Hey! Thanks everyone for the positive feedback on the last post. I'm glad to be "back" too!
Just thought I'd paraphrase a conversation I just had with my boyfriend about the latest post. We sitting around his apartment deciding whether we'd make these Sloppy Joes from the Post Punk Kitchen again, enjoying a round of these, which were much higher on the difficulty scale than I was expecting.
Me: I posted a new blog.
Boyfriend: I saw.
Me: ...
Boyfriend: Reasonably healthy relationship?
Me: I'm pretty sure I said 'happy.'
Boyfriend: ...
Me: No relationship is 100% healthy and happy. They don't exist.
Boyfriend: You're right.
Me: ...
Boyfriend: I'm sorry I ruined your blog.
Me: You didn't ruin my blog.
Boyfriend: Well, no more third worst date ever...
Me: ...
Boyfriend: Your life is boring now.
Me: It's not boring! It's just different.
--
He was one of my devoted readers before we started dating and we recently celebrated our two year anniversary (and I'm glad.) If I hadn't started this blog, who knows whether we'd even be together...
January 28, 2013
January 21, 2013
Hi, I'm here. Remember me?
This post started a few months ago as a farewell letter. I was about to retire this blog, and for that, I apologize.
Last week two of my blogger friends inspired me to come back here. 1) Ally over at Broke207 was kind of like, "Hey guys, I've been really bummed out lately and haven't written here in a couple of months. Sorry!" But in doing so, she made me laugh out loud with a quip about skeevy internet people and their intentions. She helped me realize that although I don't feel like I have anything to write about sometimes that's okay. Back in 2009, I only posted like 4 times. That was the year that I was REALLY unhappy at my job and knocking boots with all sorts of inappropriate people. Maybe I'm just in a little bit of a creative rut. What's it to ya?
I also got an email invitation to meet up for blogger happy hour. One of my favorite things is when internet friends transition to in-person friends. Yes, it can be awkward at first (but it can also be awkward when you see a friend from real life for the first time in over a year and they know exactly what's been going on in your life.) The happy hour was I think around May or June? I met two nice ladies Samantha and Greta, among others, and I had a great time hanging out. The problem is though, in good conscious how can I go to a blogger happy hour knowing I'm thisclose to abandoning this thing. This is our paraphrased conversation Me: "Kate. I'm like a loser who never blogs anymore. Can I still come?" Other cool blogger: "Yes! And start blogging again, dummy"
Now probably more than ever, I spend my time listening to podcasts and cooking. Or... watching Hart of Dixie. I'm not afraid to admit that I love that show! Rachel Bilson had me hooked when her character fell for comic book loving Seth in the OC. Actually, Seth from the OC My new favorite callers at work are the ones from rural areas with thick accents who can’t find our products anywhere. Because I imagine them living in someplace like Bluebell. Oh, did you just yawn? Me too. I’m sleepy despite the fact that I've literally done nothing all day.
So where do I stand now? I don’t know. I’m in a happy, reasonably healthy relationship, working at a job that has plenty for me to write about, but I can’t because it is a real job. (Meet me for a drink off the record and maybe I'll give you an anecdote or two.) I have no major life plans on the horizon and although I know that there may be shenanigans to write about, it's difficult to say what my immediate or intermediate future may hold, and what will be good fodder for the blog. My cat is still crazy and I still run into ex-lovers at unexpected times and places. But sometimes you just run into exes, high school classmates, random people who you're like, "You look so familiar."
I'm applying for an MFA in Creative Nonfiction Creative Writing. Since procrastination is my forte (can't fail at something you don't finish! Ha! Except... there was that SIXTY FIVE dollar application fee...), you can probably credit this post as the final procrastination straw. If I'm accepted into the program, get ready for a whole lot of creativity up in this bitch. In the meantime, I think I'll take up a practice from my days of more frequent posts- keep a list of blog ideas. There might even be a few on deck at the moment, but it's difficult to be certain.
Consumed during this post: 3 or 4 'servings' of Simply Naked multigrain pita chips, 1-2 servings of zesty spice and garlic hummus, this cocktail but with blackberries instead of mango (my mango went soft.)
September 25, 2012
At Caiola's: Party of One
Back when I was waiting tables, which seems like a lifetime ago at this point, I’d often hang out at bars, by myself for two reasons: 1) I got free meals at work and was too lazy to cook the rest myself, and 2) What is at one moment a quiet, thoughtful afternoon of solitude can become an afternoon filled with bemusing stories of camaraderie. 100% of the time if I’m dining alone I will take a seat at the bar instead of a table for one. It’s so much more entertaining. Which is part of the reason why this woman dining alone at Caiola’s was so fascinating to me. Her back to the room, facing the window, she almost mocked me and my need for togetherness.
