Responsibility Occasionally Eludes Me

The CRV has been through a lot in the last few months. First, there was the garbage can incident. My very difficult to back out of driveway is even worse when there is 5 feet of snow piled on either side of it. Throw the garbage cans at the end of the driveway and you pretty much have about 3 feet of space to move your car through. Or, like me, you can use the whole driveway and just back right through the garbage cans, cracking the passenger side view mirror.

Then there was the headlight debacle. OK, not so much a debacle, just both my headlights died at the exact same time. If you can tell me what the odds of that are, I would be very interested to know.

Then there was the getting rear ended thing. That happened on the way to work one day. Actually, this wasn't really a big deal either. Just, you know, got rear ended. Luckily the CRV has that giant spare tire on the back which other cars simply bounce off of and they get jacked up. Not me. (Insert smiley face here.) (Maybe even the one with sunglasses?)

After that my tire got slashed. In Williamsville. I think this is ironic? Maybe just oxymoronic? I digress. Parked my car at a friend's, friend drove me out that night, got back into my car to go home, realize my car is making the strangest noise. I'm thinking, 'Wow, the engine in my car is totally going to explode and I'm going to suffer a tragic, fiery death.' Then as I got home I realized the only other that would make that noise (oh, because I know what an exploding car engine sounds like?) would be a flat tire. Sure enough, four holes right in the front of it. This actually ended up being a blessing in disguise as I apparently needed four new tires anyway.

So the point here is, CRV has been through alot lately. (Another point, I might be a terrible car owner?) But the greater point here: No matter what my car has been through lately it is definitely nothing, nothing, compared to whatever happened to the poor vehicle that took down the old Golden Gate sign. Yikes.

Have I Mentioned I Coach A Softball Team?

Because I do. I don't play softball, I coach. I'm also an excellent scorekeeper. Oh and I bring great snacks (Orange slices! Birthday cookies!) and beer to the games. (If beer didn't tip you off, yes, this is all happening for full grown adults.)

This is all well and good during our Wednesday night games, (Don't forget about Parents Watch Day, coming up in just a few weeks!) but not so much during our practices. Oh yeah, I said practices. We've held more than one. Anyway, there's no scorekeeping or lineup tending to be done. Snacks at a practice seems overboard, even for me. I can't bring beer to every event we hold so yesterday's practice involved not a lot of action.

Naturally by 'not a lot of action' I mean, I spent 45 minutes at an elementary school watching 5 dudes hit balls in the direction of another softball team at practice. They were 7 year old girls.

The good news here is, I was told, 'At least you look good.' And really if you're going to sit there and stare vacantly into space for any period of time, you may as well look good doing it.

This post is dedicated to TW, Co-Founder of the Libation Nation.

Nailed It

I just realized not only has it been a long time since I posted but that I also never told the story of the Lake Placid Half Marathon. The story here is, there really is no story. This is definitely a 'no news is good news' situation. Before I started, I expected the story to read something like this:

Local Buffalo woman is mercy flighted to Lake Placid Hospital after tripping over her own two feet around mile 8 of the Lake Placid Marathon and Half. The 25 year old woman broke both her ankles and, inexplicably, her nose.

I expected the story to be like that because, you know, have you met me? Sometime between miles 4 and 6 (though the original story was still highly plausible) the story in my head changed:

Local Buffalo woman is mercy flighted to Lake Placid Hospital after being attacked by a bear during the Lake Placid Marathon and Half. The woman, 25, was minding her own business when a black bear came barreling out of the woods and ripped her face off. She is in intensive care.

This came to mind because we may as well have been running directly through the woods. There were points on this course where it was just mountain roads with nothing but woods on either side. Not to mention one of our supporters saw a bear on the side of the road just the day before. These were the Adirondack's here people, any number of animals could have come creeping out of those woods. So that could have happened but around mile 12 I knew what the official story was going to be:

Local Buffalo woman is mercy flighted to Lake Placid Hospital after appearing to drop dead because no one alerted her to the fact that the Lake Placid Marathon and Half course was pretty much straight up hill. The woman, 25, is not dead and was taken back to the course so she could crawl across the finish line.

Seriously. I know I probably should have said to myself, 'Hey, this is in the Adirondack Mountains it is probably going to be hilly. Get your head in the game.' But no. Everyone we talked to said, 'Oh no, it's not that bad.' I promise you, no matter where you've run, you've never run up anything like this. Oh wait, there was that guy in the elevator who had just run his 42nd marathon who told us that Big Sur is worse. Freaking. Big. Sur. I've also heard San Francisco is a bitch but, the point here is, it was hilly. Happily, the story *actually* ended like this:

Local Buffalo woman actually ran across the finish line of her first half marathon in Lake Placid this weekend. The woman, 25, was fairly certain this would never happen but it did. She also never thought she would ever want to train for an endurance event again, but she does. Woman says she will be very careful to check the elevation map of the course she chooses next.

(It's pretty clear none of this was actually reported anywhere but here right?)

Just A Typical Monday Evening

The Scene: The Family Dinner Table

The Players: Myself, S, J & Mom

A family enjoys a pasta dinner and the following conversation ensues:

S: Before I leave tomorrow I need to get some books to take back to school with me. I'm going to start reading.

Me: But you hate reading?

S: I know but I have to start. I need to become smart.

J: Wait, what?

S: You know, I need to read to become smart. Reading makes you smart. Doesn't it?

This is where the stunned silence sets in from the other 3 family members.

S: Wait, doesn't reading make you really smart?

This is where the uproarious laughter sets in from all 4 family members.

Mom: Are you kidding me right now?

Me: What does that even mean make you smart?

S: Well, I don't know? You just read to get smart right?

We continued to have this conversation for another 15 minutes, haphazardly trying to decide if 'Reading makes you smart.' Turns out, there really is no answer. I mean, the 3 people in the family who do read continued to have the conversation so really, who are we to say what smart is? (I'm not even sure that's a grammatically correct sentence....) (However, I did just spell check this, not a single misspelled word. So smart.)

Things You Should *Never* Call Me To Help You With

Seriously. Never. These are 2 things you definitely do not want my help with. (OK, there's alot of things you wouldn't want my help with but I'm not trying to make myself feel horrible here so let's just stick with 2 for now.) So these 2 things include but are not limited to:

1. You never want to ask me for dating advice.
2. You never want to ask me to be a job reference for you.

I was asked for both of these things yesterday. How being a single girl with half a job qualifies me to help you with all that, I have no idea, but apparently it does? I mean, people asked me for the help right? Or maybe I was the only one who answered their phone....

Hint: They Sell Freaking Toys. Children's Toys!

