the traffic diaries

This is what I stare at for about an hour and a half every day:


It's not ideal, but you guys are going to benefit. You know how most people get their great ideas in the shower? I have my best moments in the car, while listening to terrible pop songs and singing at the top of my lungs (if you're on 394W between 5 and 6 pm, that was probably me jamming to One Direction). 

Just to prep you for what you can expect on this blog now that I have a ridiculous commute, here are some musings from a recent 3.5 hour road trip. Yes, I did record my thoughts. Literally. With my phone. If you don't want to be my friend anymore, I understand.

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0:00 The first thing I do when I get in my car is check at least three times to make sure there is no recording device in my car. A comeback of the VH1 show "Motormouth" (where a hidden camera is placed in someone's car to catch them singing)  is a constant fear of mine. 

0:15 I pass one of those giant trucks carrying hundreds of logs.  Hasn't the log transportation industry seen the first scene in Final Destination 2? WHY haven't they figured out a better way to transport logs??

0:30 Jay Z needs to write a follow up to "99 Problems" because I am really concerned about whether or not the canines came and found drugs in his locked trunk. From his tone it sounds like he DID have drugs in the back of his car. But Jay Z is a smart guy! He should know he shouldn't carry drugs around! I mean, what would Beyonce think? What would Blue Ivy think? On that note, how do rappers explain half the stuff they rap about to their children?

0:45 There's a line in a Taylor Swift song that says there is nothing I do better than revenge. I don't know if I believe that. Like, what would revenge from Taylor Swift look like? Replacing my puppy with an even cuter puppy? Mwahahaha. You really got me that time, T Swizzle. 

1:00 Hey look, a hitchhiker. Do hitchhikers' thumbs get tired? I'm going to stick my thumb up and see how long I can hold it before it gets tired.

1:15 A string of Glee songs just came on, and I was able to partake in my favorite solo road trip activity: identifying which member of an ensemble is singing. This game also works well with boy bands and sibling duets (the Duffs, the Simpsons).

1:30 I just sounded JUST like Rachel Berry in my head.

2:00 In my early mid twenties when "Tik Tok" by Kesha came on I got excited for a night out of fun and debauchery with friends. Now, in my late mid twenties, it makes me excited to go dance by myself to Just Dance for Wii. 

2:15 CRAP. I forgot to hold my thumb pose.

2:30 When I hear Nicki Minaj, I picture her crazy curvy body, her ridiculous clothes... and Sophia Grace's head. Do you think that's what Sophia Grace's parents wanted?

3:00 My second favorite solo road trip game is trying to perfect my rapping skills. The current song of choice is "N*ggas in Paris", and I've replayed the first 30 seconds about 25 times so far, trying to learn Jay Z's part (his raps are much more difficult to learn than Kanye's -I know this from experience). It occurred to me that I should invent some kind of contraption that will project the lyrics to whatever song I'm listening to while driving, on the sky in front of me, similar to Panem projecting the dead tributes' heads during the Hunger Games. Why doesn't this exist??

3:15 Just passed a DeLorean. This car has been sitting on the side of this highway without moving for approximately 6 years.  Each time I pass it, my mind starts to wander. Of course I wonder what would happen if I went back in time and intercepted my parents' first date, and they married other people, and they had other children. I wonder if these other children would know things like exactly which N Sync member is singing at every moment in every song. Probably not. We can't all be perfect.

famous friends

Confession time: when I was younger I was obsessed with the Olsen Twins. I wanted to be their best friend -- I even used to have dreams that I was their step-sister. To a vain 12 year old with no friends, being friends with a celebrity was the ultimate compliment, coveted enough to make me wake up from those dreams a tiny bit mad at my parents for still being married. 


And here we are, years later, and not only did I dine "with" Morgan Freeman recently, but I have three other brushes with celebrities with which to impress you.


