have spent so many hours together. In perfect harmony. It's almost like coming home. Ow, okay. I'm moving, I'm moving.
Min 17.--Speed 6.0. Wow, this really isn't so bad. Yeah, I'll be fine for the rest of the run. Awesome! For the first time, I feel really good. AAADRENAAALIIIINE! WOOOHOOOO!
Min 18. --Speed 6.0. Dude. Hey, dude. I think you should go for 6.5 when you hit 20 minutes. I know that you said to yourself that today was a mild run to get back into this, but I don't think it'll be a problem. You're doing fine. You can totally do 5 minutes at 6.5. Awesome, let's do it.
Min 19.--Speed 6.0. Oh man, oh man, oh man. I'm starting to get tired again. I don't know about this, self. I don't know if I can go up to 6.5 yet. I'm scared, dude. This is going to suck. I know it's going to suck. I don't wanna. I don't wanna. OH STOP IT. You already told yourself that you were going to do this. You'll hate yourself if you back out. YOU CAN DO IT! Suck it up and run! It's only going to be for 5 minutes.
Min 20.--Speed 6.0. Okay. Okay. I can do this. It'll be okay. Just watch the TV and hope that boring commercials don't come on to stretch out the minutes. You are so hardcore. You can do it. This is nothing. Remember how you used to regularly run for 10 minutes on 6.5? And those times that you went up to 15 minutes? Hey, hey remember when you did 5 minutes on 7.0. That was pretty awesome. You didn't even vomit afterwards. I was so proud of you. Okay, brace yourself. Cause here...we...go.
Min 21. (The Point of No Return)--Speed 6.5. Omigodomigodomigod. I'm going to die. This is it. Why did I think I could do this? It is too soon to be this fast. My legs are going to fall off. I know it. I'm going to end up legless like that mother in Home, the uber-creepy, banned episode of The X-Files, where her sons keep her on a rolling platform under the bed so they can, uh....Oh god, I'm creeping myself out here. Keepgoingkeepgoing.
Min 22.--Speed 6.5. I'mgoingtodieI'mgoingtodieI'mgoingtodie. How do I still have 3.5 minutes left? That's wrong. I've been running at this speed for at least 2 minutes. I know I have. STOP LYING TO ME, MACHINE. I just know you're going to start going backwards and make me run for like 10 minutes on the horrible speed. AAAAH.
Min 23.--Speed 6.5. You know, you can stop at any time and nobody would know. Just push that little button right there and all of this pain will go away. You don't have to answer to anyone but yourself. It's okay. Just push that button and stop punishing yourself. You deserve it. GAH. NO. I WILL NOT LET YOU TRICK ME. Two more minutes. You can do two more minutes. JUST SUCK IT UP AND RUN.
Min 24.--Speed 6.5. Was that you? Did you just make a little whimpering noise? I don't think that girl next to you heard. She's engrossed in some reality TV show where people are encouraged to take their clothes off and scream at each other. OH GOD THIS HURTS. IwanttodieIwanttodieIwanttodie. #*&%#&%#?!?!?! A COMMERCIAL?! I NEED YOU, TOP CHEF! I NEED YOUR DISTRACTION, NOT THE DAMN FREECREDITREPORT.COM SINGERS.
Min 25.--Speed 6.5. Onemoreminuteonemoreminuteonemoreminute. I CAN DO IT. I CAN DO IT! Okay, okay. Focus on your breathing. DON'T LOOK AT THE CLOCK. Breathe in. Breathe out. Your legs are okay. Your lungs are okay. You're okay. You won't die. 29, 28, 27, 26. Okay, look at the TV again. Distract yourself. SOON. SOOOOON! 12, 11, 10, omigod, 8, 7, 6, aaah, 4, 3, 2, 1...ARROW DOWN ARROW DOWN ARROW DOWN.
Min 26.--Speed 6.0. This is so much harder than it was earlier. Well that's a no-brainer, stupid. You exhausted yourself with stupid 6.5, after you haven't been running at all. Now you're going to have to push yourself harder next time or you won't feel like you're doing this right. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!
Min 27.--Speed 6.0. OHHH...Lollipop, lollipop, oh lolli-lolli. Lollipop. (POP!) Ba dum dum...
Min 28.--Speed 6.0. I'm exhausted now. I should just give up. NO! Don't give up! You're so close! What would Starbuck say to your giving up? She doesn't give up. She dragged her ass around a no-atmo red moon with a broken knee and then rigged a crashed Raider to fly. And you want to stop running on a little treadmill....Dude, Starbuck isn't REAL. Well she's real to me, so just shut your hole.
Min 29.--Speed 6.0. Gotta remember to get 4.5 on Tuesday. So soon! For, uh, Mike & Laura to watch. Of course. You shouldn't have watched that fan vid today. You don't even like fan videos, but now you're all BSGing. What's the deal? Well that fan vid was really really good, actually. Not like most of them. This one had surprisingly awesome editing & appropriate clips, perfect musical selection, and was a really nice take on the relationship. It almost made me cry. Shut up, I have lots of feelings okay? My mouth is dry. I really want some water. Do you think that girl would get me some water if I asked? She seems nice...
