A Donut Poem

June 1, 2012

Last night I was so excited
I could hardly sleep
Nothing could get me to drift off
Not even counting sheep

Instead I stayed up thinking
About my game plan for today
I mapped out every morsel
Before I finally hit the hay

What exactly am I planning?
I’m so happy that you ask
For I drifted off with a smile on my face
My excitement I can’t mask

You see, to me today
Is the best day of the year
Some might think this obsession is weird
But I don’t really care

It’s better than Christmas morning
Much better than any gift
And if I ever missed this event
I’d be really miffed

My friends, it’s National Donut Day
No, I’m not being clever
You really get to eat as many donuts as you want
With no guilt what-so-ever

No matter what you’re preference
Boston Cream or Blueberry Cake
You can stuff your gob until you burst
Of every kind they make

So, get yourself to a donut shop
And eat until you blow up like a balloon
Because you won’t be able to do it again
Until the first Friday of next June!

I hope you enjoyed this little ditty
About my favorite breakfast treat
Because in all their doughy goodness
They’re really hard to beat

Happy National Donut Day!

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I wrote my last rent check for my place last week.

Signed, stamped, and in the mail.

Can somebody please tell me what the f*ck I was doing the past 10 months? Because I could swear I was just moving in yesterday.

Although the past year has positively flown by, there have been a few life lessons that I’ve learned during my year of solitary living. Some important, some funny, and some just downright embarassing. But all worthy of noting.

1.) You will get bored. Sometimes you’ll get so bored, you decide you should take up meditation as an in-home hobby. You soon realize this is just as boring, just in a much more uncomfortable position.

2.) Consider yourself lucky if you have a pet to talk to. Because if you don’t, it’s just you and mirror. And don’t think you won’t go there. You will.

3.) It is possible to eat an entire bag of chocolate chips during one episode of Grey’s Anatomy. Even if you only meant to eat one. Or two.

4.) There is no need to cook an entire batch of tacos on a random Wednesday night. Nobody is going to “pop in” for dinner. And taco meat gets really old after eating it for four days straight.

5.) Walking around naked isn’t nearly as fun as television makes you think. I tried it once and got embarrassed.

6.) You can eat ice cream any time you want. Nobody will know. Nobody. Well, except your doctor when your yearly physical reveals you’ve gained 10 pounds.

7.) You’ll get really good at practicing your facial expressions in your bathroom mirror. I’ve got “surprised” and “concerned” down pat.

8.) Sometimes you’ll lie and say you went to the gym, when really all you did all day was sit in your 10 year old sweatpants eating saltines and switching back and forth between Mrs. Eastwood and Company and Bethenney Ever After.

9.) You will get lonely. Sometimes you’ll call a friend for a drink. Sometimes you’ll pick up the phone and have an hour long conversation with your mom. And sometimes you’ll just indulge yourself in a self-induced pity party. (Tears optional.)

10.) If you’re a girl, you’ll still change your sheets. If you’re a guy– probably not.

11.) You’ll get sad when you don’t get mail. Really– don’t people believe in writing letters anymore?

12.) Prospective tenants coming to look at your apartment don’t count as company. There is no need to bake cookies.

13.) There is nothing better than coming home to your very own space after a long day at work or a night out with friends. Nothing.

14.) You’ll get angry when your friends take longer than an hour to play Words with Friends. Constantly refreshing your phone will not speed them up. Trust me.

15.) You’ll know you’ve gone too long without talking to anybody when you’re own boyfriend texts you with “Are you alive?”

16.) It is possible to read Twilight in a week. No, not the first book. The entire series.

17.) Facebook stalking does not count as human interaction.

18.) It’s the only time in your life when you can be completely anal about the way your place looks. So if you can’t fall asleep unless all your throw pillows are in place on your couch, get it out of your system now.

