Home for the Holidays

Merry Christmas to all! Now that the holiday is coming to a close, I can safely say that I managed to make it a memorable one. Have no fear, I survived (otherwise, this makes for quite an ethereal post).

During my last post, I was in Boston visiting the doctor late Friday afternoon. Apparently, he and I should have spent more time together because I wound up in the ER the morning of Christmas Eve unable to walk thanks to a staph abscess. Merry Christmas. Let's just say, I did not ask Santa for this nor would I wish it on the worst of the naughty list!

A few hours later, full of antibiotics and almost pain-free, my mom and I happily left the hospital ready to take on the swarm of late holiday shoppers in Wareharm Crossing (obviously, myself included in the swarm... don't say anything, I already admitted to my procrastinary ways... and now I'll admit my ability to make up words: procrastinary, that's one for the books!). Within seconds, I found the perfect Lego set for my brother, the last one on my list. The heavens illuminated it and choirs began to sing, like when the Griswolds found their Christmas tree- minus the hypothermia and sap. The shopping was finally complete, presents were wrapped and I was able to spend Christmas Eve with my family, almost a normally functioning person again- at least walking was back in my repertoire!

In the end, we had a wonderful holiday; we shared plenty of laughs, added a page to my medical history and ultimately learned far too much about me. Santa treated us very well and I know that all seven of my brothers Lego sets are completed, taken apart and put back together in as many new ways as possible by now. Anyway, I hope that everyone had a very merry Christmas too and is hunkering down for the blizzard of 2010 to come!

Have to Pay It Forward

Sometimes the world can be a cruel place. We've all experienced it in varying levels. But there are moments of pure kindness that erase any and all thought of pain, like Life's little Etch-a-Sketch. Today, I was fortunate enough to experience one.

After our department's holiday potluck lunch and Yankee swap, I raced out of the office to make a late-afternoon, impromptu doctor's appointment. Obviously I was immediately impeded by traffic, as anyone is who's in a hurry. I was officially running late. Fortunately, I knew my way to the hospital and, more importantly, the parking garage. The entrance to the garage became an "exit only" after 3pm. Fantastic. Thanks to one-way streets, I was up a creek with no paddle. Looked like I was parking on the street. By some miracle of miracles I found a metered spot on Tremont (and if you've driven Downtown, you know how rare that was!). There was just one problem: I had one quarter and approximately an hour-long venture ahead. You do the math. With a dollar bill in hand, I rushed to the nearest store front with hopes of change. The words "No Change" stared me in the face. I was getting more and more discouraged. Ok, plan B. A car pulled up and a woman stepped out as her husband scrounged for coins.

"I'm sorry, but do you by any chance have change for a dollar? I'm running late for a doctor's appointment and only have one quarter." I prayed that my puppy eyes were working. She immediately and sincerely offered to change my dollar, even though her husband told her they may need the coins for their meter.

"Oh, I'll go make change if I have to... she's running late!" she responded to him. I am not sure that I have ever wanted to hug a stranger more in my life. It truly was her sincerity that made my grinchy heart grow three sizes today. Plus, she gave me fifty cents, refused my dollar, and told me not to worry about it. I thanked her profusely and wished them happy holidays, tossed the coins into my meter and sprinted up the street as fast as my high heels would take me.

Because of this simple act of kindness, I want and need to pay it forward. Let's just say that I will be carrying around a lot of quarters in case that couple ever needs their fifty cents back. Whoever you were, thank you and I hope you enjoyed your leisurely hour on Tremont! Christmas really is all around :)

Work Thoughts

My mind wanders during slow days at work. When my mouse isn't furiously clicking between InDesign, Photoshop and the multitude of networks, I imagine an endless stream of creative projects to do. I dream of the family cookbook I will design, the kitchen cabinets I will resurface, the wall I will decorate, the pillows I will sew, the canvases I will oil, the scenes I will photograph, the mittens I will knit, the scrapbook I will update, the frames I will hang. My mind runs like a sugar-high child on the playground. Then I remember: this is why I work. I work to live. I work to one day support a life full of awesome hobbies. For now, most of these creative projects dance within my head, but soon (boy, I hope soon...), I will live the life where I can put these ideas to work.

One Smokin' Party

As the holiday decorating was complete, it was time to show it off with our first holiday party. We started early Saturday morning with intense dusting, vacuuming and general tidying, while gingerbread men crisped nicely in our temperature-fluctuating oven. We chopped and stirred, baked and sprinkled away the afternoon. Somehow, we stayed ahead of schedule and found ourselves relaxing by six, eagerly awaiting our first guests at eight. To complete the Christmasy atmosphere, we began our inaugural fire as the tree twinkled in the background and candles lit the windows. Trust me, we had ambiance coming out of our ears. (For those fire savvy folk out there, don't worry... we moved our stockings to another locale.) With a fire pro in our ranks, the flames roared beautifully. The flues -top and bottom- were open and life seemed perfect. Too perfect. We should have known...