Min 30.--Speed 6.0. I've been meaning to talk to you about something, now that you've reminded me. Now, don't take this the wrong way, but you need to hear it. Dude, I think you may be a shipper. AND THAT'S OKAY. I mean, only a shipper would get excited about seeing a nice fan video about a fictional relationship on a TV show that's been over for months. Just own it. You don't have a livejournal. You don't post on the message boards. You're not very scary. But come on. Dude.
Min 31.--Speed 5.5. Oh wow, that's better. Ouch, back to the older issue, though. Let's just hold them there. But dude, I am not a shipper. How could you even say that? No, no, it's okay. You take an intellectual approach to shipping and aren't in it only for the "squee." You tend to like the pairings more the more you think about them. THAT'S OKAY. You're just kind of a shipper. At least you don't write fanfic. That crosses all kinds of lines. But you are kind of into that aspect of fandom. Not only that aspect, but it's a significant part of your viewing experience. At least with some shows, like BSG. I mean, you go on rants. Like right now in your head.
Min 32.--Speed 5.0. But, but Those Shippers are crazy. I mean, that's the totally nutso part of the fandom. Certainly the K/L side of it, I know. And I'm sure people see the (clearly much saner & superior) K/S contingent in a similar way. I just don't want to think of myself in those terms. I don't think you are. But you do like it. If you liked them because of the pretty, well, that would be different. But you're all about the themes of the show and epicness! Man, I'm excited to rewatch 4.5 in its baffling contrariness. So soon! So say we all!
Min 33.--Speeds 4.5 & 4.0. OH, THANK YOU, I CAN WALK AGAIN. My legs are kinda shaky now. And--WHOA--did, did that treadmill just move?! DID THE GROUND JUST MOVE?! No? I guess I'm just really dizzy then. That's not a good sign.
Min 34.--Speeds...wait, what? Did you just "accidentally" knock the reset button on the treadmill. You dumb...sigh. Just go stretch. It's over. No use salvaging it, although I would have liked to see how much we ran. But that's fine. FINE. It's over. Hobble over there and start mentally preparing, because you're doing this again in a couple of days.
Min 37.--Locker Room-- oh ow owowowww...I still don't think I'm a shipper....
Fin
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Shut up Metal Mouth
Random life things:
1. I realized a few days ago that I have completely stopped biting my nails. For the first time, in I can't remember how long, I'll have to use an emery board to file nail length, rather than just smooth out rough edges. I'm having issues typing on my iPhone, it's gotten that bad. The funny thing is, I can't even remember making the conscious effort to stop. It's not like I'm (ha!) living a completely stress-free life (HAHAHA). Between my moving and realizing that I seriously need to study for the LSATs, my nails should probably be bloody stumps. Gross Imagery FTW! See, I always told the adults in my life that I'd grow out of that bad habit. No need to smear my nails with chili oil or nag at me. Things just need to run their own course. *nods vaguely & closes eyes*
2. Things I need for my new room: lamp (I love lamp!), new bookcase for my cheesy sci-fi mysteries, art, and clothes organization stuff. Also, new clothes and shoes. It's getting ridiculous.
3. The general consensus of the ENTIRE dental community is that I need braces or my jaw could fall off. Dude. Maybe I should have learned this when I was a pre/teenager, when everyone else was getting them and bonding over their stupid wax and rubber bands and adjustments. Maybe I wanted my gums to bleed as well! And I can't even get my wisdom teeth out until I get a consultation regarding the braces. They're going to try to scare me. I know they are. They're going to tell me that this popping that my jaw does, because I hold my jaw a certain way to self-correct for my overbite, is really awful and my jaw could snap at any moment. Like a carrot stick being munched by an overenthused rabbit. What's up doc, indeed. I don't even know if I should be freaked out by this or not. Maybe I just need a night guard, but I think they're going to go for the actual braces. So yeah, not too excited about that, but if it makes my teeth better than who am I to complain? I just want my wisdom teeth out, and I may come out of it with thousands of dollars worth of dental work. Good thing I got that Premium dental insurance, huh? This is why I hate going places and getting things looked at. Too much hassle. And I just know I'm going to get every food stuck in my braces and turn into a pre-teen dork. They probably won't be any cool colors and they'll give me generic rubber bands. And none of the popular kids with their pink braces will want to sit with me at lunch & share their wax with me.
4. The Dwight Schrute lookalike that I've been pseudodating doesn't even know how to spell my name. We've emailed with my full name spelled out (he's even asked me about the "Maria" thing) and he still doesn't get it, which means that he's clearly not paying attention in order to be more awkward. I think this is the social tic that broke my patience. NO H. NO H. NO H. GOD. I could correct him, but why bother at this point? Other people get it and have commented on the fact that I don't spell it with an h. And because of that, I'm going to the Art Institute and dinner with him this Friday and not out to drinks with Dwight. Because seriously. Seriously! Am I being too weird about this? Did I just need a really lame excuse?
5. My cat also needs expensive dental work. I've always known that Gus and I had too much in common for our own good. For the record, I will also play fetch with you. But only with balloons. <> I like their feel in my hand. < /creep >
6. That reminds me, I really want to learn HTML stuff and learn how to actually design something on the interwebs. Like a website, for example. Still want my own real page, and not blogger, which seems to be mostly populated by teens who need to vent in a safe zone because NOBODY UNDERSTANDS THEIR PAIN or, like, people talking nonstop about their children. I'm too cool for you, internet.