Dear Company Who's Name I Shall Not Mention,

You provide a wonderful email service, alerting me when jobs are available at your organization. It is delightful. I don't have to do any of the work, I just have to open the email.

You know what is not delightful? When I get the same email, with the same position available, that I have applied for 5 times, for which you have not called me for an interview once. Clearly you have yet to fill this position but apparently my spectacular-ness is not good enough for even an interview?

You my friends, are a bunch of idiots.

Love,

Kristen

How Did This Thing Become Such An Issue?

So this is sitting at my house. Has been. Since like, March. I recently cleaned out my closet and rediscovered it. (OK, I knew it was in the closet the whole time but now its sitting on my floor so it has become an issue.) Why do I have this? Long, unimportant story. How did I end up being the resident giant-Miller Light-March Madness-bracket-keeper? How would I not? Who else is going to color code that thing by round? (All you boys who thought just a plain black Sharpie was fine for the whole thing, you were wrong. That thing looks way awesome in full color.) The whole point here is, I'm not sure what to do with it. It feels wrong to throw it away, though it isn't good for anything anymore. And yes, I have been having this discussion with myself since the tournament ended and yes, it is June now. So if anyone has any suggestions as to what to do with the giant Libation Station March Madness bracket, I would really, really appreciate it.

Soooo Georgie Wants You to Put A Ring On It?

(Was the title too much? It might be too much.)

It's been a while. Sometimes, you need to be inspired to write about...nothing. Well, all that nothing finally inspired me this evening. The following conversation just happened between me and my mother:

While discussing Glee, and its upcoming season finale, we started talking about next season. Anyone who's a 'Gleek' (yeah, I am one, I'll say it) knows that next season they are casting a 'Carrie Underwood type' to be Rachael's arch nemesis. (If you don't know what that means, don't worry, it just means you aren't awkwardly obsessed with a television show.) The point here is, we're talking Carrie Underwood. Which leads to talking about Carrie Underwood's engagement to Mike Fisher. (It's the hockey thing, we can't help it.) Which leads to talking about Hilary Duff's engagement to Mike Comrie.... (I'll start you part of the way through the conversation, otherwise we might sound nuts. Fine, we already are nuts but, we'll try to keep it to a minimum here.)

Me: Well, yeah, but have you seen Hilary Duff's engagement ring?!

Mom: Yes, but Mike Fisher is far better looking than Mike Comrie. Doesn't that matter? Wouldn't you rather be Carrie Underwood?

Me: You are correct. He is better looking. Far better looking. BUT HAVE YOU SEEN THAT RING? If those are my options, come on! I'm never going to be an American Idol but I still have a shot at being a Canadian's Girlfriend.... He is Canadian right?

Mom: Yes. They are both Canadian. But the one who got the million dollar ring found the Canadian hockey player slash heir so, may want to work on the American Idol thing too. Good luck with all that.

So in case you were ever wondering what the conversation is like between mother and daughter, there it is folks. Million dollar rings, Canadian hockey players, and TV shows that literally have no effect on anyone's life. So here's to family and all the wonderfulness that comes with it.

So Many Questions: Answered

Yesterday I attended a Gala at The Buffalo Club in association with The Western New York Chapter of the Penn State Alumni Association. Myself, Mike McQueary (chugabeer), Bryan Scott, Paul Pozluszny, and Lydell Sargeant were all in the same room. Oh. My. God.

In case you didn't know, Penn State Football is everything. So, if you ever wondered what me in my glory looks like, it looks like what this night was. I mean, there was Creamery Ice Cream! There were cookies that looked like the chipmunk head, footballs, and the Penn State helmet! They made everyone stand up and sing the Alma Mater before dinner! (Was I one of the only people in the room who knew all the words without looking at the screen? Hell yes I was.) There were Penn State football players there.

It was everything.

All that being said, here was the highlight of the evening: After dinner there was a question and answer session with the players. The very last question asked was: "Now that you are a Buffalo Bill, how do you feel about your home town teams; the teams you grew up supporting?"

The answer from one of the players (who shall remain nameless) (insert winking emoticon here) was: "I grew up a diehard Steelers fan. But I love the Bills organization. I mean, they are the ones who cut the checks."

Literally, the last thing I heard at this Penn State bonanza.

This seriously answers so many of the questions I have about professional sports.

Is my life to die for or what?

Best. Weekend. Ever.

OK, so this may go down in history as the best weekend ever. What constitutes the best weekend ever you ask? Free. Stuff.

Seriously, I had a weekend full of give-a-ways and it was unparalleled.

1. While Mother's Day shopping at Badding Brother's Farm Market (Look it up. If you live anywhere near Transit Rd., do your produce/plant/pumpkin/Christmas tree shopping there. It is amazing.) I received a free bag of popcorn. Now when I say popcorn I don't mean, like, popcorn, I mean popcorn. If you have never popped fresh popcorn, shucked (shucked?) dried corn off a cob, and popped it yourself on the stove, you haven't lived. It is the only way to eat popcorn. The point: FREE POPCORN. Absolutely fantastic.

2. Saturday night *may* have been the most epic night of my life. The family traveled to Pittsburgh for Game 5 of the Eastern Conference Quarterfinals. Penguins vs. Canadiens. If a game at (as the previously mentioned) historic Mellon Arena is a White-Out, it is basically a bonanza for paraphernalia lovers such as ourselves. Free t-shirt, free 'rally towel' for everyone who walks in the building. Turns out, I'm awful at waving a towel over my head in a manner that makes it make sense (or keeps it from hitting other spectators), but the point is, anything that says 'Let's Go Pens' and didn't cost me a dime (I know I paid for the ticket) is spectacular.

3. Lastly, after the game, we returned to our hotel for some dinner and some celebratory beverages. Naturally, it ended up being me and S at the hotel bar with about 4 other people. We capped off our evening with a bottle of beer (as opposed to a draft) so we could take it up to our rooms to finish it. Not only did our fantastic bartender give us those beers for free but she then handed us bottles of water AND bags of potato chips because, you know, they would help in the morning and such. Come on friends: Best. Bartender. Ever.

OK, so in this case, maybe just awesome people and awesome circumstances equal great weekends. On the other hand, free stuff doesn't hurt....

At Least I Kind of Feel Like Myself Again

So it took a while to get back on this metaphorical horse. I had what I consider a quarter life crisis. One week ago the big 2-5 hit. Not being able to properly wrap my head around the state my life is in made me think it was not a good to be putting thoughts on the Internet. Pretty sure some things that may have gotten me committed would have come out on here. All that being said, I'm back! I'm old now, but I'm back!