19.) Screaming and jumping on your counter is a completely rational response to seeing a mouse. So is calling your boyfriend and making him come pick you up at 10pm on a Tuesday because you’re convinced the mouse is definitely in your bed. Like, under the covers. (Note: no, it isn’t.)

20.) Get to know your maintenance man. He’ll be a life saver when you have a gas leak. Or your hot water heater goes. Or when your kitchen light has been stuck on for a week and you don’t know why.

21.) And finally,it might take you 10 months, but you’ll realize that so far, it’s been the best year of your life. Everybody should live alone at least once.

I’ll definitely be sad when my lease is up July 31st, but I’ve also got a lot to look forward too. Now excuse me, I’m off to watch a marathon of New Girl. (Probably the least embarrassing show that I currently watch.)

Unicorns Live in Paraguay

August 19, 2011

Friday recap:
This week, I learned that unicorns live in Paraguay.

Don’t believe me? I can prove it.

The following is a conversation that actually took place between me, my brother, and two of my cousins on Facebook.

It debunks that fact that unicorns are a myth.

In reality, they live in Paraguay, where they duel with bubbles and donate blood to infants.

Read on:

Cousin Keagan’s Facebook Status:
Dueling is legal in Paraguay as long as both parties are registered blood donors….in case you were curious….
Comments:
Cousin Kevin: I’m going to Paraguay!

Me: Me too!

Cousin Keagan: Are you two going to duel? Can I watch?

Cousin Kevin: Yes, duh!

Brother Patrick: i call winner

Me: We all know who’s gonna win. Let’s not kid ourselves.

Cousin Keagan: Yeah. We all know I’m the toughie of the family. Thanks for the credit Linds 🙂

Cousin Kevin: Mm hmm

Cousin Kevin: And pat I say yes to your challenge!

Me: Wait. We ARE all registered blood donors, right?

Brother Pat: i’m a registered blood donor…my blood goes to infants. do you even know how to shoot a gun lindsay? and keagan i thought you were just watching?

Cousin Keagan: I’ll watch until the final duel and then ill jump in because we all know I’m good enough to skip the first rounds. And who said anything about guns, mr. Violent!!

Brother Pat: how else do you propose we duel?

Cousin Kevin: bubbles

Me: I thought we were going to shoot rainbows out of unicorn horns. Isn’t that how they dual in Paraguay?

Brother Pat: so that’s where unicorns live!
*************************************************

Never underestimate the power of a Facebook status. You might learn really interesting things.
Don’t you wish you could come to our Thanksgiving dinners?

Happy Friday! 🙂

Normally I don’t care how people find my site, just as long as they stay awhile and read it.

But I don’t even know what half of these search terms mean:

1.) Split my gimp suit (Um, thanks for reading? And I hope your gimp suit can be fixed?)

2.) “Whats is the wrong word what ever spelling still wrong” (Huh…?)

3.) Door open awkward polite

4.) English muffin hatred (Who knew there were people out there with such hatred towards these tasty breakfast treats?)

5.) Human hair sweater (Hahaha…ew!)

6.) “holding door awkward jog”

7.) “chest hair poke through shirt” (Apparently, this is a real problem.)

8.) Tomboy hairy arms

9.) “Tits Piké” (WTF??? What’s with the accent mark?)

10.) “sprinkled donuts, with lots of sprinkles” (And there better be LOTS.)

11.) cartoon fat Jamaican woman (Why must it be a cartoon? And Jamaican?)

12.) English muffins problems (Yeah, what’s your problem, Engligh Muffins? Huh?)

13.) redhead hairy forearm (…Hey!)

14.) “dominatrix outfits” (What the…?)

15.) Miss Obese (Is this REAL?)

16.) English muffins give me a headache (OK, THAT would suck.)

17.) Amputation (WHAT??)

18.) What should a fat boy wear? (I suggest black. It’s slimming.)

19.) “Bob Marley lingerie” (Ohhh…kinky!)

20.) fat person coming out of Blimpies (Ha! Blimpies still exists?)