7. I need to go on a budget, y'all. Seriously. I may have to use Quicken or something. This is getting real. REAL. But, hey, going to Pitchfork soon! I'm pretty excited, and will probably come out of it hating people. Like most crowd situations. But most people that I know will be going, so that'll be fun. In a really weird and potentially uncomfortable way.
8. 
9. I drink coffee with my rice krispie treat dessert. Rounds out the meal. I'm classy like that.
10. I think I am crippled by my need for all those around me to think that I'm a nice person. I don't care if you think I dress like a 12-year old boy or need to comb my hair, or smell like coffee, just say I'm nice and I'll be okay. It's my nice Southern upbringing, y'all! I actually felt bad that the drunk, annoying tourists on the bus this morning (seriously, drunk at 8:45 AM!) were being ignored by the Very Important Yuppies and were obviously upset about it. They were total jackasses after they got off the bus, and told us all off. Then they flipped us the bird from the sidewalk. And probably vomited on the street or something, I don't know. But I did feel bad that they were obviously distressed. Not enough to actually try to engage them in conversation, but still! It, uh, crossed my mind. Still nice! Look at how nice I am!
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Dear Comcast, Frak You
"There is literally no one in the world that I don't hate right now."-Toby Ziegler, The West Wing
Excuse me while I put my bitch pants on, because today has been a hell of a day.
Ahem, okay. Today was supposed to be a busy, but relatively simple day. When I woke up in the morning, I was supposed to clean the coffee pot, make and drink some coffee, get cat food, and if I had time before noon, go to the gym. In the afternoon, I needed to wait for Comcast to return their DVR and modem, so I'll be finally done with them. Hopefully that would only take a couple of hours and then I could come back, make my strata and have a nice afternoon/evening cooking & cleaning my room.
Well, that was the plan. The actual day became far more complex.
The day started with my snoozing the alarm about fifteen times. Okay, so I didn't get up as early as I wanted. That's okay. I may not make it to the gym in the morning, but I can just go after Comcast guy shows up. It's okay. Time to go to Petsmart.
Next I took the 151 to Sheridan & Surf, and got some Oral Hygiene pet food, kitty litter & jumbo liners. Without paying any kind of attention, I got onto the 36 and headed home, with what turned out to be only one bag. Once I got back to my apartment, I realized I left the food at Petsmart. The only thing that I really needed. Well, I guess it's time to go back to Petsmart and pick the bag up. I get a cab and am out $11. Not happy.
I'm a little angry at this point, but the day can still be salvaged. I've got enough time to play around on the internet and then go get some coffee and breakfast. I decide to try out Phoebe's Cupcakes, since they've got this really interesting breakfast cupcake, reminiscent of pancakes with a bacon side. I got that and some coffee and headed over to the apartment. The cupcake was a little too sweet (certainly for a person who just got a filling) but otherwise delicious. I managed to ignore the fact that it felt like glass shards were digging into my gum. The day was looking up.
Clean clean clean. By that I mean, gathering some left over things and shoving them into bags. Also, throwing other things away. Mostly I do it lazy-like and play around on my phone. No biggie. I almost enjoy waiting for the Comcast guy.
Three hours later, I start to worry. Okay, so the guy may come closer to five. Fine. That's inconvenient, but whatever. I start looking out of the window for signs of a Comcast truck and I start to have difficulty getting comfortable.
At 4:30, I'm completely pissed off. And my phone dies, since it's my only distraction from the long wait. I go downstairs to wait some more. No excuses. I WILL CATCH THE COMCAST GUY.
5:00. I do believe I've been stood up. At this point, I'm so incredibly angry and my gum is killing me from where the dentist had to CUT PART OF IT AWAY to get to a particularly nasty cavity. I'm also starving. Did I mention that I was mad?
At this point, I no longer want to go to the gym and am way too hungry yet don't want to eat because my gum is now excruciatingly painful.
"Flames...on the side of my face...breathing, breathless, heaving breaths...heaving..."-Mrs. White, Clue
I'm going to wash my pans and cook myself something nice and soft, like eggs, and watch some True Blood. I'm not going to bitch at Comcast yet, since I KNOW they're going to tell me that a technician showed up at, like, 12:3o, but didn't call me for some bizarre reason. He also knocked on the outer door and saw that nobody was in the lobby, so instead of calling my apartment from the box, he just decided that nobody was home. I know nobody called. I HAD MY PHONE AT ALL TIMES. But this has actually happened before, so I am going to take a break today, and just call them tomorrow. I don't need that kind of anger right now. They are totally making me suffer for discontinuing their service. I know they are. I can tell. Spiteful bastards. I thought their guilt trips when I discontinued over the phone would be the extent of it. Apparently not.
Floor exercises instead of the gym and bacon & eggs instead of a proper dinner. That's okay. It's almost the gym. It's okay.
Deep breaths, calm thoughts. It will all be okay.
Excuse me while I put my bitch pants on, because today has been a hell of a day.
