Miss America

When I was a kid, I used to love watching beauty pageants with my mom and sisters. It was always a big event, and we loved "oohing" and "ahhing" over the evening gowns and analyzing the judges' scoring. Miss America was always my favorite because it's the only pageant that has a talent competition. But let's be honest, here: over the past several years, beauty pageants have gone waaaay down-- in nearly every aspect. I watched the 2008 Miss America pageant Saturday night, and I couldn't believe the crappy production value. First of all, the pageant was on TLC: The Learning Channel. Why the hell was a beauty pageant on The Learning Channel? Secondly, it was hosted by a pudgy Tom Cruise look-alike, who had about the same amount of charisma as the real Cruise. There was sub-par choreography (which actually is pretty typical of pageants), at least three less than beautiful women with disturbingly wide-set eyes, and about five pregnancy test commercials narrated by an ominous man's voice talking about a different experience with "peeing on a stick." The whole thing was creepy, crappy, and unsettling. What happened to the good ol' days of Tony Danza-caliber hosts and real talent, not just a thin, wispy rendition of "Over the Rainbow" that would make Judy Garland turn over in her grave? Frankly, I'm offended.

Free stuff

Last night I was reading Cosmopolitan, and I saw an ad for a free sample of Dove shampoo and conditioner. Never one to turn down a free thing, I hopped online and filled out a form to get my free sample. Naturally, that got me wondering...what other free stuff could I find on the Internet? I found a blog that gave me a couple leads to more promotional offers, and before I know it I should have not only shampoo and conditioner arriving in 4-8 weeks, but also samples of Gwen Stefani's new perfume, Aquafresh toothpaste, Maybelline foundation, Aquaphor lotion, and a Schick razor. My goal was to see if I could go a month without buying any toiletries-- I'm still looking for free soap and deodorant samples...

2008 Resolutions

Well, this marks my first official post of the New Year. I finally got around to writing my resolutions. I'm pretty pleased with my goals for 2008. I don't know when I started formally writing resolutions, but it seems like over the years I've become more and more goal-oriented and focused on self-improvement (probably because there's a lot about myself I could improve-- starting with my neurotic personality). I also think it's because I'm competitive. And a perfectionist. But I guess that pretty much describes everyone in my family (and many of my friends, too). Anyway, I feel like I've done a better job of making resolutions that encompass more areas of my life. For example, one of my resolutions is to recycle more...I discovered that for some reason, I actually really care about the environment. I hate being wasteful, so I'm trying to make a concerted effort to stop being lazy about rinsing out containers and other things that could easily be recycled. I also try to stay away from quantifying my goals too much. I like leaving a certain degree of open-endedness on some of them-- like another of my resolutions, which is to go on an independent adventure. Of course, what I define as an "adventure" is completely up to me. I'm also really hoping that my writing becomes more of a priority this year, and that I really buckle down and work hard.

I'm a klutz

On Friday I sprained my ankle at work. I was demonstrating a gymnastics station for the kids, and I was climbing up this mat when I lost my balance and began to fall. I landed on uneven footing below, and I felt a snap in my ankle as soon as my foot hit the ground and rolled outward. I wanted to swear or start crying, but of course I couldn't, since I was surrounded my kids. Over the years I've had several work-related injuries: burned fingers, stitches, and now a twisted ankle (hey, at least I've got variety, right?). I know you're supposed to fill out paperwork and tell your boss when you get hurt on-site, but I've felt like such an idiot about each of these instances that I've always had somewhat of a pride issue when it comes to admitting that I was clumsy and reckless enough to sustain "fill-in-the-blank" injury. Anyway, I think my ankle is OK, it's just a little swollen. I'm mostly mad because I can't run. I think I'll try tomorrow despite my better judgment, just to see if it hurts. My motto has always been "Sickness is a state-of-mind," and I've successfully ignored several occasions where I have been injured or ill, only to find that my symptoms have indeed miraculously "disappeared." After all, no pain, no gain, right?

Apparently I'm awesome

Two days ago I parallel-parked my car...on the left side of a one-way street. I'm that good.

