Whatever you call it, I got Tent-sick. I’m here now. The only difference is the name and the fact that the Tent archives are ALL there (presently unorganized, but there!). Please take a moment to update your blogroll; it will only take two seconds, and I’ll be able to sleep at night. Sorry for the change, but honestly, what was I thinking, ditching my brand? I suspect that Ivanka Trump would consider that a poor bidness decision. See ya over there!
Monday, January 14th
I’m realizing that a way to cop out of actually “doing” something new is to “learn” or “observe” something new. I’m full of shit, aren’t I? But that’s not a new thing, so we must press on. Anyway, today was a snow day (also not a new thing, yay for working in a school in New England) and I spent some time in the morning talking to a woman at my car insurance place. They’re still going back and forth with my dealership to agree on a price for fixing my car, and right now there’s about a $1,000 disagreement between them, which I could ultimately have to pay if my insurance doesn’t step up. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, but, bleh, it’s still $1,000, which can buy many peanuts. Anyway, I was thinking about that, and then my toaster overheated and broke and my phone was all staticy again (damn you Verizon!) and I was starting to get a little crabby about the state of the appliances in my life. Then I went outside to clean the snow off my loaner car and was reminded to count my blessings when I saw that a tree (a smallish tree, but still a tree) had cracked at the base because of the storm and fallen into the parking space next to my loaner car, missing it by a couple inches. That tree could’ve easily gone either way, and can you imagine if, in the midst of all this pre-existing shit with my car, I had to call the dealership and my insurance provider and let them know that now I’d NOW MANAGED TO DESTROY THE LOANER CAR TOO? As it turns out, sometimes it just takes a little tree to shift your perspective.
Tuesday, January 15th
I said, “So wait, who was Brad Renfro?”
Wednesday, January 16th
I went out with a guy whose last name is also a month. Joe January? Ollie October? Discuss.
Thursday, January 17th
I hardly ever remember my dreams, so you have to indulge me for a minute because I woke up laughing my ass off with this one: I went to a party at my parents’ house, which of course was not my parents’ house (in dreams, why is the place we are never really the place we are, but we never question it?) and there were a bunch of people there that I didn’t know so I was introducing myself. There was a guy playing a keyboard and my mom told me that he was in a country band now but that he used to be in an 80s band.
“What, seriously? What band?”
She shrugged. “Kaja-something?”
“I don’t know, maybe.”
Incidentally, I don’t think I’ve ever said the word “Kajagoogoo” out loud before, but I digress. Anyway, he stopped playing and we talked for a minute, and then he started playing another song. Not Too Shy or the Neverending Story song. Folks, I dreamed about a guy from Kajagoogoo playing She’s Gone by Hall and Oates at a party at my parents’ house. I humbly submit what’s left of my youth and accept the fact that I should clearly already be in at least my 40s. Fine, 50s.
Friday, January 18th
My dad and I signed up to do this! In Chicago! In August! I’m unspeakably excited. Also, um, “pre-game reception with a current Red Sox player”? I’d be happy to meet any of them, even bowling champ Tavarez, but do you think…? Is it possible? Can a girl dream of meeting the captain… of HER HEART? You know something crazy like that would fall out of my mouth.
Saturday, January 19th
Saturday seems to be the day that I make my “something new” assignment my friends’ problem. It didn’t help that I was out with a guy I dated for a couple years, and what can you do that’s new with someone like that? Anyway, he was telling us how he heard about someone who had a fear of something called the Great Mole Rat, which sounds a little chupacabra-ish to me, but you gotta love the dramatic, respectful title. So I found and called a support group that offers to help those who suffer from paralyzing fear of the Great Mole Rat (zemmiphobia!). I was ready to share my woes with the on-call counselor but I got their voicemail, darn it all. Never mind the fact that when I google imaged the Great Role Mat, I realized I probably actually am zemmiphobic. I bet you are too. Let’s work through this together.
Sunday, January 20th
I decided to throw a Valentine’s party! I bought cute invitations and conversation heart stickers and then said “Eh, fuck this” and announced the fiesta via a save-the-date text blast instead. I love parties, but who has stamps anymore?
Where were you 10 years ago?
Where will you be 10 years from now?
What were you like at 10 years old?
Do you know any 10 year olds?
If you found $10, what would you buy?
If you arrived someplace 10 minutes early, what would you do to pass the time?
What is something you do ten times a day?
What is something you haven’t done in ten years?
What is something you don’t want to do for another ten years?
If you had 10 hours to yourself, what would you do?
If you had 10 people ask you out for a date on the same night, how would you decide who to pick?
What woman do you consider a 10?
What man do you consider a 10?
Dear readers, I so rarely make suggestions as to how you should live your life.
Except that if it doesn’t include Bare Escentuals makeup and Brookstone nap socks and La Mer body creme and Real Simple magazine and Crate and Barrel sea salt caramels and Cakebread chardonnay and Big Sexy shampoo (yes, despite the awful name) then what kind of life is it, really?
Anyway, now I’m recommending a person to you. Go read my (real life) friend Kate’s blog. It’s sharp, funny, and sure to be a hit at Sundance. You will thank me.
Still need convincing?
Bored back home over Christmas, homegirl entered a gingerbread house contest, and then toiled away to contribute a gingerchurch. And won! A poignant comment on cultural pandering and the stunning naivete of Southern Bible thumpers. Also: edible!