1.  You may have seen this guy on The Voice this season: 


Brian and I went to summer camp together in the 90s. Were we friends? The better question may be if we ever spoke. We are the same age (so we were in the same small group), but I guarantee you he doesn't remember me, because he was The Cute Boy and I looked like this:


At least my step-sisters accepted me for who I was.


Anyway, my friend Leila was (and is!) The Cute Girl and had the privilege of calling Brian her boyfriend. I bet they even held hands. But I'm sure she'll tell a better version of that story on her blog soon.

2.  The man below in the glasses is Bill Joyce, animator and, as of Sunday, Academy Award winning director of The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore.


We don't know each other. But he does live around the corner from me. I have nearly run into the low-hanging branches of the tree in his front yard on many, many occasions, and Ike has resisted the urge to poop on his lawn on many, many occasions. Congratulations on the Oscar win, and thank you, for helping me discover that I have pride in this city. 

3. Perhaps you recognize my friend, fellow book club member, and famous dentist McKenzy?



I know you're all watching Bayou Billionaires (which takes place in the city where we currently live) on CMT. It's a reality show about "a hardworking family of modest means" (some might prefer the term "rednecks") who discover their home sits on a huge natural gas deposit and strike it rich. Naturally, they want new teeth (with diamonds in them!) and there was no better dentist for the job than McKenzy. 



I'm still a little bitter that I don't have access to John Stamos and a closet full of oversized old lady afghans (and a billion dollar fortune) but at least I might be able to get a discount on bejeweled dentures. What more could a girl ask for?

google search terms: bieber monocle

I've been writing in this little blog for about a year and a half, and I just recently discovered the stats tab on Blogger.


Stats tells you everything you're dying to know: the location of your visitors (by country, don't worry I can't tell you're at the Starbucks around the corner. Or can I?), how many people have looked at your blog in the past hour/week/month, and where they came from.

All of this is very useful if you're trying to entice companies to put ads on your blog. But my favorite feature is knowing what people search for in Google that randomly points them to my blog. Not for advertising purposes. For fun.

A recent search term: bieber monocle.

What would encourage someone to search for "bieber monocle", you might ask? I was wondering the same thing. Here's my guess:

The scene: a love-struck teenage boy doesn't understand why his crush is in love with Justin Bieber -- and not him.


Photobucket

Poor guy must have been crushed when he came upon my blog only to find this picture:


recent things that make me happy



The farmer's market, where so far I've picked up peaches, blackberries, strawberries, corn and other various vegetables, goat's milk soap, a lavender plant, and a lemon verbena plant. The peaches and blackberries turned into Olivia at Everyday Musing's peach and blackberry crisp.




I read about this book, Palace of Illusions, in a magazine awhile ago and added it to my to-read-someday list. I found it at an outlet mall outside of Austin and bought it immediately, partly because I want to read it and partly because it's sparkly.



I think I still have a headache from the lunch break I spent picking out a new perfume a few days ago. I ended up with Wish by Lollia. The pretty bottles may have been part of what sold me.


Blueberry picking, which actually happened about 3 weeks ago. It was scorching, but the lemon blueberry cheesecake bars, blueberry muffins, and bowls of Greek yogurt, honey, and blueberries were kind of worth it.




I loved this movie, even though it added about 10 books to my must-read-now list (not to be confused with my to-read-someday list) including A Moveable Feast, The Paris Wife, The Great Gatsby, and Save Me the Waltz. There was also a hilarious moment with Salvador Dali in the movie, where he describes his latest idea for a painting, which sounds like a complete mess -- something about a rhinoceros and Jesus. I fully appreciated that having just been to the Dali museum in St. Petersburg, Florida, and seeing paintings that looked an awful lot like what he described and somehow managed not to be complete messes.


Dali mustaches. What else do you do when posing outside of his museum?