OK, you can tell me all you want how 25 isn't that old but if you're not 25 yet, just wait, then tell me how you feel when you get here. If you're older than 25, you can laugh at me when I'm even older wishing I was still 25. For now, I'm going with 25 is super old. However, I am realizing I'm pretty much still just 12 years old in about a million ways.

My birthday party was at a bar (OLD). My mom was my ride home (NOT OLD). My friends bought me a birthday cake (REALLY NEITHER BUT FOR THE SAKE OF ARGUMENT, OLD). That birthday cake had plastic rings shaped like giant flowers inserted in it that I wore all night (NOT OLD). I started purchasing products with words like 'Anti-Aging' in the title (OLD). I spent my Sunday watching *all* the extras on The Twilight Saga: New Moon DVD because Robert Pattison is like such a dreamboat and Taylor Lautner, well, abs (NOT OLD). (Also I realize Taylor Lautner is about 12 years old but if you're going to keep someone shirtless for that many minutes of a movie there's no way we're not all looking.)

This list could continue but I think you get the idea. The point is maybe 25 isn't that old. But really it is. This didn't really get us anywhere did it?

An Open Letter

Dear BJ's Wholesale Club,

I fully understand your purpose of having club cards so only members can experience your incredible discounts. Not just anybody should be allowed to buy 100 Solo cups for only $7.99. Perks like these should certainly be maintained for only those who take the time to apply for a membership, awkwardly get their picture taken, and then carry around that little plastic card in the case of a wholesale emergency. The point is, I totally understand your 'members only' policy.

That being said, ARE YOU KIDDING ME that I need a death certificate in order close someones membership?! You are neither a bank nor a government agency nor one of the many, many institutions that I would expect to have provide a death certificate to. You sell Nerd Ropes at like 5 cents a pop but you want me to bring you a death certificate to prove that I'm not willy nilly cancelling my family member's account?

Puh-lease.

All the best,
K. Fahn

P.S. In other (completely related) news, you provide perhaps the best tailgate shopping ever so thank you in advance for what is sure to be a delicious, well supplied weekend.

P.P.S. This household may never have to buy toilet paper or paper towels again so thank you for taking that off my shopping list for, well like, forever.

A Morning in the House of God

I had to go to church this morning. Not to, you know, go to church but to count the weekend's offering. In my partial employment I've picked up another gig in part-time accounting. OK, not really; it was a one time thing, but I was really good at it. My accounting skills are not the point here, the actual trip to church is. It should be noted I haven't been to church in about 4 and a 1/2 years. With the exception of a few weddings, not for a service or a funeral or a holiday, nothing. Needless to say, I was a little nervous going there. I mean, House of God here people, not really something you screw around with, even if you don't so much believe. Not saying I don't believe, not saying I do, I'm just saying, don't want to take any chances.

So here were my thoughts on the way to church:

• Am I appropriately dressed? I mean does this Tommy Hilfiger polo make me look like a skank? Tommy Hilfiger by its very definition is the opposite of skanky right? Maybe I should change? Are turtlenecks OK when it's 60 degrees outside? No? OK, we're going with the polo.
• Can God hear me listening to this music? If so, does he care about the content? Like the songs that came on the radio were Britney Spears' 'Three' and Jimmy Buffet/Alan Jackson 'It's 5 O'Clock Somewhere'. I'm not 100% sure, but I don't think threesomes and binge drinking at all hours of the day are things you're supposed to think about in church. Should I find my old Carrie Underwood CD and put on some 'Jesus Take The Wheel'? No? OK, we'll just listen to some commercials, don't think they can get me in too much trouble.
• I curse like a freaking sailor. What if I accidentally start screaming out expletives in the middle of the building? Not that I walk around randomly screaming out the f-word but what if the case of Tourettes I didn't even know I had suddenly appears right now? Will I just immediately spontaneously combust? You are an adult, a grown woman, you can keep yourself from saying nasty words for the hour and a half you are going to be in this building. That and I'm not even sure spontaneously combusting humans are a thing.

I survived. I wore the shirt, no one called me a whore. I listened to what I wanted to in the car and was not struck down in the parking lot. I did not say one word that was unholy while in the building. I consider this to equal one very successful day.

All that being said, you can probably count on me spending the remainder of the day binge drinking, screaming swear words during the Pens game, and laughing at Youtube videos of people falling. That's just the charm of me.

Crazy Stuff Happens While You Post

Well it's official. We're pregnant. And by 'we' and 'pregnant' I of course mean, the freaking bird laid eggs and we will officially be having 2 little baby robins here shortly. I wanted to take a picture like that last one to show you these eggs. I took that first picture by nudging the screen in my bedroom window out of the way, using the zoom on the camera, leaning out, and click. So to get a picture of the eggs I tried to do the same thing.

SUPER FAIL.

Well super fail only because I had to try a second time. I got a perfectly fine picture which you can see. No you can't fully see both eggs but hey, I never claimed to be Ansel Adams here. Last night I decided I had to get a better picture.

Naturally I decided this at 11 o'clock at night. Therefore, naturally, I knocked the screen out of the window at 11 o'clock at night. Did that happen any one of the numerous times I did this during the day when it would have been super easy to walk downstairs and carry it back upstairs and fix? Nope. Only in the middle of the night when it's super weird (and scary, there are birds living there) to be climbing through the bushes and when creating a racket putting the screen back is not good. So now my screen is sitting quietly on the back porch. It should be noted I did retrieve and put it there last night. This is my real house, not Beta Kappa Phi. (Is that a real thing? If so, I mean no ill will I'm just stringing together the 3 Greek letters I know.) You can't just leave a screen laying in the lawn like a bunch of animals.

UPDATE: In the time it took me to write this post not only did I put the screen back in but, a third egg got laid, and a HUGE (seriously, HUGE) bird came and cracked all the eggs open! No more baby birds chirping! All that being said, no I'm not just sitting at my window watching what happens, I'm just peeking out the window every time I stand up. Or whenever I hear a chorus of birds in the tree. Or just every couple of minutes because it feels super dramatic now.

Yeah I know, I might have a problem...

For the Birds

I have a bird thing. I hate, hate, hate them. It all started at Sea World when I was 5 which is a story I may or may not have shared so if I haven't here's the really watered down version: dolphin feeding, fish, seagulls, terror. After that, there were the birds that nested in the vent above the stove in our house in Pittsburgh. Little pieces of their nest would sometimes fall through onto the stove. Ewww.

After that there was college, better known as The 724. At The 724 some birds nested in the vent of our 2nd floor bathroom. My bedroom was right above that 2nd floor bathroom. Which meant every morning, like 6am morning, momma bird would come back to throw up food into her babies mouths. And if you've ever heard what baby birds sound like while they're waiting for food, you know what I'm talking about: It. Is. Painstaking. For hours you would be kept awake listening to those stupid little birds chirp. Eventually we had to get the landlord involved. The not watered down version of this story would probably make people really uncomfortable (and possibly get other people in trouble) so let's just say, it got taken care of.

