Win or Lose, We Go Shopping!

Dear every single fabulous wonderful delightful lovely charming blogger I met at tequilacon,

You delight me.  Meeting all y’all was simply aces! The pictures (all eight gagillion) are hilarious, the swag was overly generous and kind-hearted, and (despite being located in the scary part of the city) the venue was top notch.  Y’all were charming, welcoming, hilarious, and engaging.  You’re also much better (and more prompt) at recapping than I am - so thanks for that too!  Also, the majority of you are much much taller than I had pictured you in my head.  I don’t know that that’s especially noteworthy, but it certainly was a fun tidbit to learn!

Love and such,

One of the 900 or so women in turquoise shirts

***

Dear Mom and Dad,

I swear that I am not dead.  For the record, I have called to say hello… I just usually end up chatting with David (and we know how good he is about the whole messages thing) about the pizza shop.  Please don’t disinherit me.

Love (from my still beating heart),

Your firstborn

*****

Dear Parent of student who “lost” their mattress,

Your child’s idiocy astounds me.  I literally cannot fathom how a person can lose an entire twin-extra long mattress  - they’re not exactly small or easily transported.  The phone conversation with you I had this afternoon was 45 minutes of my life that I’ll never get back.  Apparently intellect is genetic.

Sincerely,

One very annoyed college administrator

*****

Dear extraordinarily adorable fellow in the green pick up truck behind me at the stop light,

Yum. Both you and the truck.

Love,

available.

****

Dear bartender at Tequila Joe’s,

You have a heavy hand with the tequila.  I find that to be an incredibly endearing characteristic in a bartender.  Well done, sir.

Love,

1/3 of the ruckus-y happy hour crowd.

Or: The ridiculous people keeping me awake on the night before undergraduate move out

1. The idiots who yell from the top floor of the building down to their friends smoking cigarettes in the alcove, “Dude! Come up to my room! I’ve got to finish the rest of this beer before my mom comes tomorrow!!”
2. The lovebirds who decided to have one last “hurrah” in the building lobby.  Loudly.  With the door open. “Oh shit!!” indeed.
3. The party-people who decided that the middle of the soccer field would be a terrific place to dance and sing along to the High School Musical soundtrack… and then run when they see me coming and leave behind a rucksack full of Natty Lite.  There are very few things as obnoxious as upending 28 beers into a communal bathroom sink after 1:00am.
4. The geniuses who ran out into the middle of the HIGHWAY that leads to campus to “fix” the construction cones by making them “straighter” and then tripped up the hill back to campus and skinned their knees.  No, you do not need stitches, yes you should go the hell to bed.

Seventeen more hours to go …

10:00am

I try for professional instead of annoyed. “I think we need to be intentional about this.  It’s a retreat, we want to get something out of it!”

“But, mostly we want it to be fun, right? So if we did something like bowling, we could all bond!”

“Well, bowling sure is fun… but what would we get professionally out of that?” You giant effing pain my effing ass.

Silence.  Yep.  Thought so.

11:45am

He is checking out from his room (finally! joyfully! begone!) but doesn’t want to do any of the actual moving involved with moving out.

“Bre… I need to get my refridgerator out and I think it’s going to be a 3 or 4 man job.  Can you make the RAs come?”

“Nope.  We can’t require them to do that based on our insurance policies.”  Also, stop being a lazy pain in my butt.

“I don’t know what you think I should do.”

I don’t know why you think I should be responsible for moving your mini fridge just because you don’t want to.

“Well, it looks like you need to make a decision.  You can leave it behind and pay the fine for having us remove it.  You can ask some of the guys on your hall if they’re willing to help.  OR You can figure out way to get it down the steps by yourself.”

“Oh… well… ok.”

2:15pm

“I’m not a self mutilator.  Mutilation is ugly and I don’t do that… I cut.  I’m a cutter and that’s just these little ridges.  It’s not ugly.”

Little silver scars intersect like shattered glass up and down her shoulders.

She is whispering now.  “It’s not ugly.”

5:20pm

“I think there is a very cold beer in my future.”

“YES.” Theresa yells it down the hallway.  “I don’t care if you weren’t inviting me, but I’m THERE… provided we can go after 8″

6:45pm

“Hi, Boss? I need to call in a psych consult.”