21.) Super ass (Thanks for noticing)

22.) “cartoon + fat boy + explode” (Well, gee. That’s not very nice.)

23.) Pile of ketchup (This is obviously someone after my own heart.)

24.) Fat kid nerd rage (It’s bound to happen)

25.) My arms hurt really bad (I’m sorry to hear that)

I think the moral of the story is, I have no rhyme or reason when deciding what to write about.

What disturbs me the most is my top two search terms are “Fat kid” and “sprinkle donut”.

1,121 and 626 hits, respectively.

Classy.

It’s not even 10am and today is already shaping up to be weird.

Apparently, I’m in love. Or I have the flu. And I’ve met the Divine Power.

Let me start at the beginning.

I had some errands to run this morning (banking, post office, CVS– you know. Run of the mill.)

I started off at the bank.

Normally going to the bank really isn’t all that exciting.

Unless the guy waiting on you is named Divinepower.

I swear to God.That was his name. Unless of course his name tag was lying, which I don’t think it was because I highly doubt a professional establishment like TD Bank would allow their employees to f*ck with their customers heads like that.

I don’t know why, but I got kind of nervous. Blame Apocolypse 2011.

I mean, what if this guy really was the Divine Power, cleverly disguised as a bank teller? (Because really, who would ever expect Him to show up as a bank teller? Nobody, that’s who.)

What was I supposed to do? Pray? Confess my sins? Ask “Is it really you?”

In any case, I managed to resist the urge to run away, and I got my banking done with only a few nervous (and uncalled for) chuckles.

Then I hightailed it out of there.

Onto the post office.

I just wanted a stamp. That’s all.

So, I waited in line for my turn, and approached the counter with what I thought was just a normal looking expression on my face.

Here is the conversation that followed:

Me: “Hello. I just need a stamp.”
Post Office Guy: “You got it.”
Me: (waiting patiently, looking around and avoiding eye contact to ward off any unwanted conversation.)
POG: “You know what? I’m going to give you a love stamp. Because you look like you’re in love.”
Me: (blank stare) “…huh?”
POG: “Yup. You’ve got the look of love on your face.”
Me: “I do?” (silently wondering if perhaps I wore too much bronzer today.)
POG: “You sure do. Either that, or you have the flu. The symptoms are very similar you know.”
Me: (not knowing what to say, because seriously, WTF is this guy talking about?) “Oh, uh haha. Then I guess I’ll, um, take love?”
POG: “Yeah, I’d say it’s love too. Well, have a great day!”
Me: “Um, thanks. See ya.”

I left feeling very confused.

And slightly defeated. I thought I had my “I’m indifferent and just want to get my shit done so please don’t talk to me” facial expression down, but apparently I don’t because I seem to invite unwanted conversations wherever I go.

In any case, I haven’t gone to CVS yet. Fingers crossed I don’t run into any more weird situations. Happy Friday!

I Am Mallory Pike

July 21, 2010

The other night, I had quite possibly one of the most hilarious conversations of my life with my roommate.

I have no idea how, but we got talking about the Babysitters Club series.

Remember those books? Well, we sure did.

We remembered every single one of their names, including their boyfriends and siblings (remember the triplets Adam, Jordan, and Byron?).

And they all live in the fictional town of Stonybrook, CT.

We remembered Kristy’s parents were divorced, and she moved into her step-father’s mansion.

And remember how Claudia ( you know, the artsy one) used to hide Nancy Drew novels and junk food around her room because her parents didn’t approve of those things?

(Full disclosure: I decided I wanted to be like Claudia, and used to hide candy around my room, too. The only problem is, it would stay hidden for about five minutes before I “found” it, and promptly ate it. I guess I just didn’t have Claudia’s will-power. Or stupidity to forget where it was.)

Anyway, it got us thinking…which BSC member were we?

My roommate Nora is Mary Ann. I don’t really remember why we decided this. Maybe because she has brown hair like Mary Ann and dreams of dating a boy named Logan.