The quest to try something new every day and then report in begins…
Monday, January 7th
At 7:15 in the morning, I was standing in the waiting area of my car dealership pondering my cuticles while the service guy got me a loaner so that I could get to work while mine was being fixed (one busted drive shaft and thousands of dollars later… thank God for insurance, huh?). I suddenly heard the faint strains of a familiar song over the loudspeaker, and amid the brewing coffee, flatscreen CNN and bleary-eyed fellow Honda owners, I physically restrained myself from busting a move to Push It by Salt-N-Pepa. I wondered if anyone else was also struggling to contain the funk, but it was too early to survey the crowd. P-push it real good!
Tuesday, January 8th
I met a friend for sushi at a place that makes the spicy scallop maki that I dream about. Seriously, the wasabi is served on a bed of crack cocaine. Anyway, I always order the same thing (since, as we discussed, it haunts my dreams) but today I ordered and ate a piece of eel just to be able to add it to the list. It was new for me because I usually like my scary fish tucked away into a roll with avocado, but today it was straight up unagi. Insert “tastes like chicken” joke here. It may not have been a cow sphincter, but now I’m feeling about as adventurous as Anthony Bourdain.
Wednesday, January 9th
This isn’t something that I did personally, but I can say with certainty that I had never before received a voice mail from a friend serenading me with I Will Survive. He didn’t exactly sing it with feeling, because he’s a straight man, and he didn’t belt it, because he was at work, and he stumbled over a few lyrics, because he had clearly just googled them, but it was still awesome. I listened to it at work, laughing hysterically, confusing Supergirl, and loving the warped moral support that only guy friends can provide.
Thursday, January 10th
I started a writing group with a friend. I want to finally write a novel and she wants to write pretty much everything else. I came up with my general plot, characters and started outlining chapters, so that’s something, and I feel like if I can spend the time writing that I would otherwise spend watching the Top 40 Famous People Who Had Babies And Named Something Totally Bizarre on VH1, then that’s success right there. We haven’t exactly set goals in stone yet, except for the fact that the first rule of writing club is you don’t talk about writing club. No, wait, the actual rules are that you have to wear something purple every day, you do whatever Lila Fowler says, and you’re only allowed to talk to people whose eyes are the blue-green of the Carribean with hair made of spun sugar. I’m realizing that I may not be taking this as seriously as I should be.
Friday, January 11th
I listened to the first hit single by my friend’s son’s new band, the Galaxy Monkeys. He’s the lead singer, plays air guitar, and periodically takes a break to beg for a Sprite. He’s also eight. (When I take care of him and his sister, which is the term for babysitting when you’re 30, I tuck him in and then read him Captain Underpants. His choice, obviously, but come on, that’s fun for one and all. The trick is to read one chapter out loud and then whisper-read the second chapter, at which point the melodic tranquility of my voice puts him right to sleep. Not unlike what it does to my friends and coworkers on a daily basis.)
Saturday, January 12th
Around 11 PM I turned to my friend and said, “Shit. I need something new for today.” First she suggested that I run outside naked, and then said, “Wait, you watched a football game!” Yes! The Pats/Jags game was on the entire time and I didn’t wander away to do laundry or make a phone call. I didn’t watch it INTENTLY, but it was on and I was there and that has to count for something. (Then I called an old football-obsessed boyfriend to clarify that that really was the first time that I had watched a game in its entirety, and he agreed. He also did his now-famous impersonation of what it used to be like for him to watch a football game with me, wherein his voice is totally normal and mine is high-pitched and obnoxious: “Who’s that guy?” “What guy?” “THAT guy.” “In the STANDS?” “Yeah. Do I know him? Is he on Grey’s Anatomy?”)
Sunday, January 13th
I, uh… wrote my first blog entry about doing something new every day. Yeah!
Is anyone else out there loving the wiggity-wiggity-wiggity-wack out of 100 Greatest Songs Of The 90s on VH1? I just want to put on my J. Crew bootcut jeans and faded heather gray Grumpy Bear ringer tee and sneak out my parents’ back door and make out with it for five hours. No, six. I don’t have class till 11.
Check out this list. Like it or not, you’ve got a story for every damn song on there, don’t you?
So one of my New Year’s resolutions (aside from go to the gym get in shape eat vegetables be organized buy less makeup don’t roll in at 3 AM don’t sleep with someone just because my pants are off just kidding) is to do something new every day. People hear this and go, “Ooh!” And then, immediately, “So, what have you done so far?” Um. Well…
I’m starting on Monday, of course! Just like I’ll be starting going to the gym getting in shape eating vegetables being organized buying less makeup not rolling in at 3 AM, etc. Ahh, Monday, always just a few short days away, allowing you the luxury to do whatever you want right now with the promise to yourself that you’ll turn it around as soon as the weekend is over. I think I’ve vowed to get my act together every Monday since I was twelve.
Really though, I like the idea of doing something new every day, if only for the blogging opportunities it will present. Although I have a bad feeling that it’ll be less “went to Thailand” and more “licked my clock radio” as I sit around trying to think of something that will count as “new” that day. But we’ll see. So let the newness begin! And maybe the buying less makeup thing.
Nah, fuck that. Makeup is awesome.