Party pooped

I'm realizing now that I can't post this until after the fact on the off chance that Boyfriend will read my blog (which he doesn't often, and I don't blame him because I wouldn't either - it's a lingual/emotional minefield in here), but his surprise birthday bash is driving me bonkers! I've got people saving the date, but now I have to figure out what we're going to do with it. I found a drinks/dancing spot, but I can't find a dinner venue to save my soul! All I want is:
1. a reasonably priced place
2. in Central Square
3. that can accomodate 10-12 of us
4. and will let me bring in my own birthday cake

All I can find is a reservation for 5:30pm (way to early), and, oh yeah, and... NOTHING ELSE! It's over a week in advance! Boston is a harsh city. Planning surprise birthday stuff stresses me out. I'm itchy all over :(


Funneling isn't an "additional skill"

I was on the train this morning and I overheard this conversation:

Girl: "So I didn't get the pharmaceutical sales rep job."

Boy: "That sucks."

Girl: "My mom said she read an article about how pharmaceutical companies are more likely to hire people who were cheerleaders."

Boy: "That makes total sense."

Girl: "I bet if I'd put that on my resume I would have gotten the job."

Who is this girl's mother? Who wrote that article?
Sure, that's what they tell you when you join cheerleading or a sorority - that it's a great addition to your resume and will really give you a leg up within the applicant pool. But no one actually puts it on their resume! (I hope.) If you were a cheerleader, all that says about you is that you can be peppy and spirited. If you were a sorority gal (and I can say these things because I was), all that says about you is that you've mastered the fake smile and are probably an easy lay. Not to mention the fact that you choose to self-segregate. Why would you advertise these things?

Generally speaking, the stigma of cheerleader and/or sorority girl are probably more damaging than helpful in most professional situations. The attributes that made you a good Greek are not as marketable once the keggers are over. Although the fake smile does still come in handy every once in a while. So it's not like you didn't learn anything. Knowing how to hold someone's hair back without getting vomit on your shoes and how to tie a cherry stem in a knot with your tongue can be helpful skill sets even well into adulthood.



On my laptop keyboard the letter sticker on the n key is wearing off. Who would have thought that n is the most used key on my keyboard? How many words have n in them? I'd never have guessed that n consistently puts in such a good day's work.


It takes a lot of love (but how much like?)

After a fantastic Thanksgiving feast at B's cousin's gorgeous new house in Maryland (yeah, soooo jealous!), he and his mom and I ended up on the couch at his aunt's Chevy Chase home watching Shennandoah on AMC (the Jimmy Stuart version). While there were several really memerable lines ("What has Virginia ever done for me? When I had my six sons I never once saw the state come around with a spare tit"), the scene that stuck out in my mind was when Jenny's husband-to-be is asking her father for her hand in marriage. Her father (Stuart) asks the young lad why he wants to marry Jenny. He replies, of course, that he loves her. And Jimmy Stuart says "I know you love her, but do you like her? You need to like the woman you marry a hell of a lot more than you need to love her." I hadn't thought about that, but now I can't stop thinking about it. I believe it's possible to be in love with someone you don't necessarily like. But the ones you like are the ones whose happiness you'd sell your soul for.


Sometimes you're the windshield, sometimes you're the bug

I just pulled off an amazing parallel parking feet. With grace and ease. My car practically melted into that spot, in no less than one attempt (with under three "finaglings" to get it just right). My first thought was "I'm an expert parallel parker! It's a gift!" Until I remembered the truly heinous parallel parking job I'd done the last time I planted my car for the night. How can that be? How can I be miraculously good at something one day, and laughably bad at it the next?

There are days when I feel like I missed my calling as a race car driver. I speed along the Boston roadways, weaving in and out of traffic and merging into lanes like I was born behind the wheel. And then there are other days, like the day I almost killed myself and Boyfriend (accidentally of course) and we had to execute an emergency Chinese fire drill downtown because I was clearly unable to operate a motor vehicle at the that particular moment in time. What changes from one day to the next? Well, something. Obviously.

But for me that's sort of how my life is. Some days I'm totally together and ooze competence, compassion, and charisma. Other days.... well, less so (I don't want to be too self-degrading here, but I'm sure you know what I'm getting at, and if you're one of my friends you've doubtless been unlucky enough to witness the damage). And even though I know that's how it goes, I'm still always surprised when I'm either totally on, or totally off. I'd like to say the totally on days make up for the totally off days. But they don't. Today I fell up the stairs at work (you know it's bad when you're not even falling in harmony with gravity), was late to almost every appointment I had, and, when trying to explain to the Healthworks attendant why I needed a towel even though I didn't have the measly $2 to pay for it, actually elaborated on exactly which parts of my naked body I didn't really want other women staring at. Why? Why would I do that? I've thought about it all evening long, and parallel parking merry-go-round mojo is the only explanation I can come up with.