7:20pm

“So… the Comet in an hour?”

. Absofuckinglutely.

You know, not to sound disgustingly saccharine or anything, but y’all are just good people. When it comes down to it, you’re just so nice.  And that’s incredible to me, because I see mean on a daily basis - not enough people are just nice to other folks because it’s in them to be.  For far too many folks, it’s just easier to be self-indulgent.

And, yeah, I’m guilty of that.

On any given day, I hope that I’m fairly nice to people, I hope that I do nice things… but I get swept away by my frustration with and anger towards all the jerkwads out there who think it’s funny to reduce one of the girls on their hall to tears (in that catty, mean girls way) , or to smash a desk chair into tiny pieces just because they can.  My colleagues and I spend hours venting it all out, swapping stories of awfulness to the point where my entire day is sometimes defined by the insignificant bad things.

And I’m SO over that.

I’d like to point out some incredibly sweet things I’ve noticed during my creepster blog lurking recently:

1. Hilly is coming to Philly! Thanks to incredibly generous donations from other bloggers.  I should thank y’all too, since this means I can, you know, meet her in person and gush over her and such.
2. Sizzle said “No”, and in telling her story is helping to raise money and awareness for RAINN.  I can’t even begin to tell you how brave and wonderful I think this is.  Incredible. Wonderful.
3. Heather is brainstorming on how to share comfort with other Loss Moms and Dads. To lose a child is such a raw, primitive pain that I can’t even fathom.  Getting through it with the grace Heather has is miraculous - to share that grace and want to comfort others is spectacular.

I am certain that there are countless other examples of the really wonderful things that folks are doing to help others just cause they are solidly good folks.  Down to the core.

So the point of all of this (and there really is a point!) is that I’d like to hear about the good, incredible, nice things that you’re doing.  Brag.  I know it’s not in all of you to do so, but do it as a favor to me.  Leave a comment, or write a post that links back to this one about the good you’re doing.

And then! Then! Because you’re all so nice! I’ll randomly pluck one (or two.. or maybe three) of your wonderful acts of kindness and send you some thanks, from me to you.  Because [here comes the cheeziest part of this post]  you’re being the person I want to remember that I am.  You’re helping to make the world that I want to live in.

It’s fairly obvious that I’ve been almost unnaturally silent for the past week or so.  The thing is, I haven’t actually meant to be.  So many thingshave happened.  Idle, day to day things like a new hair-cut and victory over “Mississippi Queen” on medium (5 stars!) as well as plenty of the “I work at a University” ridiculousness that peppers my life.  And then there is, of course, the heaps upon heaps of personal happenings(your average single girl song and dance) just waiting to be typed in.  To be published.

You see, things have happened.  I have things to say.

But they’re stuck, somewhere between my brain and my fingertips.  I’m guessing they’re lodged in my shoulders with the rest of the work-related tension that I’ve been carrying around lately.  Somewhere behind my worry for one of my students who is struggling socially, shoved up against the mile-long list of things to do for the banquet I’m planning, and tucked just to the left of the frustration at having to lecture students on how to properly dispose of their used condoms are scoresof blog posts. 

Scads of them.  Pages and pages worth. Short ones.  Long ones.  Sentimental ones.  Blog posts that made me grin while composing them (in my head of course) and ones that made me roll my eyes at my own self righteousness.  Posts about exciting things.  Posts about the mundane.

But they’re stuck up in my shoulders waiting for someone to come shove their thumb into the middle of the big twisted knot of tension and let everything flow out again.

I don’t know when I became so disconnected from the one thing that I always turned to to keep myself sane.

But there it is.  Blogging and I are disconnected, and for no apparent reason. 

On a daily basis I click through blog posts that make me laugh and roll my eyes and want to say something… but I don’t.  I mark them as read.  I move along.  I can’t bring myself to say the things that I want to say. 

Suddenly, I’m J. Alfred Prufrock and I’m measuring my life with coffee spoons and waiting desperately for mermaid voices.

“It is impossible to say just what I mean!”

It’s disgusting I know.

I suppose what I want you to know is that I’m here.  Quietly reading.  Waiting for something to shake me up enough to pop the tension in my shoulders and give blogging back to me.