Happy weekend! What's been making you happy lately? Has anyone else read that sparkly book or seen Midnight in Paris?

an awkward day




Today I accidentally locked Y outside in the rain for 20 minutes, only to get stuck in the rain myself and end up like a drowned rat on my doorstep, ruined suede shoes in hand. Karma, right? This awkward, wet day brought out the worst in both of us: my utter pathetic-ness... and Y's, um, awesome spelling.

My tale of awkwardness revolves around this guy:

the giant poisonous snake that escaped from the Bronx Zoo


You see, today was one of those days where I left my windowless closet of an office maybe once and spoke to a total of ONE person the entire day. So when I got home and Y asked me how my day was, I had nothing to talk about... except my new twitter friend.


I literally must have told 5 different stories about the stupid snake's tweets. I had to tell Y about how it went on a Sex and the City tour and declared itself a "SSSSSSamantha". And how it went to the Seinfeld restaurant. After going on about the snake for a few minutes, I stopped, thought about the conversation, and realized how incredibly alone in the world I am.

Y's tale of awkwardness occurred while writing the first draft of his personal statement, which is necessary for applying to residency programs. It really needs no explanation:




D & cupcakes: a history

In case you didn't notice the oversaturation yourself, or read it here first, let me just reiterate/confirm: the cupcake is no longer cool.


Know how I know this?

The trend has trickled down from Magnolia and Sprinkles, through regional large-ish cities, and made its way through the pipeline to little old Small-ish Town, Louisiana. We now have four little cupcake boutiques; this one is by far the cutest:




I have something cupcake related that I need to get off my chest (that's a sentence I never thought I'd say):

I do not like cupcakes any more than the average person.

Somehow, I became everyone I know's poster child for the cupcake. I receive gifts with pictures of a cupcake on them, or even just the word "cupcake". People tag me in photos of random cupcake stores. I get sent clipping after clipping of news stories about cupcakes. And while I love that people are thinking about me, I'm always curious if my friends and family just picture my head as a giant cupcake.

I mean, I like cupcakes, sure. But -- who doesn't like cupcakes?

I think I know what started this: In 2007, I was an intern at an ad agency with a lot of downtime. A lot of Perez Hilton was consumed, thus, so were a lot of pictures of celebrities eating the cool new thing: cupcakes. That spring, Y and I went to Portland, Oregon. My sister introduced us to a cute little place called Saint Cupcake.



I must have come home talking about the genius concept of cupcake boutiques. And since the trend hadn't trickled down to us mere Louisiana-folk yet(other than Carrie and Miranda eating cupcakes outside of Magnolia Bakery on HBO on Sundays), I must have sounded like a crazy person. I even made my best recreation of fancy cupcake boutique cupcakes. I think they turned out less "fancy cupcake boutique" and more "third grade bake sale".



In 2008, I was finally able to get my first taste of this "Sprinkles" place that all of the celebrities worthy of their own category on Perez Hilton were visiting. I even went so far as to use a picture of myself biting into a pumpkin cupcake as my profile picture. Mistake #1.


Because Y and I have such great memories of our first big vacation together, to Portland, we thought about ordering cupcakes from Saint Cupcake as our wedding cake. Yeah. That was expensive. But we still decided to use cupcakes instead of a cake. Mistake #2 (but not really. They were delicious).

I do still make cupcakes occasionally (and I have to say they look a lot less "third grade bake sale" than they used to).


But you know why? Well first of all, I like to bake, and they're easy. It isn't because I have some weird obsession with cupcakes. It's also because when you show up somewhere carrying a dozen cupcakes, it makes people happy. And who doesn't like making people happy? The same people who don't like cupcakes: Communists.

As a side note, I also make hummus and bring it places often. I'm glad no one has picked up on this and started sending me hummus-related merchandise, because I imagine it's not nearly as cute as the cupcake stuff.

dandy happenings: cocaine, crazy cat ladies, and more!