I took Mandy out to Caoila’s for her birthday. She’d never been, and I decided I’d rather spend an evening enjoying outstanding food and drink rather than take a chance on a gift that she’d feign excitement over and consign a respectable 12 months later. We had an amazing time! The food was decadent and complex, but not so complex that I couldn’t understand the menu, if you get my drift.
It was a Wednesday night, and we were in the back room, through the kitchen. Being the sous chef that has to stand near that door must be the worst. There was a group of three respectable upper-middle-aged guys in the corner to my left, one had a Southern accent and I heard them talking about Marketing, television, and the Bangor Daily News. (Hmmm). Behind Mandy was a younger couple who left shortly after we arrived. Then a woman, about 62ish, waltzed in and sat at a two top against the wall diagonal from us, facing the window. The waitress only put down a single place setting, water glass and menu. Table for one.
I knew almost immediately that I wanted to be her. She had a black cardigan, a simple canary-red blouse underneath, with a mid-calf ivory colored a-line skirt that had, like, ribbing or piping instead of stripes throughout. It was a beautiful skirt- hip, yet age appropriate. Her ballet flats, undoubtedly leather, matched her blouse as though they came together. Perhaps they were in fact ordered from the J.Crew catalogue at the same time. Dark framed reading (?) glasses hung low on her face, probably Michael Kors or Kate Spade or some designer brand. My favorite part about her was the bag she carried. It was my dream bag. A caramel leather tote whose sides slouched in around the handles the same way my canvas bags do. It was my dream bag. I think if Diane from Cheers was a real person and lived to be 62, this woman is what she would be like.
Out of the bag she pulled a pristine hardcover book, and inevitably tuned out everyone except for the waitress, who was forced to break into her line of vision when she brought yet another Grey Goose martini with a twist. Or maybe this woman opted into the Buy Local movement and ordered a Cold River martini. I liked that she didn’t like it dirty. I tried a dirty martini once, it was like salty... salty... it was like drinking the ocean if the ocean was made out of olives.
Occasionally she’d pull out a legal sized pad and take notes. On what, I’m not sure. By the way, I wasn’t trying to stare. She was directly in my line of vision.
I imagine after her iceburg salad, steak or bacon wrapped scallops and three martinis she probably pulled out of the parking lot in her 1992 Volvo Station wagon. Although her 3,000 square foot home with its commercial-grade kitchen was only 1/6 of a mile away, you know she didn’t drive because you never see fancy women like that just walking around the West End. Her youngest daughter usually uses the Volvo but she’s WOOFing in France now. It had better visibility than the Mercedes anyway, plus she liked the sentimental value of driving it. Yeah, she was a little tipsy but it was a very short drive if cops are going to venture into the West End, they don’t make it past Brackett, Spring, and the hospital respectively.
One thousand feet later, she pulled into the secret road between Carroll and Vaughn Streets in the West End that connects all of the garage/back entrance/guest houses and settled in for one more cognac in her fucking jacuzzi tub.
Or maybe she was just too exhausted from running her law firm all day to prepare herself a meal. Maybe she didn’t want to sit at the bar because she wanted some peace and quiet for a change. Maybe she was supposed to meet up with the Oshers and they’re still in San Francisco, or the Hagges, but they were at a fundraising dinner and this was her back up plan. All I know is while she was sitting alone at that table, with the dim lighting, Amelie soundtrack and blowing $65 before tip on a meal for one person, I wanted to be her. Minus her imagined kids.
I took Mandy out to Caoila’s for her birthday. She’d never been, and I decided I’d rather spend an evening enjoying outstanding food and drink rather than take a chance on a gift that she’d feign excitement over and consign a respectable 12 months later. We had an amazing time! The food was decadent and complex, but not so complex that I couldn’t understand the menu, if you get my drift.
It was a Wednesday night, and we were in the back room, through the kitchen. Being the sous chef that has to stand near that door must be the worst. There was a group of three respectable upper-middle-aged guys in the corner to my left, one had a Southern accent and I heard them talking about Marketing, television, and the Bangor Daily News. (Hmmm). Behind Mandy was a younger couple who left shortly after we arrived. Then a woman, about 62ish, waltzed in and sat at a two top against the wall diagonal from us, facing the window. The waitress only put down a single place setting, water glass and menu. Table for one.