I’ve been asked countless times since the plane landed in the middle of Pre-St. Patrick’s day Philadelphia revelry.

By Frank, who later wouldn’t remember that part of the conversation.  By my brother when I called to say “I’m home. I’m fine.”  By Elle’s boyfriend when he picked us up at the curb, and everyone who couldn’t go from our office here.

It’s impossible to capture it all in words.

The trip’s purpose was to introduce a large percentage of our first year students to both the concept of studying abroad and a world outside the stone walls of their University.  The mechanics of that are… overwhelming.  Mobilizing close to two hundred 18 year olds through the city on various excursions while making sure that they don’t drink themselves stupid and/or get arrested was a bit like herding cats.  Feral ones.  In the rain.
But despite the moments of insanity, the trip was… spectacular.  Though I’m a born and bred suburban girl, there’s something about cities that I find irresistible.  Especially great cities, which London absolutely is.

So because I’m categorically unable to describe just how awesome my trip was… how about a highlights list?

Things I adored in London:

• Standing in the pouring down rain and waiting for a river tour (of all things to do in the rain).  We were all soaking wet, exhausted, and slap-happy.
• When the sun finally made its way past the torrential downpour and gale force winds, just in time for us to walk into the Tower of London.
• The two quiet minutes we had to explore the Bloody Tower before the student tour caught up with us.
• The London Eye.
• Walking through Notting Hill to the London office, coffee in hand, and daydreaming about taking a job in London for a year or two.
• Taking ridiculous photos of ourselves at the pub.
• Every single inch of the Tate Modern.
• Watching Elle get little kid excited to be walking past the Globe theater.
• The view from the Stone Gallery at St. Paul’s.
• Trying to have a conversation with R on top of St. Paul’s, but losing our voices to the wind.
• Exploring the eclectic toy store with some of the folks from the Theater department while arguing about who was the most impressive of Shakespeare’s heroines.
• The tube.  If only Philadelphia could organize public transportation that efficient and organized!
• Seeing shows in the West End
• Watching the dogs run around in Kensington Garden while on our quest to find Peter Pan
• Harrods.
• Elle’s death grip on the map - which really got us lost just as often as it got us found
• Watching the England vs. Scotland Rugby Game while sitting in front of the fire and drinking a pint of something dark and lovely.
• Mocking R for spending his free day bird watching… then ultimately taking pictures of birds like a big ole hypocrite.
• Walking through Brixton market and watching the students freak out over goat heads and other such foods on display
• Marks and Spencer
• Standing at the Martyrdom of St. Thomas and lighting a candle
• Walking on cobblestones
• Top Shop
• Sitting outside in the sunshine for tea in Canterbury
• The entirety of Canterbury, really
• The excited chatter of my students when they told us all about their adventures
• The incredibly awesome 50’s style bowling alley/nightclub
• Learning to jitterbug
• The people. Both the coworkers who traveled with me and the folks at the London office.
• Flying home without said excited, chatterbug-y students

We packed as much as humanly possible into our week abroad, but clearly we didn’t see half of the things that we want to see, or a quarter of the amazing things that are out there to be seen.

London was amazing.  It was exhilarating.  It was beautiful.  It was exciting.  It was windy.  It was indulgent. It never seemed to sleep.  It was lazy.  It was reverent.  It was sentimental.  It was gritty.  It was in flux.  London was amazing.

This morning I woke up, threw in a load of laundry, flicked on the coffeemaker, and hopped in the shower.

After my shower I realized that there weren’t any towels, so I dripped my way through the bathroom, my bedroom, and the back room before I was able to achieve some semblance of dry.

Super.

On my way out the door I grabbed my coffee cup, dashed in some sugar and creamer… and took a sip of hot milky sugar water.  It helps, when you make coffee, to make sure that you put the coffee grounds in the filter first.

Great.

By now I’m sure you see where this is going and I’m sure you will be completely unsurprised when you discover that I poured the soap into the washing machine but never actually turned it on.

It’s been that kind of day.

Meanwhile, I am working on a post about the incredible wonderfulness that was London, so look out for that.. sometime soon… when my day stops sucking.

Exhausted. Missing London. Jet Lagged.

There are, of course, plenty of photos if you’d like to see them.