Suddenly, smoke billowed from the fireplace and rolled all over our ambience, headed straight for the smoke detector. We set up fans to corral the beast and hoped to push it out the open windows. I stood in the hallway with a blanket to shield the one detector, praying it wouldn't sound. Water extinguished the flame. More smoke plumed. People coughed and eyes teared. It was just how we wanted our first party to go. As we directed the smoke out, we watched the time tick. Guests were scheduled to arrive in 30 minutes. Somehow (a Christmas miracle, perhaps?), we were able to eliminate the smoke with ten minutes to spare. Phewff. All that remained was a hint of campsite for the nostrils. As the party went on, the smokiness merely added to the smell of Christmas and we wound up having a great night.

As for our fireplace, it will remain the central, yet dormant, element of our dining room as long as we live here. Unless of course we're feeling adventurous...

Happy holidays, everyone! I hope you all experience a little Christmas miracle of your own :)

'Tis the Season

Finally, the Christmas season is upon us. I managed to abstain from the jingle-bell-Santa's-coming-haul-out-the-holly radio stations until the day after Thanksgiving. Now, however, I sing along with Mariah Carey at the top of my lungs and blast the Trans-Siberian Orchestra every chance I get. To complete the Christmassy feel, Jill, Adam and I drove to a tree farm in Allston (I love how accessible everything is in the city!) and picked out our first tree as roommates. It is perfect: full, round, minimal gaps, sturdy branches for the abundance of ornaments we've gathered over the years. Saturday afternoon was dedicated to decorating. The tree was trimmed. The mantel was garland-laiden. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care. I added candles in each of the street-facing windows today and garland will soon adorn the arches in our living room. It's definitely beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

This morning, I trekked to Providence to run their Jingle Bell 5k. It was, and probably will be, the most festive race I've run. Hundreds of reindeer and elves crowded the start line. And I mean hundreds. There were at least 2,700 red- and green-trimmed runners. Needless to say, the first mile was slow going; it was rush hour on a Monday morning. The race continued to build the spirit of the season for me and I am more excited than ever for what is still to come. Next week: Christmas parties!

Runners decked with tree hats (the 11:56 is counting down to the start of the race)

Running Off Thanksgiving

The holiday season is upon us, with all its glorious dinners and pies and treats, oh my! This Thanksgiving meant escaping to the rural Tri-Town and indulging in lots of family and friends time.

In an effort to make the holiday slightly healthier, I took part in two races while home. I kicked off Thanksgiving morning with an inaugural turkey trot in Fairhaven to benefit the local food pantries. There were two running options: 5k or 5mi. Which do you think I opted for? 5k it was! As it was a fun-run, participants were encouraged to dress up. Unfortunately, I left my turkey costume in Boston; however, some runners made quite the effort. At the start line, we met a Pilgrim, two Native Americans, and Small Pox. (You know you're laughing too, as bad as you may feel. It's ok, I laughed too.) The morning was brisk- a toasty 33 degrees with a surprising wind around Fort Phoenix- and I think we shivered off more calories than we did running, but it was a perfect start to the day. Saturday morning, I ran another inaugural race at the high school, the Bulldog Dash. People from all over the Tri-Town turned out to help lower the cost of sports fees at ORR. It was only a two-miler, but it got me in my sneakers on a day I would normally spend in slippers. Mission accomplished. I was happy with my time... although the mascot beat me. Boo.

The third running-related event of the weekend was a metaphorical one; it was a run back to 2005. My high school class reunion was held at the Inn Friday night. For some reason, I spent the evening more anxious than a turkey on Thanksgiving Eve. It was great to see those who came, although it didn't stop me from shaking all night. I honestly don't know what came over me. Apparently four years of non-existant high school nerves materialized out of thin air. Nevertheless, it was a fun night with an unfortunate ending. One of our brilliant classmates yanked the fire alarm on his or her way out. The smarts never cease to amaze me...

Either way, it's always nice to run out of the city for a bit and spend time with the people you love (or the people you remember you love every five years... this reunion thing is going to take some getting used to!).