Ahem, okay. Today was supposed to be a busy, but relatively simple day. When I woke up in the morning, I was supposed to clean the coffee pot, make and drink some coffee, get cat food, and if I had time before noon, go to the gym. In the afternoon, I needed to wait for Comcast to return their DVR and modem, so I'll be finally done with them. Hopefully that would only take a couple of hours and then I could come back, make my strata and have a nice afternoon/evening cooking & cleaning my room.
Well, that was the plan. The actual day became far more complex.
The day started with my snoozing the alarm about fifteen times. Okay, so I didn't get up as early as I wanted. That's okay. I may not make it to the gym in the morning, but I can just go after Comcast guy shows up. It's okay. Time to go to Petsmart.
Next I took the 151 to Sheridan & Surf, and got some Oral Hygiene pet food, kitty litter & jumbo liners. Without paying any kind of attention, I got onto the 36 and headed home, with what turned out to be only one bag. Once I got back to my apartment, I realized I left the food at Petsmart. The only thing that I really needed. Well, I guess it's time to go back to Petsmart and pick the bag up. I get a cab and am out $11. Not happy.
I'm a little angry at this point, but the day can still be salvaged. I've got enough time to play around on the internet and then go get some coffee and breakfast. I decide to try out Phoebe's Cupcakes, since they've got this really interesting breakfast cupcake, reminiscent of pancakes with a bacon side. I got that and some coffee and headed over to the apartment. The cupcake was a little too sweet (certainly for a person who just got a filling) but otherwise delicious. I managed to ignore the fact that it felt like glass shards were digging into my gum. The day was looking up.
Clean clean clean. By that I mean, gathering some left over things and shoving them into bags. Also, throwing other things away. Mostly I do it lazy-like and play around on my phone. No biggie. I almost enjoy waiting for the Comcast guy.
Three hours later, I start to worry. Okay, so the guy may come closer to five. Fine. That's inconvenient, but whatever. I start looking out of the window for signs of a Comcast truck and I start to have difficulty getting comfortable.
At 4:30, I'm completely pissed off. And my phone dies, since it's my only distraction from the long wait. I go downstairs to wait some more. No excuses. I WILL CATCH THE COMCAST GUY.
5:00. I do believe I've been stood up. At this point, I'm so incredibly angry and my gum is killing me from where the dentist had to CUT PART OF IT AWAY to get to a particularly nasty cavity. I'm also starving. Did I mention that I was mad?
At this point, I no longer want to go to the gym and am way too hungry yet don't want to eat because my gum is now excruciatingly painful.
"Flames...on the side of my face...breathing, breathless, heaving breaths...heaving..."-Mrs. White, Clue
I'm going to wash my pans and cook myself something nice and soft, like eggs, and watch some True Blood. I'm not going to bitch at Comcast yet, since I KNOW they're going to tell me that a technician showed up at, like, 12:3o, but didn't call me for some bizarre reason. He also knocked on the outer door and saw that nobody was in the lobby, so instead of calling my apartment from the box, he just decided that nobody was home. I know nobody called. I HAD MY PHONE AT ALL TIMES. But this has actually happened before, so I am going to take a break today, and just call them tomorrow. I don't need that kind of anger right now. They are totally making me suffer for discontinuing their service. I know they are. I can tell. Spiteful bastards. I thought their guilt trips when I discontinued over the phone would be the extent of it. Apparently not.
Floor exercises instead of the gym and bacon & eggs instead of a proper dinner. That's okay. It's almost the gym. It's okay.
Deep breaths, calm thoughts. It will all be okay.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla Ice Cream Also Heals Compound Fractures and Cures Malaria
I have been very seriously thinking about purchasing a domain name and making myself an actual web page for this blog.
Brain: That's one of the dumbest things that I've ever heard.
Ahem, I've thought about it for a while, and this template is pretty lame, and I kind of hate the url. I could maybe try to figure out how to design it, or I could find someone to do it for me. I just kind of want to have a real webpage with a real blog which, you know, looks nice
Brain: So what you're telling me is that you're an elitist. A webpage elitist.
Uh, I was looking at urls and cristinamartin.com was taken. If only I actually did something interesting or had a nickname or fun title.
Brain: You have a nickname. Several, in fact.
http://www.stin.com/ isn't very compelling. Uh, maybe if I could think of some sort of pun?
Brain: ...
Hey, how 'bout that new apartment, huh? I should make that asparagus strata tonight. If I don't want to curl up and die after the dentist today. Why did I have to develop this random canker sore like a day before my dentist appointment? What is she going to think about me?
Brain: DUDE, WHY ARE YOU TELLING THEM THIS?
I don't have herpes. But I have a family history of canker sores. It's common in women. Stop looking at me like that. It is! Plus it's really really rare for me to get one these days. I can't remember the last time I did. Of course, my lips decide to flare up just in time to see someone paid to EXAMINE MY MOUTH.
Brain: You know, you could have something terribly wrong with you. Like Celiac disease.
I have Celiac disease. Crap. Now I have to eliminate the gluten from my diet. I like gluten. Bah. I just wish this weren't so painful and gross. I want my dentist to keep thinking good things about me. And now she'll be all poking around in my mouth trying to be professional but totally staring at a horrible ulcer that may or may not remind her of an STD.