Next, there has been the ongoing issue of the robins and the windows. (When I say ongoing I mean like 2 years ongoing.) For the last 2 years, every spring, robins start crashing into our windows. I mean, full force, flying as hard as they can into our windows. They bounce off, since, you know, you can't fly through glass, and just kind looked confused for a minute. They then proceed to do this over and over and over and over, without ever getting smart enough to realize what they're doing is really freaking stupid. Some Internet research led us to figure out the birds seem to think it is another bird facing off with them so they fly into the window to start battle. They are too dumb to realize that it's just their reflection so: They just. Don't. Stop.

Want to know what the solution to that little problem is? Printing out giant pictures of owls and other big scary birds and taping them to your windows. Because while robins are not smart enough to not run into windows over and over again they are smart enough to avoid printouts of paper owls.

There was a blue jay in the tree outside my window yesterday. It caught my eye because it was a blue jay. I'm used to stupid robins running into my windows. I walked over to the window in time to see a robin chasing it out of the tree. You get three guesses why this robin was so concerned. The beginnings of a nest are in this tree.

What's going to happen to that nest? I don't know yet. But I'm fairly certain the answer starts with the word: DESTROY.

So I Guess I Am 6.

Mom actually did it. She actually hid the Easter baskets. Guess who took the longest to find hers?

This girl.

Want to know what was in those Easter baskets that took me 10 minutes longer than everyone else in the family to find?

DVD's.

And by DVD's I mean Toy Story 2 and Shrek.

All this makes me feel way better about the big birthday coming up. You really never actually have to grow up. And I apparently have the DVD collection to prove it.

At Least I'm Not A Six Year Old. Well...

As you may or may not know, this Sunday is Easter. In this family Easter celebrations are very small. And honestly, those celebrations have very little to do with, you know, the reason Easter is really celebrated.

Preparations include not eating meat on Good Friday. Only Good Friday. That's how we did it growing up, that's how we do it now. Only when we were growing up, we actually, you know, went to church during the Lenten season. Now we pretty much just don't eat meat that one time and call it...well, we don't really call it anything. We really just kind of pick that day and don't eat meat.

Like everyone else on the planet, we follow up this deprivation with a giant ham on Sunday. Because there's no way to reward yourself for being good that one day like a huge piece of pig.

The point is, we don't really celebrate Easter. But we do have Easter baskets. Even the Easter's I didn't come home while I was in college, I would get a package with plastic eggs full of Jelly Belly's, Snicker's eggs, you get the idea. And if we are home we get a literal basket with the pastel, plastic grass in it and everything.

All 3 kids are going to be home for Easter this year. I asked if Mom could hide the Easter baskets so we could search for them like when we were kids. This was not a joke. How fun would an Easter basket hunt be?! Yes it can be noted, we are 19, 21 (a week shy of 22), and 24 (a month shy of 25). But seriously, are you telling me you wouldn't have fun with a good old fashioned basket hunt?

Two days after I made this suggestion Mom in passing said, "Do you think you guys are too old for Easter baskets?"

My response? "You realize you're asking the child who a few days ago asked if you would hide her basket so she could find it right? You know, like someone under the age of 10?"

Mom: "Right. Nevermind. ... So, what do you want in your Easter basket?"

If I wake up on Sunday and these baskets are hidden: It. Will. Be. Epic.

The Blood Line Continues to Never Disappoint

So the little brother won Beer Fest '10. We all know how Mom felt about that. This past Sunday the 4 of us attended a Penguins game in Pittsburgh. The Igloo is being torn down this year and it was our little family's final hoorah. Our farewell to a historic place. A place we hold very dear to our hearts.

Naturally, in what is apparently true Fahn fashion, this involved a few beers.

With a Mom to drive me back to Buffalo and a little brother to drive S back to State College, the 21 year olds took advantage and toasted the Pens. This led to a few encounters that may have proven Mom right about how it's difficult to be proud of the beer funneling, keg standing, and flip cupping.

First 2 rounds were on me. (First paycheck put to good use!) Round number 3 was on S. As we were getting ready to get round 4 (our last one, we aren't that bad) S looked to me and said, "I think I'm going to ask Mom for money to contribute to our drinking fund!" And thus she promptly turned to Mom and literally said, "Hey Mom, want to contribute to our drinking fund? We need a twenty!"

Rolling her eyes, Mom went into her wallet, handed us $25, and asked us to get her a water. At the close of the period we got up to go to the restroom and then get our beers. Mom decided to come with us. Naturally, the guy at the beer stand looked at us and as he began to pour said, "2 Bud Lights?" Naturally, Mom rolled her eyes and responded, "Yep, of course they want 2 Bud Lights but they also need a water this time. As you could probably guess, the water is not for them."

As we walked back to our seats she looked at us and said, "So you guys pretty much make friends with whoever is serving the beer everywhere you go don't you?" After a moment of pondering the only real answer we could come up with was, "Yep."

So, maybe she has a point, but: shouldn't she also be proud that we're like really, really good at making friends? It's not like everyone gets remembered by the beer stand guy. We were special.

Or maybe we were just frequent fliers....

UPDATE: Mom came home today with a bottle of Jameson so we can take victory shots (there was nowhere to take them after the game) this weekend when the the kids come home for Easter. At least we know we totally get it from somewhere.

Tales Of A Productive Day

Today was one of the most productive days I've had in a while. While I cannot explain why I got so much accomplished today, I did. Excellent.