I knew almost immediately that I wanted to be her. She had a black cardigan, a simple canary-red blouse underneath, with a mid-calf ivory colored a-line skirt that had, like, ribbing or piping instead of stripes throughout. It was a beautiful skirt- hip, yet age appropriate. Her ballet flats, undoubtedly leather, matched her blouse as though they came together. Perhaps they were in fact ordered from the J.Crew catalogue at the same time. Dark framed reading (?) glasses hung low on her face, probably Michael Kors or Kate Spade or some designer brand. My favorite part about her was the bag she carried. It was my dream bag. A caramel leather tote whose sides slouched in around the handles the same way my canvas bags do. It was my dream bag. I think if Diane from Cheers was a real person and lived to be 62, this woman is what she would be like.
Out of the bag she pulled a pristine hardcover book, and inevitably tuned out everyone except for the waitress, who was forced to break into her line of vision when she brought yet another Grey Goose martini with a twist. Or maybe this woman opted into the Buy Local movement and ordered a Cold River martini. I liked that she didn’t like it dirty. I tried a dirty martini once, it was like salty... salty... it was like drinking the ocean if the ocean was made out of olives.
Occasionally she’d pull out a legal sized pad and take notes. On what, I’m not sure. By the way, I wasn’t trying to stare. She was directly in my line of vision.
I imagine after her iceburg salad, steak or bacon wrapped scallops and three martinis she probably pulled out of the parking lot in her 1992 Volvo Station wagon. Although her 3,000 square foot home with its commercial-grade kitchen was only 1/6 of a mile away, you know she didn’t drive because you never see fancy women like that just walking around the West End. Her youngest daughter usually uses the Volvo but she’s WOOFing in France now. It had better visibility than the Mercedes anyway, plus she liked the sentimental value of driving it. Yeah, she was a little tipsy but it was a very short drive if cops are going to venture into the West End, they don’t make it past Brackett, Spring, and the hospital respectively.
One thousand feet later, she pulled into the secret road between Carroll and Vaughn Streets in the West End that connects all of the garage/back entrance/guest houses and settled in for one more cognac in her fucking jacuzzi tub.
Or maybe she was just too exhausted from running her law firm all day to prepare herself a meal. Maybe she didn’t want to sit at the bar because she wanted some peace and quiet for a change. Maybe she was supposed to meet up with the Oshers and they’re still in San Francisco, or the Hagges, but they were at a fundraising dinner and this was her back up plan. All I know is while she was sitting alone at that table, with the dim lighting, Amelie soundtrack and blowing $65 before tip on a meal for one person, I wanted to be her. Minus her imagined kids.
September 8, 2012
If these walls could talk..
Hi there. I'm not going to bother making excuses for the unannounced Spring/Summer hiatus. Thank you for waiting! I've missed you!
Here's a short descriptive essay that I wrote in the Spring, about my old bedroom.
My eyes open from yet another crucial, rejuvinating afternoon nap. I channel my inner four year old and rub them with loose fists until the sleep is gone. My right arm made its way under the pillow again, this one sheathed in a goldenrod case of a slightly higher thread count. I prop myself up against the pillow and look around at my surroundings, this sad collection of belongings I call my most personal space. It’s late afternoon, and the sun is barely visible from through my single woven wooden shade. This peice made it’s way over from my previous place on Gilman Street, an attic apartment with long hallways, sloped ceilings and a thick layer of dust. I should be outside, enjoying the beautiful day, but sometimes I can’t resist a short snooze with my cat, Baby. I am the center of her universe, and she’s great at snuggling.
The closet door is closed for once; the carmel wood visible, free from its usual carpet of discarded clothing. Paint on the intricate tin ceiling is peeling, and although I’ve never found any chunks of paint on the floorl, exposed spots of black suggest otherwise. In one corner is my dresser, a small vintage piece bursting with clothes, its tired little legs barely able to support the weight. Situated like a faux-vanity is a polished piece of metal standing in for a mirror, propped on top and leaning against the wall. The reflection isn’t clear, so I never use it. I just like the shape, and it seems like an appropriate place to hold the tiny love letters my boyfriend attaches to the flowers he’s been so kind to have delivered to my door.
All of the surfaces and corners of the room are completely cluttered. On a small knee-high book shelf lives an ivory jewelry box, that girls my age likely coveted when we were young. It could stand in for a castle in a My-Little-Pony scenario, for those of us who prefered ponies to Barbies. I thrifted this one, though, and the music box in the bottom drawer stopped working long before it became a part of my life. On either side are random piles of papers; things I know I need to keep but have yet to find an appropriate place for. On floor under the bottom shelf is a black horizontal metal mailbox, shaped like a giant 3D letter, that I picked up at the hardware store a number of years ago, back when my friends and I had many zipcodes between us and we took the time to actually communicate in writing. Some of them I haven’t exchanged more than a Facebook “Like” with in years, but inside that box is evidence of a time when we took the time to consider what were the most important parts to share and seal in an envelope. We’d pay 35 cents to have someone carry it miles and miles. The functionality of the US Postal Service continues to blow my mind.