Brain: It's not like you were trying to pick her up. I'm sure she's seen much worse. I doubt she'll think you have herpes.
STOMACH: YOU KNOW WHAT WILL SOLVE THIS PROBLEM? 4 HALF-GALLONS OF BLUE BELL HOMEMADE VANILLA ICE CREAM. IT IS SO WORTH $119.
Huh, I'm suddenly kind of hungry. And in desperate need of a cold, creamy, and refreshing dessert.
Brain: I could lecture you on how you're supposed to be saving money now, but I don't think I'm going to win this one. Plus, I think we all want Blue Bell here. Just go back to reading www.pamie.com. I don't think you will ever be her, if that's what this whole thing has been about.
Now wouldn't that be much more interesting in a proper webpage? If any of you have fun domain name ideas or just want to tell me how ridiculous I am, please leave a comment.
Brain: That's one of the dumbest things that I've ever heard.
Ahem, I've thought about it for a while, and this template is pretty lame, and I kind of hate the url. I could maybe try to figure out how to design it, or I could find someone to do it for me. I just kind of want to have a real webpage with a real blog which, you know, looks nice
Brain: So what you're telling me is that you're an elitist. A webpage elitist.
Uh, I was looking at urls and cristinamartin.com was taken. If only I actually did something interesting or had a nickname or fun title.
Brain: You have a nickname. Several, in fact.
http://www.stin.com/ isn't very compelling. Uh, maybe if I could think of some sort of pun?
Brain: ...
Hey, how 'bout that new apartment, huh? I should make that asparagus strata tonight. If I don't want to curl up and die after the dentist today. Why did I have to develop this random canker sore like a day before my dentist appointment? What is she going to think about me?
Brain: DUDE, WHY ARE YOU TELLING THEM THIS?
I don't have herpes. But I have a family history of canker sores. It's common in women. Stop looking at me like that. It is! Plus it's really really rare for me to get one these days. I can't remember the last time I did. Of course, my lips decide to flare up just in time to see someone paid to EXAMINE MY MOUTH.
Brain: You know, you could have something terribly wrong with you. Like Celiac disease.
I have Celiac disease. Crap. Now I have to eliminate the gluten from my diet. I like gluten. Bah. I just wish this weren't so painful and gross. I want my dentist to keep thinking good things about me. And now she'll be all poking around in my mouth trying to be professional but totally staring at a horrible ulcer that may or may not remind her of an STD.
Brain: It's not like you were trying to pick her up. I'm sure she's seen much worse. I doubt she'll think you have herpes.
STOMACH: YOU KNOW WHAT WILL SOLVE THIS PROBLEM? 4 HALF-GALLONS OF BLUE BELL HOMEMADE VANILLA ICE CREAM. IT IS SO WORTH $119.
Huh, I'm suddenly kind of hungry. And in desperate need of a cold, creamy, and refreshing dessert.
Brain: I could lecture you on how you're supposed to be saving money now, but I don't think I'm going to win this one. Plus, I think we all want Blue Bell here. Just go back to reading www.pamie.com. I don't think you will ever be her, if that's what this whole thing has been about.
Now wouldn't that be much more interesting in a proper webpage? If any of you have fun domain name ideas or just want to tell me how ridiculous I am, please leave a comment.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Nostalgia, Y'all!
I'm in a Texas mood, y'all. And I promise I won't end every sentence with the word "y'all." Okay, starting now. I don't know. I think this has been sneaking up on me for a while. I think, hrmm. I think I miss Texas. Texas has a culture that I can understand and even embrace. After a zillion years here in the Midwest, I still don't understand some things. What's the deal with baseball? Why does everyone love it? I think it's boring. Does that make me less of an American? Why don't we just watch football instead? Can I still like apple pie?But Texas. OH TEXAS. Here's a crash course for all you Yankees. Everyone North of Texas is a Yankee, by the way. Even if you're from Oklahoma. Not kidding.
1. Y'all is one of the most amazing words in the English language. Both y'all and ya'll are acceptable. Y'all is actually singular, um, ish. It refers to a few people at a time. If I were addressing a whole big group of people, I would say "all y'all." Not kidding. Thems the rules. Also, everyone says y'all. Whether you're a businessman, doctor or school teacher. It's a perfectly legitimate word. And much easier to say than "you guys."
2. While many people do not have accents, sometimes certain words come out in certain accenty-nuanced ways. In big cities it is not seen as a sign of poor education or breeding. It's just the way that people talk. Sometimes I do it by accident. Sometimes I like to do it. The other day I said something and had to stop myself and formally declare, "My god, that was SO TEXAN." I was almost proud of myself for not losing my speech patterns to the Midwest.
3. "Shit" is a common exclamation, and oh so much fun to say. But not like that. It is pronounced "she-it" and you say it all slow and lazy. It's great. Most often used when you can't believe what your friend is telling you. Sometimes it involves the "bull-" prefix, if you're calling them out. Great word, and everyone knows exactly what you mean.
4. Pecan is pronounced "peh-cahn" NOT "PEE-can." I will correct you every time. What? You know, it's my damn state tree, I sure as hell know how to pronounce the word. Why yes I do think it's that big of a deal. Oh shut up.