• Gave myself a manicure. So happy to have found 'You Don't Know Jacques!' in a store. God Bless Duane Reade.
• Went to the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society Office to officially register for the marathon. Only I drove right past the office park because Google Maps told me it was next to the Red Lobster across the street. So I drove in circles around what was clearly just a Red Lobster parking lot, ignoring the office park right across the street (where something like the LLS office would obviously be) for a good 5 minutes. Finally realizing my error, I drove across the street, parked, and was then unable to let myself into the very public building. Seriously, could not open the door. Door said pull, I pulled, I swear it wouldn't budge. Actually had to call my friend who works at the LLS to let me in. Yes, I do have a college degree.
• Went to the Verizon store because after updating the software on my Blackberry the icon that allowed me to lock the the keyboard disapeered. Just into thin air, gone. Being able to lock one's phone is crucial. Purse dialing the wrong person can lead to epic amounts of embarrasment. Epic. Turns out, all you have to do now is just push the mute button on the top of the phone. "It was part of the upgrade," the eye rolling, ever so superior Verizon employee said. Well, Verizon/RIM: perhaps if you included that information with the upgrade, I would know that. I've generally always thought mute button = phone muted, not phone locked. Am I wrong here? No.
• Had a very successful trip to Wegman's, even bought my mom flowers. (I know Daughter of the Year Award, coming up.) (OK, yes, technically she was paying for the groceries so she kind of bought herself flowers but it's the thought that counts here people.) Then I got to the checkout counter. Whoever you are checkout lady, YOU HAVE A SERIOUS BAG WASTING PROBLEM! It took probably over 10 minutes for me to checkout with no more than 30 items because this woman put about 2 items in each bag. Literally. Two. Items. A Bag.
• I then had a fantastic day at work and came home to cook Mom and I dinner. Potato-Thyme Tart? Absolutely fantastic. Cheddar Crusted Chicken? Burnt to high hell. Damn you industrial strength stove in way too small kitchen. Damn you. (Yes, it was the stove's fault, not user error.)
• I've decided since I've resorted to self-diagnosing my 'sprained ankle' and since, you know, I'm like, an adult, I should probably get myself some health insurance. After some very serious research I found a plan I'd like to give a whirl. I tried to print the application tonight. It took 2 people, 20 minutes, 2 (of 4! What kind of home printer has 4 ink cartridges?) print cartridges, a pair of scissors, and a flashlight to get the document to finish printing.

So maybe today wasn't such a productive day? Or maybe it was just in a really stupid, roundabout, areyoukiddingme?, seriously?, and whyme? kind of way. Yeah. We'll go with that one.

Because That Granola I Had For Breakfast Makes This Totally OK

I am, by no means, an unhealthy eater. Yes, I occasionally have Skittles for breakfast. And yes, sometimes I eat giant bowls of homemade popcorn, covered in butter and popcorn mix (a delicious mix of powdered cheddar cheese, salt, marjoram, garlic powder and some other tasty, tasty things) the night before 9 mile runs. (Note, don't eat that much salt before doing things like that. You will regret it at about mile 4.) Admitting to all that begs the question: who hasn't done those things at one point or another? According to the calculations (and rationalizations) of one of the top 5 healthiest people I know (also a vegetarian) (Meaning she is healthy and a vegetarian, not that we are both vegetarians. Go meat!), pizza counts as a good recovery meal after a run because it has carbs, dairy, and veggies. (Let it be known, I 100% agree with this logic. In fact, I'm shocked I didn't come up with that myself.) The point is: everyone has their moments.

The life long love for cooking means I eat at home at nearly every meal, even pre-move, so I know where all my food comes from and what's in it. When I eat, I tend to eat small portions. I try to have only one glass of soda a day, if that, and mainly drink just water. Recently, I've even been adding things like ground chicken and turkey into my repertoire, trying to eat more fish, always have a vegetable or a salad with lots of veggies in it with dinner, etc. The point is: I'm really a decently healthy eater.

Tonight, after dinner, I decided I wanted a little something sweet. I went into the freezer and had a fruit bar, literally pureed, frozen fruit, arguably the healthiest dessert ever, in my hand. That's when I spotted the bag of frozen mini-Snickers.

Can you guess what won? Slash can you guess how many of those little guys won?

Did I mention the 1/4 pound of peanut M&M's I ate work today? Yeah.....

Now This is A Blood Line To Be Proud Of

The Scene: My Kitchen (Where I haven't even had my first cup of coffee yet.)

The Players: Me and Georgie

Georgie: So, did you get the phone call I did last night? (Never ask someone that question like that. 'The phone call' could have come from anyone about anything. This girl's mind always assumes the next statement is, "Uncle Barry died. He choked on a shrimp at Red Lobster.") (I don't have an Uncle Barry. And if I did and he was eating at Red Lobster, I'd hope he was eating crab. Unless it was Shrimp Fest.)

Me: No, what phone call?

G: From your sister.

Me: Oh boy, what was it?

G (In a voice imitating my sister): MOM! You're going to be soooooooo proud! Jord won Beer Fest!!!!!! (Beer Fest AKA Beer Olympics. Every team dresses up as a different country, (which basically means writing Germany in Sharpie across a tee shirt) and competes in various drinking events.) (And for those of you who don't know, J is the baby of the family.)

Me: Did he really?!

G: Yeah I guess so. And Sarah just kept saying, 'You'd be so proud, you'd be so proud!' And I just kept saying, oh yeah, I'm so proud that all my kids are so great at drinking. And there's nothing like getting that phone call while everyone is hammered so those kids can ask for praise for being, like, soooooo good at flip cup.

Me: Well, it is kind of funny. And we're good at other things too.

G: Yeah...Remember the first time Sarah came to visit you at Penn State and the only phone call I got was, "Mom, you'd be so proud of me! I drank at Tour de State all day with everyone!"? (Tour de State is far more complicated to explain but let's call it a bar crawl but insert 'people's houses and apartments' for 'bar'. Zack Morris was my team name for Tour de State '07.)

Me: Yeah, I remember that...

G: I rest my case. But, yeah, I'm really, really proud! (Is the sarcasm implied here? I hope so.)

End Scene

End scene as at this point I just walked out of the room with nothing left to say. Because, how do you say, "Yeah Mom, we run marathons, we teach kindergartners, we listen to a lot of Dave, and we're keg stand experts. We just want you to be proud of all of our accomplishments."

God Bless Target Employees

Thoughts had at Target:

1. Yes! Nothing better than a parking spot next to the cart corral. Seriously. Anytime I go anywhere a cart will be involved my parking decisions are based on the cart corrals, not how far I am from the door. Nothing worse than already being at your car and having to walk the cart back 3 miles. Those of you who don't return your carts, shame.

2. Paper towels are on sale! And I need to pick up paper towels! Little victories.

3. I have a 10% off coupon which means I can buy 8 giant rolls of paper towels, 4 boxes of tissues and an iPod for under $100. This. Is. Amazing.

(You can imagine how happily I'm walking out of the store at this point. I had checked out in the back at the electronics counter so the only thing between me and the car ride home was walking from electronics, past the cash registers, to my car.) (Also, I realize the aforementioned statements make me seem about 30 years older than I am but I think it's a well established fact that I'm kind of a 65 year old trapped in a 24 year old body.)

4. How did I get my cart so stuck between this pole and this refrigerator full of Pepsi products that a Target team member had to come get me unstuck from this situation? Seriously. I couldn't move forward, I couldn't move backward. And no amount of shaking, pulling, or lifting the cart was rectifying the situation. Who designed the checkout aisles so that their carts could not fit through them? And who made the carts so wide that you can't fit them through the checkout aisles?