Caregiver

While perusing Facebook, I noticed that someone posted a link to a Jung personality/typology test. Of course I decided to take the test to enlighten myself as to what type I am. The crazy things we do sometimes... Why do we take these? Who better knows us than ourselves, right? So why take a test to tell me what I already know? Perhaps we are all just that self-centered. That should be one of the points on all results pages: Self-centered. I also thought that we might take these tests to put our complex personalities into concrete terms, to simplify them. Anyway, I took such a test and discovered that I am an ESFJ type, aka a caregiver. I am apparently moderately extraverted, slightly sensing, distinctively feeling, and moderately judging. A D. Keirsey broke down what this personality type means:

Providers take it upon themselves to insure the health and welfare of those in their care, but they are also the most sociable of all the Guardians, and thus are the great nurturers of social institutions such as schools, churches, social clubs, and civic groups. Providers are very likely more than ten percent of the population, and this is fortunate for the rest of us, because friendly social service is a key to their nature. Wherever they go, Providers happily give their time and energy to make sure that the needs of others are met, and that social functions are a success.

Highly cooperative themselves, Providers are skilled in maintaining teamwork among their helpers, and are also tireless in their attention to the details of furnishing goods and services. They make excellent chairpersons in charge of dances, banquets, class reunions, charity fund-raisers, and the like. They are without peer as masters of ceremonies, able to speak publicly with ease and confidence. And they are outstanding hosts or hostesses, knowing everyone by name, and seemingly aware of what everyone's been doing. Providers love to entertain, and are always concerned about the needs of their guests, wanting to make sure that all are involved and provided for.

Friendly, outgoing, neighborly - in a word, Providers are gregarious, so much so that they can become restless when isolated from people. They love to talk with others, and will often strike up a conversation with strangers and chat pleasantly about any topic that comes to mind. Friendships matter a great deal to Providers, and their conversations with friends often touch on good times from years past. Family traditions are also sacred to them, and they carefully observe birthdays and anniversaries. In addition, Providers show a delightful fascination with news of their friends and neighbors. If we wish to know what's been going on in the local community, school, or church, they're happy to fill us in on all the details.

Providers are extremely sensitive to the feelings of others, which makes them perhaps the most sympathetic of all the types, but which also leaves them somewhat self-conscious, that is, highly sensitive to what others think of them. Loving and affectionate themselves, they need to be loved in return. In fact, Providers can be crushed by personal criticism, and are happiest when given ample appreciation both for themselves personally and for the tireless service they give to others.

Now I (and you) know. I realize this has nothing to do with city-living, but I felt like sharing, because that's the caregiver I am...

Still Procrastinating

When I graduated and said goodbye to school, I thought I would graduate from the world of procrastination as well. Apparently, this little trait is clinging on for dear life. My procrastination has morphed into something new. I no longer have assignments to dread, so I'm simply putting off mundane tasks like doing the laundry, washing the dishes, grocery shopping, vacuuming, etc. Right now, for example, I'm not even sure what I'm prolonging but I know I don't want to do it. Regardless of what the procrastination centers around, my go-to activity has always been and will probably always be the same. I make lists. I make lists that I will never reference again, except in the recesses of my mind when I'm next procrastinating and decide to rewrite the same list. I make lists of movies I want to see (or add to the list of movies I'm required to see, which my friends began over a year ago... maybe I should start checking those off in my procrastination?). I make lists of books I want to read. I make lists of activities I want to do. My budget.* Christmas gifts to buy. A bucket list. On and on and on. It's a good thing I'm not a hoarder or else I would have been suffocated by reams of paper by now.

I do apologize to the trees and computer bytes who have given up their lives to my form of procrastination. Unfortunately, however, I don't see an end in sight. My list of other procrastination methods was lost years ago.

*My budget is what actually got me thinking about this post. I was mid-rewrite of the list and I realized I hadn't posted in quite a while. A budget is essential as a city-dwelling person. It's far too easy to walk down the street one afternoon and come home with nothing more than lint in your pockets. Sadly, I've come home with not only less money but less lint than when leaving countless times. I have to say, I enjoy writing a budget list. It makes me feel incredibly organized and mature. If only the funds on the list were equally mature...

Oh well, at least I have a handle on things. I'm looking forward to seeing this list come to life. When it works, the next re-write will in fact be exponentially more mature!

Randomly, here's a picture of our pumpkins from Halloween. Now that I think about it, maybe procrastination isn't my problem, rather than a serious lack of focus. Oh, look at the kitty! (Just kidding...)

Snow White's Wicked Stepmother and Jilly's jack-o-lantern... and mold. Ew.

Fully-Stocked Desk

The working class is officially one member stronger. I started working as Production Designer this morning and am loving it thus far. My day wasn't so much full of designing as it was HR paperwork, manuals, and desk organizing. It was all great, though! I'm excited to be a part of the department and to get the designing going.

Working at W.B. Mason has an amazing perk that I hadn't considered before this morning. Every cubicle and every desk is stocked to the nines. The best wall calendars, post-it dispensers, and erasable hilighters overflow the workspaces. Yes, that's right. Erasable hilighters. I erased pink hilighter today. Success!

Needless to say, I look forward to my second day of my career... and all the office supplies it has to offer.