5. While the rest of the country eats Egg McMuffins for breakfast, I'd rather have breakfast tacos from TC (Taco Cabana). The best chain barbecue joint (with amazing creamed corn and cobbler and barbecue sauce) is Rudy's. Shiner is the beer of choice to go with that BBQ, of course. I'll never understand all these Northern women who don't eat. Every Texas Girl I know can pack away a steak dinner with Shiner every now and then. Damn straight. And don't even get me started on Blue Bell Ice Cream.
6. Too Late. Homemade Vanilla Blue Bell Ice Cream is without a doubt the best ice cream I've ever eaten in my entire life. That is completely true and without hyperbole. I've had Ben & Jerry's, Breyers, Edys and many more, but Blue Bell will always have my heart. Anyone familiar? Y'all, it is so delicious, I can't even handle it. I was watching True Blood the other day, and the main character was eating Blue Bell, and I completely lost my shit. NOW I WANT IT. I am very seriously looking into shipping costs. They do ship Blue Bell, for us poor displaced Southerners, at $119 for 4 half-gallons of any flavors. And I'm still thinking of doing it. DOES ANYONE WANT TO HAVE AN ICE CREAM PARTY? ON THE ROOF OF MY BUILDING? And, uh, pitch in to get this amazing ice cream? :D7. If I say "I'm fixin' ta go to the HEB, want a coke?" and you say yes, don't be upset if I bring you back some Sprite or Dr. Pepper or the hideously awful Big Red (I don't understand why people like it). You didn't specify. It ain't pop or soda or soda pop. It's coke. The machine is a coke machine, even if it doesn't sell Coca Cola. I may say soda in life, but I know what you mean when you ask me if I want a coke.
8. I don't care if you've never seen college football or are an alum from a Texas university. You will either be a Longhorn or an Aggie. I don't care about college football and have no affiliation with either university, but I still say "hook 'em." You just know. Kids choose their sides and stick to them. If you're actually a Texas Tech fan, you will hate one marginally less than the other.
I could keep going, but I grow weary of this. Does anyone watch King of the Hill? Is that funny to anyone outside of Texas? I mean, it's full of Texas injokes and mockeries. e.g., a Lu Ann Platter is something specifically Texan, not just the name of one of the characters.
I honestly think I'm going to apply to UT Law School, when the time comes. I've always said that Austin was a place I could see myself living, and UT has a fantastic law school. I'm starting to scare myself here, because if I really want to go back to Texas, I need to start hitting the LSAT books hard. I need a damn good score to get in there, and maybe the score itself won't be enough. But I think I may try. I'll apply to other places around the country, even a couple here in Chicago, but I am honestly thinking that I could be very happy going to UT.
Did anyone see this coming?
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Regret
Dear [Redacted]
Hi. Um, hello. You may remember me. You may not. I remember you. I remember you asking me to dance at the Sockhop in Fifth Grade. That was my first ever dance with a boy. My mom was there and she gave me a smile and a thumbs up. You made my week.
I remember when we sat diagonally across one another in Pre-Algebra in Sixth Grade. I remember how we got into the smart section, and I was so happy that we were both good at math. I remember how we would always talk before the classroom was unlocked and I remember that one of my friends told me that she thought you might like me. You couldn't have liked me. You were a popular kid and I was me. By sixth grade, I had learned the distinctions.
I remember liking you, though. You were always so nice, and I really liked that. In a school filled with pretentious kids who threw money around and were jackasses to people who didn't fit a plastic mold. But you were nice. You were nice to me. And I liked you. Most of the girls in the grade did, but I felt like I kind of got you. Like we had some weird connection based more on words than pheremones. Not that you weren't cute. Of course you were. You know you were. But we were kind of friends. Friends, yet not really friends.
Of course the crush continued. I remember, after I had a little dating experience with some jackass who played video games when we were on the phone, thinking about dating you. I think we could have gotten along well for a couple of weeks in Eighth Grade. At the Eighth Grade dance, I decided to ask you to dance. Um, a lot. I know, I know. It was obvious and you totally knew. Everyone knew. In fact, one of my, um, "friends" asked me flat out if I liked you. She said that if I said yes, she would tell you and you would ask me out.
I should have known better. She told you and I never heard anything back. The next Monday, I remember walking in front of you and one of your jerkass friends, and he loudly talked about you and your girlfriend for my benefit. Girlfriend? I was mortified. I vaguely remember you telling him to shut up, but I didn't care. I was hurt and upset and only had myself to blame. Now I can see that it doesn't matter so much. But at the time it was excruciating. Later, the girl came and told me that you would have asked me out, but you had just started to date this other, older girl. Why are kids so unnecessarily mean to one another? By that I mean, why were they so mean to me?
So, I got jaded. A little more cynical. You obviously didn't actually like me. I misinterpreted everything over the past few years, and I decided that you were as big of an asshole as your jerkass friend. But you moved away at the end of the year, and that made me sad. I'd still miss you and our dumb little talks.
In Ninth Grade, I heard that you were coming back for two weeks to visit. And then you called me. You called me and told me everything I ever wanted to hear. You told me that you liked me and wanted to go out with me when you were here. We could all go as two big groups, your friends and mine, but we'd go see some movie together. I think we settled on Primary Colors for some strange reason.
