On Tweeting for A Living

Sometimes at work I feel like the Wizard of Oz, standing behind the curtain anonymously pulling levers and hoping no one notices I am 5’3” and lacking any real magical powers.

But I guess the moral of that story (along with the whole silver vs. gold economic parable) is the realization that you grow and as you struggle create for yourself everything you think you lack.
In the words of Miley Cirus, it’s the climb.
So that’s what I’m doing. Climbing. Growing. Saying cheesy things. Attempting wit and incorporating copywriting, social media and public relations in a way that didn’t exist when I was in school a year ago. Seriously freaks me out to see how things at work have come together in a way that couldn’t be more perfect for me. Only way it could be better is if it included routine cupcake tastings, cute dachshund puppy play-time, and a constant loop of Friends episodes playing in the background. 
Scratch that, we DO have cupcakes quite regularly. 
You all hate me, don’t you.
Point I’m getting to is I don’t know what. I’ve somehow managed to get to do my hobbies for a living and it deserves a blog post. I am thankful, excited, working hard, and incredible unnerved by the whole situation. I’m in unfamiliar territory, but I’d be a fool to tap my heels together and wish for any place else.

Double Dog Dare

Let’s take a little quiz: Which of the following will my dog NOT eat?

  • spaghetti
  • broccoli
  • Kleenex
  • twist-ties
  • dog poop
  • watermelon
  • q-tips
  • oatmeal
  • lettuce
  • aluminum foil
  • stuffed animal fuzz/innards
  • Tupperware
  • live bumblebees
  • edemame
  • pickled ginger
  • pickles
  • sand

If you answered “none of the above” you are correct. For the first year or so of our relationship, I have been off and on horrified. By now I am mostly impressed, and have started to wonder if it’s all just a game to her.

Aaron and I have started to create challenges. Duels against the dog. Survivor meets Fear Factor. What won’t she eat?

So far, nothing. If you think you’re up to the challenge, let me know. I’ll feed her anything non-life threatening and take pictures to verify her decision.


You’re right, I will be an awesome parent some day.

I’m Alive.

I feel like it just needs to be said, considering my last post.

Weekend went well. I’ve been back from Austin since 5 pm Sunday and have discovered how incredibly backlogged on all my usual TV shows I’ve gotten while I’ve been so busy not being a loser. So please, no one tell me what happened on the following shows this and last week:
The Hills
The Bachelorette
Desperate Housewives Season Finale
Gossip Girl
Jon & Kate Plus 8 Premiere
…and ya know, the 2 am showing of Star Trek Voyager on Spike, but considering the likelihood of anyone else watching it, it doesn’t really need to be said.
Also, if there was anything on Oprah in the past two weeks, DO let me know, because I will be blanket deleting all 17 episodes. They are taking up too much space.
Now that that housekeeping is taken care of, I shall sleep.

Over The Teeth and Through The Gums, Look Out Austin, Here I Come

I’m all packed for Nicole’s bachelorette in Austin:

3 bottles Gatorade
2 Pepto MAX
1 Imodium
3 of Aaron’s prescription IBS meds
I’ve been told there is no complaining, no belly-aching, and no giving up after my two-beer queer self doesn’t want to drink anymore. That your best friend from kindergarten only gets married once and she wants this to be the best bachelorette party ever.
Mommy.

Smart Design

When I was in the Texas Creative program at UT, they used to ask us questions, give us little mental exercises to spur creativity. Things like writing our own six-word stories, giving us five minutes to write a short story involving the words “scissors, elephant and honey-comb” or come up with a theme and creative names for six different colors.

It was fun, but I never really felt like I had accomplished anything constructive.

My sister once dated this guy who was in design school. I remember him talking about how in one of his classes they prompted him similarly with the question “How would you design a giraffe better?”

His answer: Add an extra stomach in the neck so that digestion can begin sooner.

This was about two years ago and I still remember his answer because I keep thinking I would never have come up with that solution. And have yet to come up with a better one. I am perpetually vexed.

Efficiency is sometimes the most beautiful art form of all.