Little Pond

"There's 9 million people in New York. 4.5 million women. Of course, you want to meet someone roughly your own age - let's say plus, minus 5 years. So if you take into account the most recent census data that leaves us with 482,000 women. But wait! 48% of those are already in relationships and then you have to eliminate half for intelligence, sense of humor and compatibility. And then you have to take out the ex girlfriends and the relatives. And, oh, you can't forget those lesbians. And then that leaves us with 8 women." -Ellen Pierce, How I Met Your Mother

Just as it did Ted on this episode, the statement terrifies me. Could this be true? Does it apply to men in Boston, too? This has been on my mind recently. Who am I kidding, it has been on my mind since junior high school. Movies, books, television, and so on make the dating game seem like a walk in the park that ends at a magestic fountain where woodland creatures gathered to romantically seranade you and your soul mate. I don't know about you, but squirrels haven't sung to me recently. Finding someone was not supposed to be this difficult. The metaphorical pond is getting smaller and apparently I can't fish. I know I'm not the only one, but some days it certainly feels that way.

Oh, Poo

Warning: This will not be a pleasant topic. Read with caution.

Any reader who is a dog owner, please listen closely. Before I begin, know that I do love dogs. I love animals in general, as a matter of fact. With that being said, I also know the laws of nature. I realize that when you have to go, you have to go, whether you be dog, cat, human, rat, fish, monkey, elephant, or worm. It's all a part of life. This part of life, however, does not belong on the bottom of my shoe. This is where I begin my post...

Pick up after your pet. Really, it's not terribly difficult. On your way out the door you take your dog, leash, keys, perhaps a flashlight, umbrella (weather-dependent), and maybe pepperspray (in which case, I suggest moving out of your neighborhood). Might I also suggest adding a plastic bag to the mix? Let me point out the pros here. 1) They easily compact and are immediately disposable. 2) Your dog will be less embarrassed. I realize this one is a stretch, but I don't know what kind of prissy animal you have. I don't judge. 3) Your neighbors will praise you for cleaning the streets (perhaps not outwardly, because unfortunately this is a thankless act, but, boy, is it noticed when it's not done!) instead of cursing you.

Recently, I've had a few run-ins with poo in the city and it has to end. It all began the first day my family came to visit. I brought them upstairs, gave them the grand tour of the new pad, sat down in the living room to chat and suddenly there was the smell. At first we didn't know what it was. Theories sprouted, cat pee (eww), throw up (gag), then what could it be? Finally we checked our shoes. Dad had been hit. The discovery sent us on a cleaning spree (only after raucous laughter and mockery), retracing the grand tour that his shoes had been on. It was not a big deal, only the first occurence; we survived.

The second attack came a few days later. I was proudly wearing my brand new, pristine, gleaming Asics. No sense beating around the bush, they're pretty. That particular evening it was raining and past sunset. Per usual, I was walking home. As I stepped in the first door to our building, I caught a whiff. Of course, there on the sole of my shoe, creeping dangerously close to the white material on the side, was the poo. Boo. Fortunately, I discovered it before I stepped into our apartment. It still didn't negate the fact that I was peeved. I decided to ere on the side of hilarity, though, and texted my dad, "I stepped in poo too. My crap's worse than yours." To which he simply, and rightly, replied, "HA!" But it got me thinking, why be so lazy, owners?!

The third time happened this past Tuesday. It was a mass disaster. We were playing frisbee in a field. Dogs frollicked in the background. We should have known. The game's grounds became a mine field. Everyone wound up with poopy shoes (one unfortunate player decided to go barefoot, this did not prove a wise decision...).

Long story short, please pick up after your pets. I don't consider my shoe to be a picker-upper and I know others agree. I'm pleading here, folks. Just do it.

A Big Fall

Ahhh, Fall. Fall is wonderful: crisp air, harvest flavors, cozy scarves, turning leaves, apple cider, football games, farms and fairs. The Jills and I ventured to Ipswitch Saturday afternoon to get our fill of fall festivities. We began by picking quite possibly the largest apples in any orchard this season. Seriously, news might leak that they used performance enhancing drugs... they're huge! The size of the apples was only diminished by the size of Big Boy the pig. His name does not do him justice. He is a monstrous animal, weighing in somewhere over 2,000 pounds (Jill remembered that they stopped weighing him at a certain point. Can you blame them?!) As it turns out, 'big' became a theme of the day. First came the apples and the pig, followed by all things big at the Topsfield Fair. Big crowds swarmed the fair grounds to indulge in big plates of big, typically deep fried, concoctions while they pushed big strollers that trailed their big balloon prizes. For some reason, these big balloon prizes were typically of the Spiderman variety. I don't know why. I digress. Anyway, I'm not kidding, everything was big.

Jill showing the Lilliputian apple compared to the Brobdingnagian one.