I am quite pleased with some of my art, however. There is triptych of sorts, three images in black frames on the wall opposite the door. It may not actually be a triptych, but there aren’t very many times that word comes up unless you’re discussing art history. The center image is of me. I’m leaning in a doorway, my back to the camera. I was 18, an art student at a school two miles from the North Shore of Massachusetts. The image was from a study another student in my building was doing, a color study. I was wearing dark denim Levi’s and a white tank top, which matched the door frame and connecting walls. My dyed-red curly hair blends in with the shadowy doorway. I can’t remember whose apartment that was, or why I was there. But the student who took it had the same name as me, her and her boyfriend were from Texas. He was going to Emerson, in the city, and they both left after the fall semester because he proposed and they wanted to plan their wedding.
The image to the left is a blind, one-line drawing a 3rd grade art student made at a summer program a dear friend of mine was teaching. It’s simple, and not terribly meaningful, but its small insignificant story makes me smile. On the opposite side is an image I picked up at a religiously owned thrift store. It’s a long exposure of a dark-haired woman wearing a striped shirt, leaning over a concrete balcony. She is faded, like a ghost, facing the camera and leaning forward into the balcony. It reminds me of Roman Holiday for some reason, although the woman isn’t pocket sized like Audrey Hepburn.
These images hang over a radiator that comes up to my waist. In the winter, I drape my towels over it so they’re warm when I step out of the shower and dry fast for re-use. Five feet away is a small, salvaged side table/plant stand, which I painted black. It came as a matching pair that I found outside of a mansion in a free pile on my way home, back when I lived on Park St. I used spray paint out on the back porch, and apparently the wind blew some on the next building over- my landlord made a huge deal of it when I moved out, but she never liked me anyway.
Next to my bed, between the end of the bed, which consists of a second-hand mattress and box spring that sits on the floor, is an end table, repurposed as a night table. There are about five empty or half-empty glasses and mugs. I try to remember which water is was most recently poured, so I can quickly quench my thirst before getting up to consummate my day.
Here's a short descriptive essay that I wrote in the Spring, about my old bedroom.
My eyes open from yet another crucial, rejuvinating afternoon nap. I channel my inner four year old and rub them with loose fists until the sleep is gone. My right arm made its way under the pillow again, this one sheathed in a goldenrod case of a slightly higher thread count. I prop myself up against the pillow and look around at my surroundings, this sad collection of belongings I call my most personal space. It’s late afternoon, and the sun is barely visible from through my single woven wooden shade. This peice made it’s way over from my previous place on Gilman Street, an attic apartment with long hallways, sloped ceilings and a thick layer of dust. I should be outside, enjoying the beautiful day, but sometimes I can’t resist a short snooze with my cat, Baby. I am the center of her universe, and she’s great at snuggling.
The closet door is closed for once; the carmel wood visible, free from its usual carpet of discarded clothing. Paint on the intricate tin ceiling is peeling, and although I’ve never found any chunks of paint on the floorl, exposed spots of black suggest otherwise. In one corner is my dresser, a small vintage piece bursting with clothes, its tired little legs barely able to support the weight. Situated like a faux-vanity is a polished piece of metal standing in for a mirror, propped on top and leaning against the wall. The reflection isn’t clear, so I never use it. I just like the shape, and it seems like an appropriate place to hold the tiny love letters my boyfriend attaches to the flowers he’s been so kind to have delivered to my door.
All of the surfaces and corners of the room are completely cluttered. On a small knee-high book shelf lives an ivory jewelry box, that girls my age likely coveted when we were young. It could stand in for a castle in a My-Little-Pony scenario, for those of us who prefered ponies to Barbies. I thrifted this one, though, and the music box in the bottom drawer stopped working long before it became a part of my life. On either side are random piles of papers; things I know I need to keep but have yet to find an appropriate place for. On floor under the bottom shelf is a black horizontal metal mailbox, shaped like a giant 3D letter, that I picked up at the hardware store a number of years ago, back when my friends and I had many zipcodes between us and we took the time to actually communicate in writing. Some of them I haven’t exchanged more than a Facebook “Like” with in years, but inside that box is evidence of a time when we took the time to consider what were the most important parts to share and seal in an envelope. We’d pay 35 cents to have someone carry it miles and miles. The functionality of the US Postal Service continues to blow my mind.