In the meantime I’ll be unpacking, sleeping, and doing loads upon loads of laundry.

Woo.

Hello Bre’s blog friends! So far this week you’ve been given the inside scoop on Bre from some of those closest to her. Well, there’s not too much I can add to what’s already been said (although a few choice items come to mind, mwah hah hah). But keeping with the week’s theme of “all about Bre”, I thought I’d tell you a bit about the Bre that I know. Oh, first I guess I should say who the heck I am. Well, I’m Cyndi; some of you might recall me as a cohort in some of Bre’s adventures. I also go by the name “bastet3″ to about, oh, the four people who read my blog over here.

I first met Bre in middle school, but we didn’t really start becoming friends until we got to high school. We were in school plays together (it was me in the wings suffering through enjoying her singing and giving her the thumbs up). At the beginning of high school I had a close group of a few friends. By my senior year I had the same close friends but also tons of new ones as well, mostly found through the music and drama programs. When my last high school birthday was coming up, Bre mentioned that she’d heard of someone who’d had a book made for them. And in this book all of the girl’s friends had written a little blurb about why they liked her or a fun memory they’d shared. Naturally, I thought this idea was awesome. Who wouldn’t want a book full of reasons why they’re super? So I blatantly casually worked into the conversation that I would love to have a book like that for my birthday.

Bre handled everything, she printed up flyers that she covertly handed out to all of my friends throughout the school. She claims that she had people hounding her for copies (she may have exaggerated that part to make me feel cooler though). Over the weeks before my birthday, Bre tracked down over 30 of my friends and gathered up all of their papers. Then she typed each one up (in different fonts and with different pictures on each page). She also created a couple pages of “Cyndi facts” like cool people who were born the same day as me and info on my sign and things like that.

Needless to say, it was pretty much the best birthday present ever. Reading it made me feel so loved, and showed me that I actually did mean something to the people that I saw every day. Even now, when I’m at my lowest, I take out “The Cyndi Book” and remember that something as simple as being nice to a classmate can make a difference in someone’s day and someone’s life. And knowing that makes me feel pretty good about myself.

So there’s my Bre. She took hours upon hours to put together a book that would mean the world to me. Which shows you what kind of person she is too.

Hello Blog readers! After reading Caitlin’s post about Bre some of you asked for the dirt.  While Caitlin does have some fun dirt on Bre, you really need to go straight to the younger sister.  Ripping off Caits style - I too will write an acrostic poem.

ehem

B - Bad Singer. No, really, she is a bad singer.  Not only is she a bad singer but she KNOWS shes a bad singer and still continues to sing obnoxiously loud.  She was a lead in a musical in high school and she had a song.  I was very afraid of that song.  However, she did the whole “talk sing” thing and spared the audience.  That was very nice of her.

R - Really Big Feet. Not like  Incredible Hulk feet or anything but shes got pretty big feet for a girl.  She also does not own socks because she hates wearing them.  When she does need them whose socks does she take? My dads? Brothers? They have similar foot size… Oh no.. she takes MY socks.  I am a good 4 shoe sizes smaller than she is and her big feet stretch out my socks so i can no longer wear them. cool.

E - Eavesdropper.  Now i know this one isnt really a big deal.  I myself have been known to listen in on conversations.. However, Bre will stop what she is doing to listen into my phone calls if it sounds interesting.  Gladys Kravitz.  Thats what she is.

A - Algebra is not her friend.  She’s really bad at math.  No lie - the other day she asked me if 19 was an odd number. 19!? Yes i believe that IS an odd number.

N - No taste in music.  Country? Really? Really? I know its the biggest genre of music in the country but lets get serious - our Country is a little misguided at times especially when it comes to the Arts.  Note how most of the Oscars this year went to people from other Countries.  Interesting.

N - No sense of Direction.  She knows how to get some places but if you dropped her in the middle of a city without a GPS, a Map, or another person in the car she would end up in Canada before she even got close to home.

Clearly, I have much better dirt on her but she is my sister so I’m not going to tell you.  Bre had originally wanted me to write about Pop Culture or Superheroes but I decided that this would be waaaaay more fun.  I do have her password so I may write again later.  Until then…

Peace Out Cub Scouts

also - I am a really bad speller and do not care for grammer so if anything is a little shifty I apologize.