Personally, the cherries on top were the sandcastle and prize-winning pumpkin. I was amazed by the sandcastle. A sign described how the construction crew of two painstakingly transformed blocks of compact sand into the towering artwork before us. They were still perfecting the piece with palette knives and straws, which they used to blow away the freshly shaven sand. I could've stood there for hours, but we had to continue on, bigger and better. In particular, we had to see the pumpkin. This year's prize winner clocked in at an impressive 1600-someodd pounds (still not as heavy as Big Boy, but impressive nonetheless). Rumor has it that it did not break a record; however, it didn't stop thousands of spectators from gawking.

Sculptor hard at work

Sunday continued the big theme, but in a different way. We journeyed to Fort Devens to cheer on Adam and his ultimate frisbee team Slow White during their regional finals game. Let me tell you, they won BIG! After that win, they will most likely be ranked first at nationals in Sarasota over Halloween weekend. They're kind of a big deal... From the game, a big group of us (eleven to be exact) ventured to a pub nearby to celebrate and feast.

We are finally taking roommate pictures, slowly but surely.

I have to say, I could get used to big, fall weekends.

Taste of Home

In the excitement of the past couple months, I hadn't realized how much I missed certain people. The Inn was my home away from home for three years. During the long summer months, I was guaranteed to be running -sorry, Zanna, no matter how hard we tried to 'glide' it simply did not happen- to the porch, ready to serve the next Bud Light and Chieftain Salad. Post-shift, you could find the staff laughing together in the bar, happily celebrating the end to another hectic night (at least we hoped it was hectic!). These are the moments I miss with the people who became family.

A few of us were able to get together Thursday night to help Zanna celebrate her birthday. In true Inn fashion, songs were sung (thanks to the best musicians to travel to the pub, Becky Chace and Brian Minisce... my apologies for spelling...), drinks were drunk, and cakes were enjoyed. It was amazing to be there again; I truly love and miss you all!

Sports City

In case you hadn't heard, Boston is the sports town. Red Sox. Bruins. Celtics. Patriots (Okay, they're not located in Boston, but their spirit is here and that's what matters. I just hit official cheeseball-status). Even the Revolution (This is just for the soccer fans out there; I would hate to leave you out. Not going to lie though, I haven't met a die-hard Revolution fan in my day. This doesn't mean they don't exist. You can show yourselves!). Even in October, when the temperature has suddenly dropped to a crisp 50 and the playoff push is finished -and not in the good way- I am willing to sit in Fenway Park, my favorite place in the city, and cheer on the Sox. This is exactly what Adam and I did Saturday night. Thanks to a pair of free Sox-Yankees tickets, we attempted to learn the third-string players instantaneously and enjoyed every painful play. And let me tell you, it was some painful baseball. Not only was the game destined to be long (the teams had just concluded the first game of Saturday's double-header, oh, two minutes before we arrived, plus the rivals are known to extend games into ungodly hours of the night to prolong the drama and test their fans' heart health), but Daisuke was pitching. To put it mildly, he is not known for his speedy play... nor, let's face it nowadays, his worthy or decent play. Regardless, it was a fun night at the ball park. The Sox came back in the bottom of the 8th. The Yankees couldn't produce. Suddenly, we were between a rock and a hard place. It was 12:45am. The last train was to leave Kenmore at one. It was the top of the 9th inning. The game was tied. True, the Sox season was over, but we are die-hard fans. The chill in the air, however, decided for us. We raced to catch the T and managed to make it home in time to see the Sox win in the bottom of the 10th. All in all, a great night of sports in the sports town.

Parkour!

Working in Government Center (although not for much longer!) leads to endless hours of entertainment before, during, and after the day. Music blasts, farmers sell their produce (which means we escape the office for a few minutes Mondays and Wednesdays to bask in the glory of the farmers' market, or just indulge in free When Pigs Fly bread samples...), and protesters protest. You get it. It's an energetic place.

On September 17th, Government Center was transformed into parkour paradise, complete with crane and enough clunkers to make a junkyard owner salivate. What is parkour? you ask. Don't worry, I needed an explanation too. Parkour is described as art in motion. Essentially, parkour athletes are extreme gymnasts who maneuver from point A to point B in the most abstract and unique ways possible. The more flips and death-defying stunts, the better. Parkour also means heart-attack-central to spectators. Twirling acrobats plus solid brick ground is, let's face it, cringeworthy.

Maddie and I watched them warm up for the big show as we left work that Friday afternoon. Competitors from around the globe free-styled their way through the course, each clad in sweatpants. (I'm assuming the sweatpants provided greater range of motion. Plus, every athlete looks cooler in sweats?) We weren't able to stay for the main event- due to rain, the show was delayed two hours- but we still enjoyed what we saw and tried, almost to no avail, to digitally capture the athletes in action. Trust me, it was difficult... they're fast little buggers!