Close call

It seems that my streak of bad luck with parking tickets may finally be coming to an end. As many of you may recall, this summer I received three parking tickets in quick succession, and successfully argued my way out of one and a half of them. It seemed I had an uncanny knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Well, over the past four months, I have developed a sort of parking paranoia, and, as a result, have been hyper-sensitive to everything regarding proper parking-- including re-parking my car countless times to ensure that I am the requisite distance away from driveways and curbs. My parallel parking skills reign supreme now, as I parallel park my car roughly 2-3 times a day. Anyway, in the midst of my resolute attempts to win back the meter maids through karmic parking powers from beyond, it completely slipped my mind that I had parked in a metered spot last night and was supposed to wake up and move my car by 8am. As it turned out, I forgot to set my alarm and woke up at 9:30 this morning. I stumbled outside bleary-eyed and half-asleep, praying that I wouldn't see the familiar white envelope tucked under my windshield wiper. My months of parking paranoia must have paid off and transformed my luck-- there was no ticket on my car, and not a meter maid in sight.

Warning: Plantar warts story to follow

So it's not much of a secret, but I have warts on the bottom of my foot. One wart, which appeared on the underside of my toe approximately 1 1/2 years ago, finally spread to the bottom of my foot about 6 months ago. I know it seems kind of ridiculous and probably pretty disgusting that I've had two warts on the bottom of my foot for a long time now, but the truth of the matter is, they never bothered me or really caused me any problems, so I just kind of assumed that eventually they'd go away. I figured it was a let-the-virus-run-its-course-type scenario. Well, apparently, if you don't get rid of warts, they continue to spread. After several months of feeble over-the-counter wart treatment, I decided to just go to the doctor and have them frozen off. After briefly examining my viral foot, my doctor proceeded to inform me that I have not two but five warts on my foot! The moral of the story is, take care of warts right away. They might not seem like a big deal, and they may not even bug you, but they will slowly spread over your body, and if you are curious to see what that looks like, do a Google image search for plantar warts and you will be forever scarred-- I know I am. Plus, now I have to go back to the doctor in a couple weeks to get my "buddies" taken care of that have been on my foot the longest. That's what I get for doing too many extracurricular activities and jobs that require me to be barefoot.

MP3 time and a Mulder/Scully dream

And by "MP3" I don't mean music...I'm talking about Melrose Place season 3, which I received as a birthday present. It's the perfect Tuesday night activity when there's nothing else on TV to watch...and I guess it's the perfect writers strike activity as well, since who knows when the heck I'll be able to watch all of my beloved shows again after they disappear off the air. I already miss The Office, and I preemptively miss Heroes, too. At any rate, at least I've got Melrose and the second season of Supernatural to watch. And I'll probably re-watch Veronica Mars at some point. The most fantastic thing about Melrose Place is that there are 30 episodes-- 30! Back when TV shows were actually on for the duration of an entire school year, and didn't take ample and abundant hiatuses to interrupt the flow of the storyline. I wish I could say that MP3 will provide me with several weeks of viewing pleasure, but the reality is that I will probably end up watching season 3 in its entirety by the end of this extended weekend.

Speaking of TV shows, the other night I had a dream about Mulder and Scully. I can't really remember the details, except that Scully was out of the picture for a little while and it was just me and Fox--er, Mulder. I miss the X-files. I can't wait until the movie comes out. I hope there's a really inappropriate sex scene between Mulder and Scully-- and no, I'm not ashamed to admit it.

I've officially reached an all-time low/high

Today I started work at 5:15pm...and ended at 8pm. Thus is the life that I lead now.

Egghead

A few days ago, I was walking toward my car (parked on the street a block away from my apartment building) when I noticed what appeared to be an unusually large amount of bird crap splattered on the passenger side of my windshield. Upon closer inspection of the inordinate splatter-span of the alleged bird doo-doo haphazardly splashed on my car, I realized that it wasn't avian fecal matter at all, but rather the yolk of an egg smeared across my windshield, congealed in unsightly globules of goo, complete with egg shards protruding from the hardened yolk that tainted the window and top of my car.

I was egged-- without warning, without cause, and, seemingly, without intent to harm.

Interesting and disturbing fact

I just learned this on TLC: 25 million operations occur in the U.S. each year; of those 25 million surgeries, 1 in 15,000 people will have a surgical tool left inside them.

Apparently I'm a lot cooler than I used to be...

Last week, a woman approached me as I was walking to my car. She told me that she really liked the way I "put myself together" and that I looked "very nice." (For the record, I was wearing a knee-length black skirt, black tights with this funky flower pattern on them, a purple shirt, a black cardigan, and heels). I thought, what a nice compliment, and then she added that she was a fashion designer. I couldn't help but think that if she only saw how I dressed on other days, she'd probably take back her compliment.