My other roommate, Melissa, is Dawn. Mainly because she has blond hair. (We’re creative, can’t you tell?)

(Another full disclosure: Melissa thinks Nora and I are 100% bat-shit crazy, and pretty much flat-out refused to take part in our BSC role playing. But we dubbed her Dawn anyway. I thought it was compliment…her California-chic style always made me jealous).

So, then the attention roles around to me. And, of course, you can probably guess who I am.

Mallory Pike.

The frizzy-haired, glasses-wearing, braces-sporting nerd.

Tell me- WHY are the redheads always the nerds? What is it about red hair that automatically makes people think of coke-bottle glasses and clear braces?

I mean, look at this poor girl:

Although, I have to admit, we do have the potential to look dangerously alike, if I ever decided to stop brushing my hair and putting on mascara. The only advantage I have is I have straight teeth.

Yikes.

Anyway, we’ve decided this Halloween, we’re all dressing up as the Babysitters Club, and we’re going to have a BSC-themed party complete with Kid Kits and hidden candy (as long as I don’t “find” it all first.)

So, we’re currently casting parts for the rest of The Club. We need people to be:

Kristy– the sporty tomboy, who now that I think about it is probably a raging lesbian.

Claudia– The artsy Japanese-American who likes to wear weird clothes.

Stacy– The diabetic who is the “trend-setter” of the group.

Jessie– The ballerina who has trouble adjusting to being the only black girl in a mostly white town.

Logan– Mary Ann’s boyfriend who is originally from Kentucky. I’ve casted my boyfriend for this part, but I have a feeling he won’t be a willing participant. Besides, we need a guy with blond hair.

So, who’s in?

At the beginning of last summer, I froze, and eventually canceled, my membership at the gym in my office building to pursue my kettlebell dreams.

As most of you know, although my love of kettlebells remains, the kettlebell gym I had joined didn’t work out so well. (Over-charging people, even after they’ve canceled, usually doesn’t make said people so happy.)

So, I’m back at good ‘ol BSC.

Things went great for the first week. I ran on the treadmill a lot, rode the bike some, and purposely avoided the weights, knowing full well reintroducing my body to dumbbells wouldn’t be pretty.

My avoidance could only last for so long.

On Friday (yes, a full THREE days ago) I let one of my co-workers talk me into taking a class called “Club Strength”.

I thought it sounded harmless enough. I mean, according to BSC’s website, the class definition reads:
“We’ve brought the fitness floor into the studio. This total body workout utilizes barbells and weight plates and is suitable for all fitness levels.”

How bad could it be, right?

Wrong. Oh, boy, how wrong I was.

The class itself wasn’t so bad. Hell, I didn’t even bat an eye when my co-worker so nicely saved me a spot in the front of the class. I persevered, and powered through the whole workout with the determination of a born champion.

After class, my legs felt a little wobbly, but other than that, I felt grand.

Friday night, I noticed my arms weren’t bending quite the way they should. But, I went out, had a few beers, and promptly didn’t give it another thought.

Saturday, the soreness set in. Granted it wasn’t bad, but I knew I was in for even more pain the next day. So I drank a box of wine with my roommate and hoped a hangover would overshadow my pain.

Sunday rolls around. Holy Christ. I thought my arms were going to fall off. However, as bad as that sounds, I thought that was the worst of it.

I. Was. Wrong.

Here’s is what my arms currently look like:

Yes, I took this picture at work, in my cube.

You might not think it looks like anything is wrong.

But, see how my arm is bent at an awkward 90 degree angle? That’s because I can’t straighten it any more than that without wanting to rip my arm off in a fit of pain and anguish.

Now picture me swaggering down the hallway at work, with my arms all askew, while I desperately try to make it look like it’s totally normal to look like that .

Exactly. It’s hilarious. And pathetic.

If this keeps up, I’m considering amputation. Good God someone help me.