Two Genius Ideas

1. They should make suburbs that look exactly like the city. Sort of. Driving around The Heights yesterday and getting to see my friend Carlea’s fabulous new townhome and surrounding bungalows and cottages and wooden front porches, I thought to myself “I want to live surrounded by these houses… only miles away from the scary parts and the homeless”. Why does this not exist? Why must all houses in the suburbs looks the same. I urge a developed to come in with a new business model- to create an entire master planned community with houses you can’t normally get in the suburbs- beautiful southern wrap-around porches, craftsman style or Louisiana plantation inspired homes. Something with personality, style. Something you can look at and know it will be there for the next fifty years.
Because when I make my inevitable exit from the heavenly metropolis in search of permanent residence, I might go on a killing spree. Not because I hate my neighbors, but because it might take a few red brick cookie-cutter houses to correctly identify the one containing the culdesac-loving husband that stranded me there.
A little bit of the wonderfulness I am referring to:

2. Gate Codes. The one for my apartment hasn’t been changed in SO long that it is now abundantly clear which four numbers you press to enter. The yellow paint inside each engraved metal numeral is gone. I asked our apartment office about it, she said they usually update it with the current year and month, which seems about as obvious to me as the current code. I say pick the four random numbers on the keypad that look the least worn. It will throw intruders off by a mile. And they can keep this code for the next five or six years it takes to catch up to the current numbers.

Escapism.

I know it’s bad to dream about falling, but what if the reason you’re falling is because you’ve decided to fake your own death?

Last night I dreamed an elaborate Thelma & Louise death-scene/train going off the cliff at the end of Back to the Future III/Nitro Circus amalgamate that involved me and about four other people (I think some were family members, although that detail is fading) driving this bicycle contraption off a cliff after being chased, then letting out a parachute/hot air balloon before we hit the bottom of the ravine. The hot air balloon was designed to camouflage flawlessly with the sky and as it rose into the air we sailed inconspicuously past our assailants.

I woke up feeling rather pleasant about the whole experience.

What do you think that means?

On Life, Love and Law School

The most accurate way I can think to describe how I feel about the experience of going through law school with my husband is this:

I feel like law school is some old, crotchety rich lady we are placating and tolerating and trying our best to endure so that when she dies and when it is all over we can get all her money.
If we just hold on, we can have it all.

Keebler Elves, In The Conservatory, With The Cheese Grater

Question: What am I DOING that causes this?

My fancy shoes never get scratched or scuffed anywhere but the back of the heel, and it always happens in the same place, with every pair I own. I don’t see how I am physically capable of this- I don’t do anything unusual, I certainly don’t do anything athletic. I just walk and sit at my desk. Sometimes I imagine the Keebler Elves coming by while I’m at work with one of those hand-held cheese slicers and devilishly injuring my beloved footwear because that is the only remotely logical explanation I can think of and because most of my explanations involve elves.
Then I play the movie Leprechaun in my head and am creeped out, not only because that movie is disturbing but because Jennifer Aniston was in it and that is just weird.
Tangent. Help?

Crap in, Crap out. Blogging? Peace out.

Sab⋅bat⋅i⋅cal

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–adjective

1. of or pertaining or appropriate to the Sabbath.
2. of or pertaining to a sabbatical year.
3. bringing a period of rest.

–noun

4. sabbatical year.
5. any extended period of leave from one’s customary work, esp. for rest, to acquire new skills or training, etc.

Maddness To My Method

Chaos Theory: If it doesn’t match anything, it matches everything.

Mismatched Notes I’ve Been Hanging On To:

  • Last night I spent approximately three hours starring at Great American Cookie across from AMC Katy Mills manning a sign-in table for a client event, without succumbing to my primal urge to collapse my folding chair, smash it into the plexiglass, and consume mother’s day cakes whole. I think they call this a breakthrough.
  • I need to develop an exercise routine, or rather a routine that includes exercise. Convinced buying more ’80s workout videos is the way to go. Ups the entertainment factor. Now if only I would stop watching them sitting on the floor with a bowl of Blue Bell and the latest Us magazine.
  • “I’d shake your hand but I’m holding dog poo” is one of those things you never think you’ll say until you have the acute privilege of being a pet-owning apartment dweller. Unwanted socialization and humiliation are not what I had in mind when I brought Ruby home. Some days I’d almost her rather pee on my carpet than have to trudge outside in my FRANKY SAY RELAX t-shirt and Oscar the Grouch Walmart man-panties at 7 am to have her sniff every neighbor’s poodle while I avoid eye contact. I think I may sob uncontrollably the day I actually have a backyard.
  • I am so cooking-adverse I had no idea coming in contact with raw, freshly chopped onions was the equivalent of bathing in cat urine. Six haz-mat hand washings and 16 hours later my hands still smell.