 Mid-flight to some sort of twisty, turvy, terrifying flip.

I managed to find a video of the actual event online. The show was sponsored by Red Bull, which makes the video a publicity clip. Feel free to watch, although know that Red Bull did not put me up to this (I'm not even sure I like Red Bull, it's weird and sweetly bubbly, but not in a soda-type of bubbly and I feel like people judge me when I drink it although I'm not sure why I think this, after all I've only drank it twice because I received free samples, but the free samples were large and the caffeine is probably still in my system which could explain my rambling and the reason my fingers are typing faster than my mind can think). Also, know that Red Bull does not support this blog (they may support this blog for all I know, but I highly doubt it... if they do, then welcome, Red Bull, and thanks for a fun afternoon!)... I digress...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3y5wtigwq8Y

Now that you've had a taste of the real parkour, enjoy as The Office (American) broaches the subject.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HjgzwrnSoVE

Business Dates

It hasn't been very long. I really have no reason to complain. I've only been out of school for 16 months. Wait... what?! SIXTEEN months! That can't be right! You're delusional. I'm still a student and don't have to worry about a real job, or benefits, or a 401k. And bills? Who needs 'em! Pff, now who's delusional?

Clearly it was time for me to get my career-act together (and potentially see a therapist). Thanks to Jill's passing my resume along in her company, I managed to land a grown-up interview. That's right, I donned business pants with business pumps and toted a business bag which held my business resume for my very businessy meeting in Southie.

I would like to interrupt my story to point out that interviews are the work equivalent of first dates. They are mildy awkward encounters where you think to yourself, Am I talking too much? Did I really just say 'you betcha'? Do I have broccoli in my teeth? Why would I have broccoli in my teeth? I haven't eaten broccoli all week. Then what's stuck in there? I wonder if he noticed. Why won't my palms stop sweating? Is my smile starting to look creepy? It must look creepy, he's looking at me funny. What did he just say? I don't even know what that word means. Just smile and nod.... Oh man, that wasn't a yes or no question... the nod failed. What am I supposed to say? Where did that question come from? I don't know my favorite color nevermind the correct meaning of 'teamwork!' I take that back, my favorite color is green, but what hue exactly? Why does he keep looking at my sweater? I knew the flower accent was too much! Is this almost over? Interviews and dates, despite all the internal dialogue, are meant to show your best qualities and the occasional cute quirks, although toned-down. You keep your scary skeletons tightly packed away in the closet until you've worked the job for a month (or date #5), at least. After you've said your goodbyes, you anxiously wait by the phone hoping they had as much fun as you did. Date #2 is their call, not yours.

Anyway, I went to the interview. It went well. I got a second date. Long story short, my resume was finally handed off to the Director of Marketing, who arranged another interview. I arrived for my 9 o'clock yesterday, bright-eyed and bushy tailed. Again, it went well. I didn't have any previous design-interview experience, however, so how was I to know just how well it went? The answer came later that day. I got the job. Let me repeat that... I GOT THE JOB! Suffice it to say when I received the offer, only dogs could hear me. I proceeded to screech and frolic, both things I am not normally known for. What can I say, job offers bring out unusual behavior.

I am happy to say that my career-act is finally coming together.

Fun Facts

Did you know that in 1881, Arkansas state legislature made the state's pronunciation officially what it is today, rather than r-kansas? Did you also know that Pierre is the only capital city pronounced by the locals with one syllable (think peer)? And did you know about heteronyms, words that are spelled the same but when pronounced differently have alternate meanings? For example, tropic refers to a type of warm, temperate climate and tropic (with a long o) describes a hormone that targets endocrine glands. Thanks to pub trivia in Back Bay last night, I now know these fun facts and am thus able to share them with you.

We also covered that the letter D represents 500 in Roman numerals (easy as pie), Essie produces nail polish (pshh, at least challenge us), and President Chester Arthur's middle name was Alan (ok, consider us challenged...). I can feel my neurons making new connections as we speak. Next week, the other teams won't stand a chance!

It's one of those weeks...

... where every day is chock-a-block full. Movies, dinner, an interview, oh my!

I saw Rachel Getting Married on DVD with my friend Maddie - odd, confusing, and frustrating (not Maddie, the movie; those words do not describe Maddie at all) but a great performance by Anne Hathaway. Tonight, I will see The Town - Boston-based excitement, review: to be determined (I sense good things though; the triumphant return of Ben Affleck plus the always sexy - ahem - I mean, wonderful Jon Hamm... movie magic!).

Thursday night, a few of us relished in a meal straight from Julia Child herself. The delicious beef bourguignon was served up with a side of hilarity courtesy of Maddie and John Ogren and company.