Needless to say I walked out of Target a little more than embarrassed. If I hadn't had that parking spot to go back to it would have been a miserable situation...

I Am Woman. No, Seriously Mom, I Am.

My mom recently asked me if I was a boy. Seriously. "Kristen, are you a boy?" I know I spend a lot of time with guys and not girls. When I say 'time' I mean: 90% of the time I leave the house I know no guy is going to approach me because one of those 5 dudes I'm with must be my boyfriend. Otherwise why would I be the only girl around all the time? (I suppose I should note here that none of them ever are my boyfriend? There just happen to be more males in my life than females.) So, I had come to terms with all the assumptions people surely make, but apparently, I spend enough time with just the male species that it compelled my mother, the woman who gave birth to me, to think perhaps I have actual male parts? That is kind of an extreme thing for my brain to manage.

As it turns out, I couldn't give her a really good answer one way or the other. Clearly, no, I am not a boy. But you know, if people (particularly your own mother) are asking you that, you can't help but feel some sort of confusion. This was not a 'I'm going to get an operation' kind of confused. Just you know, bamboozled confused. Thought that should be clear.

Well, I have decided that I am, unequivocally, a woman. How did I come to this realization? (Aside, from you know, the last 25 years of bras and heels and dresses and the want for an engagement ring not because I want to be married but because I want a really pretty piece of something sparkly.) Of course, New York Magazine comes through again. I read the following quote from an interview with Mad Men's Christina Hendricks:

"It is perhaps ironic then that Hendricks actually started out as a model - catalogues, mostly, but there was one season on the London runway that ended when her agent said, "Darling, did your boobs grow?" (One imagines that future season might see the question posed in the opposite direction.)"

Because, really, that question is so much better to be asked if you are a woman as opposed to being asked as a man. And trust me, I've been asked that question more than anyone.

Oh, and hopefully one day that question is posed in the opposite direction. And that'll be one point for the big girls.

How Ryan Seacrest Ruined My Day

In this house, we like to listen to music while we shower. (If you've ever been in this house you know this because some of us listen to our music very, very loudly.) (Oh yeah and note to John Mayer, even if I was in a blissfully happy relationship, I'm pretty sure your music would still break my heart. That being said, if you are at all heartbroken do not listen to any John Mayer music. It'll definitely make you want to light yourself on fire. I'm pretty sure this is why Britney Spears was invented. To serve as the antidote.) I suppose we get bored really easily and need something to get us through that 15 minute time span. Most of the time I choose to listen to CD's. Not today friends. Not. Today.

Today I chose to listen to the radio. I generally only listen to the radio when the siblings are home from school as one of those siblings chooses the radio for shower time. Epic mistake.

I turned the radio on to the last minute of a song I hate. Then Ryan Seacrest came on and said something stupid about cougars. (The Mrs. Robinson kind, not the animal. Is that implied these days?) Then it immediately cut to commercial.

This may seem like a silly thing to be so upset about that you feel compelled to write about it but, I mean, it is the little things in life. Isn't it?

Turns Out, I'm Not That Crazy

Seriously! It's a miracle!

I read in a magazine today that Taylor Swift Twittered something to the effect of, "I just used a Sharpie as eyeliner in the airplane bathroom."

This officially makes using a Sharpie to color your few, stray, grey hairs really not so weird at all. In fact, it almost makes it downright normal. I mean, I know putting it on your hair can't be like, really, really good for it, but, I figure you can multiply that by like 10 for your face. There is definitely no way that is good for your face. Not to mention how much face washing it would take to get that off. I feel as though one would need a chemical peel to completely remove it. This does, however, lead me to believe there is something to be said for getting your eyeliner just tattooed on your face. Which someone once in fact thought I had done as I have mad skills at putting eyeliner on. (Seriously. I said it. I don't have a ton going for me so, little victories.)

In other news: I pretty sure this also makes Sharpie markers the most versatile beauty product I've heard of since I learned you could use conditioner as a fabulous replacement for shaving cream.

Sid v. America v. My Head v. My Heart

It has been very difficult to explain my feelings about the Olympic gold medal hockey game. That being said, I understand it is even more difficult for anyone not in the same situation to understand my particular dillemma. For all but 2 weeks out of every 4 years it is Penguins before anything else. (OK, Penn State football is probably #1 all time but if a Penguins Stanley Cup Game 7 and a Penn State National Championship were to occur on the same day (a feat I realize is impossible, thank God), it would be the worst best day of my life.) So while country comes first and I wanted the USA to win gold more than anything, I couldn't help but be happy for Sidney Crosby. He is hero in this family. That doesn't just go away completely for 2 weeks because of how much you love America.

I didn't have a good way to say all this until I watched the simple ceremony before the Pens vs. Sabres game (at Pittsburgh) this evening presenting the Olympic competitors from both teams. On ESPN's PTI earlier today there was a discussion as to whether the people of the city of Pittsburgh would boo Sidney Crosby as his name was announced at Mellon Arena. The fact that this question was even asked proves these people clearly do not know the city of Pittsburgh.

Pittsburgh is town of homes and hearts. (One of my favorite quotes from a 1997 NPR Morning Edition piece called Where Are Your Loyalties? from Frank Deford.) It is a place, much like the city of Buffalo, where people are passionate about the place they live. People born there will live their whole lives there if possible. There is a loyalty there that is nearly impossible to shake. (I've lived in Buffalo for 14 years and still can't shake Pittsburgh. I support the Sabres but would never choose them over them over the Penguins. And that's not just because my mom would disown me. Literally. Disown me.) So no, when Sidney Crosby, took the ice back in Pittsburgh tonight, no one booed. It wasn't the loudest cheer I've ever heard when the announcer yelled 'Sidneyyyyyyyyyy Crrrrrrrrrrrosbyyyyyyyyyy!' But no one would dare boo Sid. He's ours. We simply lent him back to Canada for 2 weeks.

So that is why it was so difficult to be mad that it was Sid who scored that goal. If it had been anyone else on Team Canada it would have been considerably more heartbreaking. The fact that it was Sid was really just poetry to anyone from Pittsburgh. A strange, ironic, somewhat stinging kind of poetry, but poetry nonetheless.

All that being said, the cheers in Pittsburgh this evening when Ryan Miller's name was announced, were epic. (Those of you who know your likeness is in this picture, I cropped you out of it to maintain any kind of anonimity you may want. If you would like the original picture in this post instead, feel free to let me know.)

Best. News. Ever.

Western New York has a Restaurant Week. Restaurant Week is my favorite holiday of the year. I would be lying if I didn't say I thought it was really a thing that only happened in the Philadelphia's and Chicago's of the world but I am more than happy to have been wrong about this.