Social Media Gurus and Commentators, I Am Your Audience.

1. Don’t try to be coy with me. Tell me what you are, why you are, and what you need to say.

2. Quickly. Say it at the front, top, first thing I come in contact with. Let me know within seconds if I want to be here or not.

3. Cut the clutter. If eight different widgets and windows and text bars attack me immediately, I will feel overwhelmed and shut down. Eyes averted, window closed. Let me know where and what I should read first, otherwise I will read nothing.

4. Brevity is the soul of wit. Make me crave more words, not scorn your loquacity. (Yes, loquacity)

5. Surviving my initial short attention span reaps rewards. Once I’ve decided I like your site/blog/guru theologies, I will read more. More than a personal with a decent attention span would, because I will build interest and loyalty before burning out.

In conclusion, I am 23, ADD, and from a generation that is too self-involved to read the work of others. Be direct and succinct or else employ the infallible use of shiny objects.

Who Knew

That when you drop a snow pea underneath a burner on your stove then let it reheat for several weeks each time you cook to the point where it becomes charcoal and glows the next time you cook so that you have to splash water on it while the burner is still cooking noodles that it lets out the most horrific smell you’ve ever smelt in your life.

That and the fact I just saw my 40 year old neighbor in his boxers through the sliding glass door adjacent to mine makes me think it is time to move.

Growing Up: Unsavory Truths and Why Your Parents Are Right

There is a point in your life where you will wake up and realize that people older than you know better, in spite of all other factors that would make you believe otherwise.

From ages 10-22 I held the belief that being older doesn’t necessarily make you smarter or wiser or more apt to make a better decision. That as a generally intelligent person with a decent dose of common sense, my reasoning and understanding could trump anyone aged 23-106 if they suffered from a less desirable IQ.

No.

They know. Oh they know. Although you may believe they have done nothing to deserve it, the simple fact that they have breathed in and out, got up in the morning and brushed their teeth more times than you have gives them insight you have absolutely no chance of attaining ahead of time.

The moment of clarity came amidst a classic middle-child throw down between my sister and mom over the Easter holiday. My sister wanted to trek across Spain with one of her girl friends from college, 300 miles by themselves. Her plan was to show up, go, and hope hostels would have openings.

I’ve always known my mother knew better. In general, and without error, although I am viscerally and genetically predispositioned to believing otherwise. But for the first time in the history of family arguing, instead of believing my mother was paranoid and needed to stop watching so much sensationalized news, I found myself (distasteful as it was) taking her side. Why would my sister not understand her concerns? How could she be so sure it would all work out?

Because my mom is older and she knows things my sister does not. No matter how much of a genius my sister is, true wisdom wins.

Trust me on this, I’m older.

😉

This Is The House Where Crazy Lives

After a long week of working late and being busy, I came home, sat on the couch for about an hour, then went ape-shit on the apartment.

Between my work schedule and Aaron’s studying for finals, we have been neglecting things to the point where two hours ago there were enough dirty dishes to fill both the sink and the washer. 
Yes, I have dishes on a wait-list. Like Southwest passengers on standby. We’re overbooked.
Floors mopped, kitchen mats washed and in the dryer, vacuumed everything, cleaned out the fridge, threw out the trash. Wandered around a while seeing what else I could organize. Dumped out the purse, sorted for duplicates-

Was entirely convinced the contents (and not the fact that I was standing on a chair photographing them like an insane person) meant something about my personality.
I am prepared for anything and everything- pain, hunger, bad breath, dry lips, bug bites. If files need to be saved, pictures captured, notes taken, payments made, hands sanitized, I am ready.
Question- Based on this would you consider me an uptight person?
I think it must mean something if most of the world is trying to look put-together when their insides are a mess and most of the time I am trying to attempt the reverse.