Because I'm in the midst of a terrible case of blogger's block (and Ike hasn't really done anything especially exciting lately), I'm going to lump together what's been going on since we last spoke. A refresher: my husband has the same shaped head as Abraham Lincoln.


In a shocking twist, we've decided on a new doppleganger for Y. (I know, I know, Doppleganger Week was months ago. Where did Doppleganger Week even come from, anyway? And why haven't there been any subsequent "weeks"? Burning questions...)



Y has actually been told more than once this week that he looks like Josh Lucas from Sweet Home Alabama. One of those times was by one of his patients. Bet you didn't know that elderly war veterans enjoy rom-coms. Can anyone resist Dr. McDreamy?

Whew, glad we got the incredibly important doppleganger issue settled! Moving on.


Ike enjoyed the premier of the new OKGO video.



And we attended the most sophisticated party I've ever been to -- even if it did end with the host can-can-ing to Lady Gaga. Happy birthday D&D!


We moved our couches around for a living room makeover that shall be revealed eventually -- I know, right? Please at least try to control your excitement. Here is what was underneath one of them:



The final count: 6 tennis balls, 18 Q-tips, 23 half eaten dog treats, 1 spoon. And a, sadly, empty bag of Starburst jellybeans. I totally would have eaten them.

So Ike and I have been walking a lot lately.


I'm so glad I bring my camera with me everywhere, because yesterday I found this:



No way, I thought. No way did I just find a bag of cocaine on the ground. If it is, the dealer has got to be new. And what is he doing dealing drugs? He's obviously got organizational skills that would make some company really happy.

I kicked it over to see if, by chance, any white powder was underneath it.


Just a test. Boring, but still exciting for a walk around the neighborhood with your dog.

Ike was less interested in the cocaine test and more interested in this:



That house had SEVEN cats in front of it. There were two more across the street.

You might be thinking to yourself, wow, cocaine tests and crazy cat ladies? I will NEVER be visiting the Dandy House. Psh. I haven't even told you about my crazy neighbors yet.

weekly wrap up (or, things that don't belong anywhere else)



These are the books I've read since May -- they all match. Completely unintentional. My mom, whose motto might as well have been "If you are wearing denim pants, you wear denim shoes and a blue shirt", would be so proud of me.


In New York, I bought this painting from an artist outside of the Met. On a scale of 1 to fanny pack, how touristy is that?


I don't think Ike likes our early morning photoshoots.



My Fourth of July was annoyingly festive. Even the laundry.

retro blogging?

I love to read, but my choice of books is usually pretty questionable. Case in point: On my color coded bookshelf I've read the entire pink shelf but only two or three books out of the three black and white shelves. Funnily enough, black/white books are usually more respectable than pink ones.

I'm not doing too bad on the yellow books, either...

One of my favorite series of books might make my father in law (and his collection of world history books) raise his eyebrows, but surprisingly I don't think any of them are pink. They might as well be, since they are about high school and crushes, but the author's dry humor and sarcasm make me feel comfortable admitting that I read most of these books during or after college. Plus, since most of my friends read them, I have allies who can back me up when I say I sped through 3 Jessica Darling novels in 6 hours at the age of 24 but quietly sat in the background when JD Salinger died because I haven't read Catcher in the Rye. (It's on my list, OKAY?!)

(I have a point, I promise.)

Megan McCafferty, the author of the Jessica Darling books, has a blog. She calls it her (retro)blog and posts old pictures of herself and old journal entries she wrote and makes fun of herself. I love this idea! I love making fun of myself.


My retro blog title for this beautiful number would be something like: XXL Fred Flintstone T-shirt + Picking Your Toes in Public + Orange Soda Mustache + Huge Plastic Glasses = PURE AWESOME, aka, This is Why I Had No Friends.

I don't think I'll end up copying her idea, because a) I like to think I'm more creative than that and b) I'm not that funny, but I started looking through old journals just in case I needed material, and I stumbled across an old online journal from when I was 19.

(I'm getting reaaallly close to the point.)