It's almost Halloween!

Tomorrow is Halloween, one of my favorite holidays of the year (Christmas, of course, being my other favorite).

I guess that's pretty much all I wanted to point out.

Night of the Living Dead

In lieu of Halloween, I decided to watch the 1990 remake of Night of the Living Dead. I've always been a big proponent of the original being the best, and this instance is no different. I'm not really sure what the value is in taking a movie that was originally made in black and white, keeping basically the same exact script, maintaining the same corny acting, and then putting everything in color. NOTLD wasn't originally a movie that required special effects or a big budget-- so if they're not really "modernizing" anything, so to speak, then what the heck was the point in remaking it only 22 years later? Just so we could see red blood? And this is not, by any means, a knock against zombie movies-- they happen to be my favorite horror sub-genre, followed closely by vampire flicks (Fright Night is one of my all-time faves).

Embarrassing moment

I am one of those unfortunate people who ultimately ends up embarrassing herself more frequently than the average person. Today (or technically yesterday, I suppose, since it's almost 1am), I had just finished a tutoring session with a student. The dad was waiting by the door and I stood up to go and introduce myself to him. Instead of making a graceful introduction, I stood up, catching my foot in the chair I had been sitting in, tripped over my foot and stumbled several feet across the room, flailing my arms in the air, and knocked the chair to the ground, stopping myself before landing flat on my face. What a great first impression. I attempted to regain as much composure as I could, shook the dad's hand, and told him that I was trying to make a grand entrance. I think he felt sorry for me. Hopefully he doesn't think I'm an incompetent tutor just because I have under-developed gross motor skills.

Steppin' it up a notch

I ran the Dawg Dash today, and instead of doing my usual 5K, I was overcome by a burning desire to run the 10K race. So I did. 6.2 miles. I made it. I ran all 6. 2 miles, and my goal was to break 60 minutes, which would have been averaging just under 10 minutes a mile. I shattered my goal and ran the 10K in 54:49. I'm happy. I think I might dabble in running longer distances my next few races. I feel like I ultimately end up pacing myself better when I'm running more than three miles-- maybe because my runner's high doesn't really kick in until around mile four, and at that point I just keep on running...like a machine-- not necessarily the fastest or most efficient machine, but a machine nonetheless. Anyway, it felt good to challenge myself and run a longer distance. Maybe there will be a marathon in my future after all...but I probably shouldn't get too far ahead of myself.

Just another face in the crowd...

I get a lot of people telling me that I look like someone they know... it kind of bugs me because it make me feel common and not special. Like today, for instance, when I was walking toward my work, a guy approached me and asked if I worked at the Mac store. When I told him no, he said I looked like a girl he had met there.

Do other people get that a lot, or is it just me? I'm not saying that it's a super-frequent occurrence that someone tells me that I look like someone they know, but it seems to happen often enough.

Funny bum

I parked far away from work today because I didn't wanna have to pay to park (which I've been doing the past few days). While I was walking down the sketchy part of the street to my car, a bum sitting on the sidewalk looked up at me and asked, "Will you love me forever?"

Needless to say, I was at a loss for words.

Turd on my bed

Contrary to what you may be thinking upon reading the subject heading of this particular post, I did not, in fact, poop in my bed. Last night, when I was getting ready to go to sleep, I was struck with an all-too-familiar pungent and repulsive odor: cat crap. Now my dear little Hector has a knack of taking a huge dump right before I go to sleep every night (I think this is due in large part to the fact that I typically clean his litter box in the evening, and he likes to "test out" the fresh litter). At any rate, the smell seemed to be even more pervasive than usual, and I groped my way to my bed, gasping and choking for air. I climbed into my bed and realized that the crap odor seemed to have grown in strength and intensity. Then I saw it-- out of the corner of my eye, on the edge of my bed, lay a perfect blemish on my blue floral sheets: a cat turd. I shrieked in surprise, jumped off of my bed, and reprimanded Hector, who stared up at me from the floor, wide-eyed and innocent, as if to ask, "Who, me?".

200 smackeroos!

I just found $200 in my piggy bank...this makes me very happy.

There's something about having actual $100 bills in a piggy bank that makes me less likely to spend it...I think that money feels fake online, like I'm not really spending anything. Maybe I should just cash out my savings account and hoard it in my bedroom-- I might be less inclined to spend it that way.