I have to tell you, I was SO excited. I told all my friends. Out of all the girls in the grade you could have called, you called ME. Little nerdy me. You hadn't forgotten our awkward talks by the classroom door. They actually meant something to you like what they meant for me.
I remember, a couple of days before it was set up, one of my friends had a birthday party dinner. Of course, I couldn't help talking about this. I invited the people there to come with me as part of my "group of friends." Later on in the night, I heard some strange gossip from another "friend" that you were apparently going to stand me up! That's the only reason you asked me to go to the movie. And for good measure, you'd asked her too!
I should have known better. I believed her. Suddenly, all the girls there were indignant on my behalf, and told me that I should just not show up. I should stand you up instead. Instead of thinking the best about you like before, I suddenly thought the worst. I didn't go.
So then you called me the day after it should have happened, and practically wailed "why didn't you go?" I was horrified. You, you weren't going to stand me up? You actually wanted to see me? I quickly made up some sort of lie that I suddenly couldn't go and didn't know how to reach you, as I stared at the Caller ID. So you did what any nice boy does, and we made the same date for the next weekend. This time for real.
I don't remember exactly how it happened, but I stood you up again. Maybe I really couldn't go this time, and really couldn't get ahold of you? I hope that's what it was. Maybe I was scared that this was an elaborate ruse just to make me look like an idiot? I wish I could remember. But I stood you up on your last weekend in San Antonio, and I didn't hear from you after that.
But that's not where the story ends. I saw you one more time. This time, Senior Year of High School. Early on in the school year, you came with your mom (a former SMH teacher) to visit. I was suddenly very nervous. I remembered standing you up. I remembered feeling awful about it afterwards, even though my friends thought it was the most hilarious thing in the world. Good for you, they'd tell me. Yeah, good for me.
I saw you in the hall. You looked a little different, but I could still recognize you. You were talking with the "popular kids," of course. Your mom was talking with her former classmates, all grown up. I'd grown up too. A little more pain in my life, but a little more sure of myself. I now hiked my skirt up like the rest of the girls and wore a bit of makeup. Almost ready for college. I was so sure that you wouldn't recognize me.
But you did. You saw me in that hallway and practically shouted my name. You seemed so happy to see me. You even gave me a hug. Well, I guess you're not holding a grudge about Primary Colors, I thought to myself. We chatted a bit about who knows what, but I remember leaving the conversation with a huge smile. You remembered me. Fondly. I later talked with your mom for a bit and found out that you were all living in Chicago. In Chicago! I was applying to The University of Chicago, I told her. She made some comment about me maybe staying with y'all if I came to visit the school. She probably meant it, but that never actually happened. I sometimes wish that it did.
I never saw you again. A few years later we found each other on Facebook, of course, and I discovered that you were going to DePaul. And for some reason, it gave me a twinge of sadness to find out that you were madly in love with who I'm sure is a very lovely girl. Not that I'm upset that you're happy. Of course not. I just wonder sometimes if you and I could have ever been something. I know, Middle School, right? Not exactly the love of anyone's life. But still, it would have given me a burst of much needed confidence, something I'm still waiting for sometimes.
We probably don't have anything in common anymore. Although, I did discover that your current Facebook profile picture is a picture from Dinosaurs, which made me so very happy and also makes me think that we could still find ways to understand each other. I think you still live in Chicago, but we'll never see each other. And that's okay.
I guess, I don't know. I don't know why I'm thinking about this now. I guess that I just wanted to say I'm sorry that I didn't go to that movie with you. I should have. My high school experiences could have used just one event where the popular soccer player wants to spend time with nerdy little me, and ignores the rules of prep school society. I'm sorry I bought into them as much as your dumb friends, because I wanted to feel the way that I felt when you first asked me to dance at the Sockhop in Fifth Grade when none of that mattered.
Thank you for that. I'm sorry I'm such a putz.
-Cristina
Hi. Um, hello. You may remember me. You may not. I remember you. I remember you asking me to dance at the Sockhop in Fifth Grade. That was my first ever dance with a boy. My mom was there and she gave me a smile and a thumbs up. You made my week.
I remember when we sat diagonally across one another in Pre-Algebra in Sixth Grade. I remember how we got into the smart section, and I was so happy that we were both good at math. I remember how we would always talk before the classroom was unlocked and I remember that one of my friends told me that she thought you might like me. You couldn't have liked me. You were a popular kid and I was me. By sixth grade, I had learned the distinctions.
I remember liking you, though. You were always so nice, and I really liked that. In a school filled with pretentious kids who threw money around and were jackasses to people who didn't fit a plastic mold. But you were nice. You were nice to me. And I liked you. Most of the girls in the grade did, but I felt like I kind of got you. Like we had some weird connection based more on words than pheremones. Not that you weren't cute. Of course you were. You know you were. But we were kind of friends. Friends, yet not really friends.