If you or anyone you know would like to take me on a date to any of the participating restaurants, feel free to contact me at anytime. I have the whole week available.

Easily One of the Stranger Conversations I've Ever Had

On Saturday I went to Baltimore for the Frozen Bikeless Bike Tour. This is a annual event that involves copious amounts of alcohol and very brightly colored sweatshirts. This year it also involved the following conversation via text.

Random 716 Phone Number: heyy :)

Me: Who is this? I got a new phone. (It was group consensus that this is the most democratic answer to texts from people who's numbers you don't recognize. That way if you do know the person, you're not exactly offending them. Hopefully.)

716#: mandi :)

Me: Mandi. I'm not sure we know each other.

716#: mike?

Me: Not Mike. Sorry wrong number.

716#: im so sry hun 2 bother yu..

Me: No worries!

(Now, let's all keep in mind she said she was sorry to bother me. Where I come from "I'm sorry to bother you" means "I realize that I'm interrupting your day and I'm sorry for that and I'm going to stop interrupting your day now." Not to mention we have already established I am not the boy who's phone number she thinks she got. Whoever you are Mike with the phone number similar to mine, thanks a bunch.)

716#: who is this thn, if yu dnt mind me askin

Me: Um, I'm just a girl from Buffalo.

716#: ru datin a guy named jon (Seriously.)

Me: Nope.

716#: ok gd lol haha take care thn

Now after we realized I wasn't Mike but then we learned I was a girl, why did we assume I might be dating Jon? How does Jon even play into this at all? I may not know alot about the etiqutte of accidentally texting random people but I'm pretty sure about 90% of that makes about 0% sense. But now that it's out there in universe, what do we suppose the story is here? I'm pretty sure I don't care but I'm also fairly certain I have to know now.

If anyone has any information regarding Mandi, Mike, Jon, and the apparent torrid love affair brewing between them, please post it in the comments.

Where Adults GoTo Play

I kid you not; that is the tag line for Lasertron in Buffalo. (If you think I'm trying to be funny, the website is here.) When I was a kid, the two times I ever went to Lasertron (Girlishness doesn't just happen suddenly, it's something you're born with. Like attached earlobes or the ability to make a hot dog shape with your tongue.) you just ran around, shooting each other with toy guns and then you would go outside, eat pizza, play video games, earn tickets, and use those tickets to get an awesome bouncy ball and an Airhead.

My, my how the times have changed.

OK, not really. Actually it's exactly the same. Except now, I'm 2 months shy of being 25. And Lasertron has a bar. A bar with $2 beers. Despite my extraordinary resistance to anything involving running around with a vest and attached lasergun, it's hard to pass up $2 beers. Especially because, come on, it's Lasertron. There's something entirely backwards (and hilarious) about me at the bar sucking down Blue Lights just to cope with the reality of my Friday night while a 13 year old is making a desperate stab at Dance Dance Revolution just to my left.

So yes, a group effort between .Net, The Goat, Da Kriski, Captain Solo, and El Nino got me into this mess. Let it be known I am an excellent defensive player (take that Captain Solo) and that the red team was born to win. Oh the tales of suburban adulthood....

Follow This!

It has happened. I have Twittered.

I know no one really cares what I think. I know I don't care that much about what anyone else has to say. But maybe you do care what I think. And maybe I do want to know what other people have to say. Otherwise this digital universe wouldn't have taken off right? I mean, the world of social media is the world is it not?

OK, so enough philosophical blathering about whatever it is that that just was, the point: I Twitter now. So this page will be changing a little bit so you can see everything that happens, all the time. I can see the smiles on your faces now...

Sidenote: I know this makes me crazy. Never claimed I was anything but.

And The Second Picture

Because apparently I'm computer illiterate.

And because you had to see the close up.

Everywhere I Go. Everywhere.

Denver is a fantastic city. In fact, I'll go so far as to say Colorado is generally awesome. Tons to do, tons to see, so much outdoorsy-ness. In my case, too much outdoorsy-ness. (Should I try to submit that word to Webster's? I'm thinking maybe.)

Fox and coyote in Buffalo are scary but they are nothing compared to the wildlife spotted on my vacation. I do not know what those things are but they were terrifying. On a drive from Red Rocks (amazing even if there isn't a musical act there) to Lookout Mountain (which I don't have a good picture of because I let my camera die and is also why the pictures (and by pictures I mean picture because Kristen can't figure out how get two photos on one post without the formatting being wacky) of creatures are not of the highest quality) the ride suddenly came to a dead stop. It took a minute to figure it out but all of a sudden we realize there are literally THIRTY of these deer/elk/moose/goat hybrids trying to cross the road. Anything that cannot be positively identified is the enemy. (I still don't know what these things are even though I know I read about them at the Science Museum the next day. Note to self: pay more attention when learning things.) I could swear they were looking at me, waiting to charge. I was 100% sure they wanted to eat me.

As it turned out all hundred million of them just crossed the road and went along their way. I suppose this is not surprising as I'm always convinced all kinds of animals are going to attack me and they never do. But the minute I let my guard down I'm totally going to be someones lunch. It. Is. Coming.

There's Something About Getting Away

I'm not one to get to emo on the blog here. I don't really wax poetic about my life and my dreams and what happens during my marriage and divorce. I write about wanting to be Lil' Wayne, how I feel like racoons are always out to attack me, and other generally mundane musings of suburban life.

This is not one of those days.

Today we do wax poetic and we do so about traveling. I have only seen half of Up in the Air (coincidentally this past weekend) but I can tell you I am 100% a kindred spirit of George Clooney's character. There is something to be said for knowing how to travel because if you know how to do it, there is nothing better. You hate airports? I love them. You can't sleep on a plane? I'm out like a light. You think hotels are gross? I'm well known for stealing all the toiletries because I love to reuse them. I also have a rule of thumb: If you know someone who lives somewhere and they are willing to put you up for a few days, DO IT. There are not going to be an unlimited number of times you are going to be able to find a place to stay, not only at no cost, but with people who can show you a place for what it really is, not for what everyone else sees. Also, when else do you have the opportunity to cruise through 5 issues of New York magazine cover to cover. When?!

It had been a while since I had been anywhere, sans a quick overnight in Philly, followed by a weekend in State College, and I have been itiching to get out. We all know I love, love, love Buffalo but that doesn't mean you can stay here 365 days a year.

So one Gchat conversation, a spin around the Orbitz website, six pairs of shoes packed for 4 days, and it was done. Impromptu weekend in Denver was set. Details will follow about the fabulousness, but this is simply here to say, how wonderful it is to get away.