My memory is broken, I think. Yoni will tell me a piece of trivia and I'll forget it 5 minutes later. I can't retain ANYTHING I learn in classes. I'll read a really interesting article about something and when I go to tell someone about it, I won't be able to remember any of the details. BUT: I remember what I was wearing on most given days when anything of mild importance happened. If you tell me you really like something, I'll most likely file it away and get it for you for your next birthday. And one time, when I was 19, a guy stepped on my foot at a crowded bar at LSU and then yelled at me for being in his way. I remember it like it was yesterday. He had blonde hair and looked vaguely like Abe from a season of Road Rules, back when people still watched that show.

6 years later, I'm on the elevator on my way in to work, 4 hours north of where we went to college, and he gets on. I recognize him immediately and call all of my friends - it had been a big deal when we were nineteen but apparently my friends have been too busy remembering important things (they all have masters degrees...) and have no recollection of this most important moment in my life.

After that initial elevator ride, that guy was on the elevator with me at least once a week. I would be behind him in line for coffee. We would be on the shuttle to the parking lot together. Every time it happened, I texted my friends and pleaded with them to remember. No luck. A few weeks ago, I found out that he is going to be a brain surgeon and I had no one to share this information with. I started to think I made the whole incident up because what kind of friend wouldn't remember a guy stepping on my foot 6 years ago and ruining my night?

Well, while browsing my old journal looking for material for a rip off of (retro)blog by Megan McCafferty, who writes some of my favorite books, I found PROOF: (See how my mishmash post came together all of the sudden)?

[29 Feb 2004|01:54am]

the new dirty dancing came out last night and all we wanted to do was dance. so me rache and dana went out to fred's to do just that. we get in the door, some guy steps on my foot, spins around and yells "WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING, BITCH!!!!"

how rude.

It happened! I knew it.

Thanks for the tip, 19 year old me. PS, Your run on sentences and excess of exclamation points are embarrassing me and I will never share you with anyone. I'm also going to pretend I didn't just find an entry where you admitted that you wanted a trucker hat.

I know at least some of you out there had blogs before they were blogs... care to share any wisdom from your younger selves?

randomosity


Yeah, I know - 2 blogs in a row with a wedding picture. You probably think I'm sitting at my computer in my wedding dress, staring blankly at my pictures while stuffing frozen wedding cake in my mouth. You might be right. Or you might not. I'll just let you imagine.

Regardless, I was inspired to post that picture by something I read yesterday in Glamour magazine's "What men are really thinking" feature.

Sidenote: I'm tempted to give up on Glamour. How many ways are there to say that whole grain bread is better than white bread? That runway styles can be adapted to real life? That your significant other doesn't care about cellulite and ps there is no cure but a tan can make it less obvious but omg not a real tan our MD says so. But I can't stop reading it. Pretty. Pictures. Must. Buy.

Anyway, men were asked what they were thinking as their future bride walked down the aisle and I'm pretty sure Lorin from Sacramento and I share a brain.

"Well, I'm Jewish and Kristen is Asian and Jewish, so it occurred to me that when we have kids, we should definitely have dumplings at their bar mitzvahs."

I mean, not that I thought that as I walked down the aisle. But you should HEAR some of the similar stuff that my brain comes up with, at the most inopportune moments. Maybe one day I'll share. But not until after my frozen wedding cake, thanks.

YAWNSIES.


So, it's been awhile. But only unblogworthy things have been happening. If you don't believe me, just the other night, Y dreamed that his toenail fell off, and when I fully woke up 30 minutes later I rolled over onto a severed toenail. And
that was the most interesting thing I could come up with.

In other unblogworthy news, we did our taxes. My W-2 was apparently on the mail truck next to a shipment of bacon.


We reorganized the bookshelf:


And rearranged the refrigerator magnets:

Even Ike is bored.


Here's to a more exciting week... WHO DAT!