And finally, I scored an interview for a real job - benefits, a salary, discount Red Sox tickets, what more could a girl want?! The interview went swimmingly and I will be hearing back in the next week. Keep your fingers crossed, don't walk under any ladders, knock on wood, or whatever trips your trigger... just hope for the best!

This type of week is going to continue through to the next. A lot is in store for the weekend, from the movies this evening to working a 70s disco version of A Midsummer Night's Dream Saturday to outlet shopping, football, and trivia Sunday. I'm already looking forward to October simply for the R&R time!

P.S. For some reason, I have a sudden obsession with the dash. My apologies for incorrectly overusing it. Then again - perhaps the grammarphiles agree - the dash is probably the sulker in the world of punctuation due to its lack of use. Why not throw it in the spotlight just this once?

Driving Woes

Walking around the city is, well, a cake walk. To get from point A to point B, you take the closest thing to a straight line you can get. No problem. (Side note: Watch for gas pipes sticking out from buildings while walking. Just ask my thigh; it had a nasty run-in with one such pipe last night. Perhaps I should look ahead while walking and talking. Or perhaps I should give walking and talking a break. My body needs time to heal after all.) Driving in the city is not as cut and dry. You look at a map (because like me, you don't have a GPS... kickin' it old school). You plot your course. You're confident in the adventure you're about to embark upon.

Your preparation is crap.

One-ways pop up out of nowhere and suddenly you're back, staring at the same brick apartments on Memorial Drive and smelling the delicious, grilled fare wafting from the green where the same weekenders are tossing footballs and frisbees, when you swore you were on the other side of the Charles and can't remember crossing the bridge, any bridge, again but apparently you had (because how else could you wind up enroute to Harvard Square?!) and last you thought you were about to stumble upon the Whole Foods in Brighton, which is thrilling because dinner time has arrived and you need to pick up a few items for the almost empty pantry at home and your stomach is demanding you fill it soon, the same way your gas tank will demand shortly if you don't find your way out of the hell hole known as Boston's (and Greater Boston's) crazy web of streets. Geesh! If you nodded along to that long-winded shpeel (I can guarantee this is not a word, but I may need to submit it to Webster... I say it fairly often. If anyone knows a spelling for this word, please let me know.) then you've been in my shoes. You've driven in a city, which means you've gotten lost in a city.

Despite my frustrations behind the wheel and my inevitable cursing, I still believe that losing my way is ironically the best way to learn. Let's just hope I learned a lifetime's worth today!

Roommates

Last Friday, it rained. It rained while I worked my first shift at the A.R.T. It rained while I waited for the 86 bus in Harvard Square. It rained while I continued to wait for the 86 bus. It rained all night. Needless to say, it was inevitable that I'd transform into a drowned rat on a night like Friday. As I've mentioned before, I love storms; however, on this particular evening, the storm did not live up to my standards and I simply wanted to be home, cozy in pajamas with a glass of wine in hand. The bus disagreed with this thought process.

As I waited thirty five minutes for my ride home, I became more and more frustrated. My roommates were home and I was not. I wanted to join the fun taking place in our dry, warm apartment which involved mindless television and Charles Shaw's finest cabernet. Unfair. At 11:45, I sloshed through the door wearing the most haggard of haggard looks and dragged with me every possible rain-soaked leaf in the neighborhood. My look immediately dissipated when I saw what was before me: a glass of red wine and chocolate-covered cookies. Adam, Jill, and Matt peered from around the corner grinning. It's official: I have, hands down, the best roommates.

Long Weekend

As expected around New England, the weather changed. Earl didn't live up to the forecasters' wild predictions and the Bay State wound up with a soggy Friday night. Otherwise, the rest of Labor Day weekend has been beautiful... even more so thanks to Saturday's inaugural Game Night! Friends new and old gathered to play hilarious rounds of Apples to Apples and Catch Phrase, drink adult beverages and eat some treats. There were no winners, just fun had by all (read: I lost and don't want to talk about it).

I realized Catch Phrase in particular shows the inner workings of each player's mind. It also shows how cruel your friends can be. I'm sorry I didn't think of specific models when portraying Honda, okay?! It was better than referencing Michael Jackson for the 'bad' in 'badlands,' Team 2! ;-) But seriously, the cruelty was minimal and Game Night was deemed a success. Is it time for the next Game Night yet?

Earl

Turns out, Boston has a negative side. It all falls back to my love of storms. (If you didn't know this fact, you do now. I love storms. Period.) The end of summer marks the beginning of hurricane season, which every year lets me down. Storms brew in the Caribbean and taunt New England, particularly the Cape, with the prospect of land fall... but to no avail. Now, I'm not saying that I dream of epic storms that wipe out entire towns, cities, and states. Obviously, Katrina was devastating and I would never wish that on any people. I do enjoy, however, the occasional gale force and deluge. Storms are magical. Laugh if you want, but can you blame me? After all, I was the child with her nose pressed to the window, counting the trees Hurricane Bob threw to the ground.