Of course the crush continued. I remember, after I had a little dating experience with some jackass who played video games when we were on the phone, thinking about dating you. I think we could have gotten along well for a couple of weeks in Eighth Grade. At the Eighth Grade dance, I decided to ask you to dance. Um, a lot. I know, I know. It was obvious and you totally knew. Everyone knew. In fact, one of my, um, "friends" asked me flat out if I liked you. She said that if I said yes, she would tell you and you would ask me out.
I should have known better. She told you and I never heard anything back. The next Monday, I remember walking in front of you and one of your jerkass friends, and he loudly talked about you and your girlfriend for my benefit. Girlfriend? I was mortified. I vaguely remember you telling him to shut up, but I didn't care. I was hurt and upset and only had myself to blame. Now I can see that it doesn't matter so much. But at the time it was excruciating. Later, the girl came and told me that you would have asked me out, but you had just started to date this other, older girl. Why are kids so unnecessarily mean to one another? By that I mean, why were they so mean to me?
So, I got jaded. A little more cynical. You obviously didn't actually like me. I misinterpreted everything over the past few years, and I decided that you were as big of an asshole as your jerkass friend. But you moved away at the end of the year, and that made me sad. I'd still miss you and our dumb little talks.
In Ninth Grade, I heard that you were coming back for two weeks to visit. And then you called me. You called me and told me everything I ever wanted to hear. You told me that you liked me and wanted to go out with me when you were here. We could all go as two big groups, your friends and mine, but we'd go see some movie together. I think we settled on Primary Colors for some strange reason.
I have to tell you, I was SO excited. I told all my friends. Out of all the girls in the grade you could have called, you called ME. Little nerdy me. You hadn't forgotten our awkward talks by the classroom door. They actually meant something to you like what they meant for me.
I remember, a couple of days before it was set up, one of my friends had a birthday party dinner. Of course, I couldn't help talking about this. I invited the people there to come with me as part of my "group of friends." Later on in the night, I heard some strange gossip from another "friend" that you were apparently going to stand me up! That's the only reason you asked me to go to the movie. And for good measure, you'd asked her too!
I should have known better. I believed her. Suddenly, all the girls there were indignant on my behalf, and told me that I should just not show up. I should stand you up instead. Instead of thinking the best about you like before, I suddenly thought the worst. I didn't go.
So then you called me the day after it should have happened, and practically wailed "why didn't you go?" I was horrified. You, you weren't going to stand me up? You actually wanted to see me? I quickly made up some sort of lie that I suddenly couldn't go and didn't know how to reach you, as I stared at the Caller ID. So you did what any nice boy does, and we made the same date for the next weekend. This time for real.
I don't remember exactly how it happened, but I stood you up again. Maybe I really couldn't go this time, and really couldn't get ahold of you? I hope that's what it was. Maybe I was scared that this was an elaborate ruse just to make me look like an idiot? I wish I could remember. But I stood you up on your last weekend in San Antonio, and I didn't hear from you after that.
But that's not where the story ends. I saw you one more time. This time, Senior Year of High School. Early on in the school year, you came with your mom (a former SMH teacher) to visit. I was suddenly very nervous. I remembered standing you up. I remembered feeling awful about it afterwards, even though my friends thought it was the most hilarious thing in the world. Good for you, they'd tell me. Yeah, good for me.
I saw you in the hall. You looked a little different, but I could still recognize you. You were talking with the "popular kids," of course. Your mom was talking with her former classmates, all grown up. I'd grown up too. A little more pain in my life, but a little more sure of myself. I now hiked my skirt up like the rest of the girls and wore a bit of makeup. Almost ready for college. I was so sure that you wouldn't recognize me.
But you did. You saw me in that hallway and practically shouted my name. You seemed so happy to see me. You even gave me a hug. Well, I guess you're not holding a grudge about Primary Colors, I thought to myself. We chatted a bit about who knows what, but I remember leaving the conversation with a huge smile. You remembered me. Fondly. I later talked with your mom for a bit and found out that you were all living in Chicago. In Chicago! I was applying to The University of Chicago, I told her. She made some comment about me maybe staying with y'all if I came to visit the school. She probably meant it, but that never actually happened. I sometimes wish that it did.
I never saw you again. A few years later we found each other on Facebook, of course, and I discovered that you were going to DePaul. And for some reason, it gave me a twinge of sadness to find out that you were madly in love with who I'm sure is a very lovely girl. Not that I'm upset that you're happy. Of course not. I just wonder sometimes if you and I could have ever been something. I know, Middle School, right? Not exactly the love of anyone's life. But still, it would have given me a burst of much needed confidence, something I'm still waiting for sometimes.
We probably don't have anything in common anymore. Although, I did discover that your current Facebook profile picture is a picture from Dinosaurs, which made me so very happy and also makes me think that we could still find ways to understand each other. I think you still live in Chicago, but we'll never see each other. And that's okay.
I guess, I don't know. I don't know why I'm thinking about this now. I guess that I just wanted to say I'm sorry that I didn't go to that movie with you. I should have. My high school experiences could have used just one event where the popular soccer player wants to spend time with nerdy little me, and ignores the rules of prep school society. I'm sorry I bought into them as much as your dumb friends, because I wanted to feel the way that I felt when you first asked me to dance at the Sockhop in Fifth Grade when none of that mattered.
Thank you for that. I'm sorry I'm such a putz.
-Cristina
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