(That was not meant to be so emo that it rhymed but I guess if we're going down the rabbit hole, we may as well really jump down there....)

Things I've Thought About And/Or Learned

1. I want to actually be Lil Wayne. Not be in his entourage, not be one of his baby momma's, but actually, literally be him. I think he's insanely awesome. If someone can name something un-awesome about that guy I'd love to hear it. (No, I don't care that he's going to jail on weapons charges. I think that adds to the swagger.) If you need some convincing, feel free to purchase this week's Rolling Stone and/or just click here. (In response to seeing him on the Rolling Stone cover Georgie simply said, 'What's he going to do in jail? Isn't that where people just get tattoos? He really should have thought of that ahead of time.' Because people's first thought when going to jail is always, 'Oh no! Where am I going to get all my prison ink with all the tattoos I already have?!' Alternatively, when getting tattoos people probably also think, 'Hmmmm, I may end up in jail someday so I better leave some skin available for when that happens.')

2. I've been bowling wrong for almost 25 years. Apparently you use your middle and ring fingers not your pointer and middle fingers to throw the ball. Who knew? I'm really hoping this revelation improves my game. It should be noted this information would have been really helpful before I bowled 3 games yesterday, not after.

3. Icy Hot is next to Godliness. Despite the fact that every time I put it on Georgie insists upon commenting about how strong it smells, I love it. Anything that makes your calves feel that good can smell however it wants.

4. Things I'm going to invent: Icy Hot that smells in a way in which I could wear it outside the house; crushed tomatoes that come in a box similar to chicken stock so they can be portioned out and stored in the fridge between uses; plastic wrap that doesn't make me want to light myself on fire when I'm just trying to cover a bowl.

5. I think people who Twitter are absolutely batshit crazy. Seriously just totally nutty. That being said, I'm really considering jumping on the bandwagon....

6. A friend tells me if you Google, "When will it get warm in Buffalo?" the answers are abysmal. At least, for today, I don't live where I used to; the photo is Central Park circa about 20 minutes ago.

This Is A Post About Literally Nothing. Literally. Nothing.

I've been itching for something to write about for the last few days. Just really, really have had the urge. (That's the point of a blog right? That and the self-indulgence of it all; I know.) Turns out there is no way to turn the following things into witty, hilarious stories:

1. Bowling a 53. Yeah, it happened.
2. Training on a treadmill in your basement for your half-marathon. Really, it's just watching DVD's in motion. (Just traded 2 seasons of The Office for my friend JK's first 2 seasons of Dawson's Creek. It's amaaaaaaaazing.) (Like I've said, I expected better stories about this. I thought I was going to be one of those people on The Biggest Loser who just bites it on the treadmill. Seriously, I think my Mom cleans the basement while I run because she fears I might spontaneously combust or something.)
3. Applying to jobs such as electrian, automotive technician, and graphic designer.
4. Menu planning and cooking dinner for you and your Mom like the Pres and Michelle are coming over to break bread.

Seriously, that's my life ever since the running epiphany.

So, I guess I kind of turned that into a story. But, not really.

You Win All You Fit, Happy People. You Win.

I had a horrible morning. Like, epically awful. In fact, most mornings lately I wake up, turn on my computer and think, "What fresh hell will this bring today?" So yeah, it was one of those mornings. Today also happened to be my first run for the half-marathon. So all I wanted to do was have a stiff drink, a Happy Meal (literally, a Happy Meal), and to watch the Grammy's over and over again in my very cozy bed. (On that note, the Grammy's were awesome and while the 3-D Michael Jackson tribute was difficult to watch without the glasses, getting to see the likes of Beyonce and Rihanna wear them made it totally worthwhile.) But instead of all of that wonderfulness, I had a 2 mile run ahead of me.

I should also mention that I have always thought people who wax poetic about how running makes them feel great (emotionally, endorphins and such), are pretty much full of it. Preparing for this run I had a whole post brewing in my head about how the running didn't really help make me feel better but the Jameson and the Ben & Jerry's did and thusly, I am right and you are all wrong.

Resisting my want to bag the run and head for the bar, I ran.

And honestly, I apologize. You were not all full of shit all this time. In fact, you all may have been right all along. I feel wonderful and my morning troubles have been nicely tucked away into a tiny box, never to be opened again.

All this does not mean I will not be returning for Monday night bowling and beers. Baby steps here people. Baby steps and rewarding oneself for being great.

No Kids, Just Assets

This past March I took my first trip to Hawaii with my fabulous group of girlfriends. One night, the nine of us were at a local watering hole, just enjoying a few beverages and I happened to be wearing flannel. (The shirt in question is pictured on the right and BTW, lots of people wear flannel.) This shirt led to the following exchange:

The Scene: A bar in Haleiwa, HI after ordering a shot and a beer

The Players: Myself, JS (my dear friend), and Some Random Man at the Bar

Random Man at the Bar: What are all you ladies celebrating?

JS (clutching me in a hug): She's pregnant!

Random Man at the Bar (who apparently didn't notice the beer in my hand or the shot I was about to take or the strange way JS was rubbing my stomach): Oh really? Is that why you're wearing flannel?

Seriously. Pregnancy now apparently means you wear flannel. Or vice-versa. I'm not sure but the point is according to my friend the best answer to "Why are you celebrating?" is "She's pregnant."

So that was Hawaii. Then there was The Ale House.

The Scene: The Amherst Ale House, after ordering a shot and a beer

The Players: Myself, A (Another Dear Friend), Another Random Man at a Different Bar

Another Random Man at a Different Bar: So why are guys celebrating? (This also leads to the question: Can two girls not sit at a bar and get a drink without having a reason to celebrate?)

A: She's getting divorced!

ARMDB: Really, wow!? So how's that going, you doing OK?

Me: Oh yeah, I'm doing great. (I'm so stunned that this was her answer that I literally had nothing to do but go with it.)

A: It was a really good thing, she's doing really well!

ARMDB: Long divorce? Short divorce? Those things can take 2 months or they can take 2 years.

A: It was quick! She's doing great now! That's why we're out celebrating!

ARMDB: Kids?

Me: No kids, just assets.

ARMDB: Well that's great news. Kids really complicate things like that. Congratulations, enjoy your night!

So, yeah. At the ripe old age of 24 I have managed to have a pregnancy that was probably ruined by all the Jameson and Bud Light and a marriage that has ended in divorce but luckily thanks to all the Jameson and Bud Light, there were no kids to fight over. Now, I'm not even sure all this is possible at my age but the real issue here is, why me? How am I always the pregnant flannel wearing divorcee? And why does everyone always believe it's true? Discuss.