Tonight, Mother Nature's bringing a doosie named Earl. And what lies in Earl's path? Rochester... Home... Grrr. Boston will get some rain. Whoop. The city may even get some heavy gusts. Great. Honestly, it's not fair that the South Coast will get all the fun! Moving to Boston meant leaving some weather behind. It just so happens I'm learning that the hard way today. I'm not worried, though. Somehow I get the feeling Winter will make up for it. Regardless, wherever you may be, enjoy the stormy night ahead!

Game Night: Massachusetts Edition

This post acts as a teaser for what is to come this weekend. I cannot take the credit for drafting this email, but wanted to share it for the beautiful prose that is it. Thank you, Adam!

Dear Friends, Family, and People I mistakenly sent this to,
Some of you may have heard about Game Night; some of you may have even participated in past Game Nights; some of you may have no clue what this is all about so please allow me to explain. In short, Game Night is the greatest thing that will ever happen to you. It is an evening centered around the playing of awesome games, namely Apples to Apples and Catchphrase, eating delicious food, namely whatever we feel like making or you feel like bringing, and the drinking of adult beverages, namely whatever you bring because we're poor. As such, you are all cordially invited to attend the first of many Game Nights which will be held this Saturday, September 4th, 2010 at 9 PM. Latecomers will be permitted though not encouraged. Our address is ---, Brighton, MA 02135 and can be reached via public transportation in a number of ways; ask if you need help getting here. RSVPs are welcome though not mandatory. Bringing a friend who did not receive this email is also welcome though not mandatory.
Summary of important details if you opted not to read the above drivel:
Game Night
9 PM, Saturday September 4th
---
Brighton, MA 02135
Games, Food, Booze
Fun

Hugs 'n kisses,
Adam Patisteas on behalf of Adam Patisteas, Jill Howard, and Jocelyn Hotte.

Now, let the games BEGIN!

Accessibility

I love that adventure begins on our stoop. Better yet, it happens with little to no effort on our part. Take this weekend, for example. The North End celebrated the annual St. Anthony's Feast with food, parades, food, games, food, music, and, yes, more food. It was a delicious cacophony of Italian shouts and sizzling rice balls, ecstatic children and honking cabs as we shuffled with the mob that engulfed the neighborhood. All of this was just a short T ride away.

My entire life, I lived a twenty minute drive from New Bedford's infamous Portuguese Feast. I still have yet to witness this feast in my life. I have to say, it has never been more apparent that what held me back was the drive (the stabbings and gangs may have played a part also, but that's another story). The logistics, although obviously not insurmountable, were too much of a hassle. Who will drive? Actually, who will drive the soon to be intoxicated feasters? No one wants to deal with that. Suddenly, we've eliminated the logistic issues and are ready to tackle any feast that comes our way. Chalk one up for accessibility, Boston!

Cable's Become a 4-Letter Word

Cable is a wonderful thing. I've always been able to breeze into my house, click on the television, and, as if by magic, entertainment poured out of the box. In Rochester, cable. In the Simmons' dorms, cable. In the Rochester apartment, cable. In London, well no cable but I didn't care because I was in London. The only problem was, all these years, I didn't recognize how magical the cable was... that is until now.

Now, thoughts of long-winded phone calls with agitated customer service reps stomp through my head. What once brought us all joy, now brings headaches backed by $59.99 installation fees and $5 modem-rental charges. Oh cable, why have you foresaken me?!

We dream of the day we watch Bobby Flay without a flicker, Jon Stewart without a blip, and the cast of Jersey Shore without a blackout (although, that will happen with or without our cable woes). Perhaps I will gain some perspective Sunday while I wait for a technician between the hours of 11 and xfinity. Perhaps not.

Sponsored by the Letter M

M is for moving. M is also for muscle, motivation, and mates (both of the friend/family and 'room-' variety), all of which are needed for said moving. And moving we did! Thirteen days ago, Jill, Adam and I (read: our families, certain members in particular) stuffed a Budget truck beyond capacity and shipped up to Boston. After hours of heaving and tugging, lifting and sliding we filled our bellies with pizza and beer and settled into our new home.

I welcome you to enjoy our time to come in the city. I will do my best to keep you informed of the high and low points of life in Boston with two friends from kindergarten. Bring on the year ahead and the many Ms it entails! (Please note: let those Ms not include mice, mumps, or mothballs. I'm not sure mumps are even a possibility nowadays, but a new renter can never be too cautious.)

 New roommates, [can't-get-much-older] old friends.