I am quite pleased with some of my art, however. There is triptych of sorts, three images in black frames on the wall opposite the door. It may not actually be a triptych, but there aren’t very many times that word comes up unless you’re discussing art history. The center image is of me. I’m leaning in a doorway, my back to the camera. I was 18, an art student at a school two miles from the North Shore of Massachusetts. The image was from a study another student in my building was doing, a color study. I was wearing dark denim Levi’s and a white tank top, which matched the door frame and connecting walls. My dyed-red curly hair blends in with the shadowy doorway. I can’t remember whose apartment that was, or why I was there. But the student who took it had the same name as me, her and her boyfriend were from Texas. He was going to Emerson, in the city, and they both left after the fall semester because he proposed and they wanted to plan their wedding.
The image to the left is a blind, one-line drawing a 3rd grade art student made at a summer program a dear friend of mine was teaching. It’s simple, and not terribly meaningful, but its small insignificant story makes me smile. On the opposite side is an image I picked up at a religiously owned thrift store. It’s a long exposure of a dark-haired woman wearing a striped shirt, leaning over a concrete balcony. She is faded, like a ghost, facing the camera and leaning forward into the balcony. It reminds me of Roman Holiday for some reason, although the woman isn’t pocket sized like Audrey Hepburn.
These images hang over a radiator that comes up to my waist. In the winter, I drape my towels over it so they’re warm when I step out of the shower and dry fast for re-use. Five feet away is a small, salvaged side table/plant stand, which I painted black. It came as a matching pair that I found outside of a mansion in a free pile on my way home, back when I lived on Park St. I used spray paint out on the back porch, and apparently the wind blew some on the next building over- my landlord made a huge deal of it when I moved out, but she never liked me anyway.
Next to my bed, between the end of the bed, which consists of a second-hand mattress and box spring that sits on the floor, is an end table, repurposed as a night table. There are about five empty or half-empty glasses and mugs. I try to remember which water is was most recently poured, so I can quickly quench my thirst before getting up to consummate my day.
April 20, 2012
Mirthday Badness, I mean, Birthday Madness
Last week was a VERY MONUMENTAL week for me.
1). I found out that I am going to join this lovely lady on stage at the University of Southern Maine commencement. Because I'm the chosen representative of the student body to speak at commencement. (!!!)
Thanks again to everyone who came out. It was really nice to see you.
FINALLY
4). In the words of Billy Joel, I'm movin' out. Know of anything? Wanna help me decorate my new solo digs? (Once I find them?)
***Since I started writing this post, I received an official job offer and I accepted. My first official day is May 7. I'm so excited to get a new dentist!
1). I found out that I am going to join this lovely lady on stage at the University of Southern Maine commencement. Because I'm the chosen representative of the student body to speak at commencement. (!!!)
2). I'm not ready to make the announcement official, but an email came from a woman in human resources at Tom's of Maine, "Amanda- your background check went through. I'm working with payroll to put together a compensation package and start date for you." My income will basically double, I'll be spending way more time at Bentley's, the biker bar in Arundel, and I'll be driving again.***
3). My 28th birthday came and went. Let me tell you, it was awesome. Have I mentioned that I have been OBSESSED with the Talking Heads "Stop Making Sense," the live album? I listen to it all the time. An embarrassing amount of listens. But it always fits my mood. I never get sick of it. It cheers me up when I'm sad, it supports the spring in my step when I'm happy.
At some point, I realized still had not seen the film. I posted on FB about it, and an unexpected amount of people responded, indicating that it was the most amazing concert film ever and shaming me for not seeing it. Actually I shamed myself.
So I told Mandy that all I wanted for my birthday was to have a bunch of people get together at a bar or whatever and watch Stop Making Sense together, because it felt like such a momentous occasion that I wanted to share it with those I care about most. And I did! Mandy and my boyfriend kept me almost completely in the dark- We showed up at Pizza Villa and they welcomed us with open arms. The owner kept trying to give us shots, the bartender has us turn the tv to improve his view. Random Pizza Villa customers stopped and watched for a bit. It was perfect.
This was the best scene, from "Life During Wartime." David Byrne? Be still, my heart.
Thanks again to everyone who came out. It was really nice to see you.
FINALLY
4). In the words of Billy Joel, I'm movin' out. Know of anything? Wanna help me decorate my new solo digs? (Once I find them?)
***Since I started writing this post, I received an official job offer and I accepted. My first official day is May 7. I'm so excited to get a new dentist!
April 8, 2012
Zombie Jesus Day
A couple of years ago, within the existence of this blog, my birthday fell on Easter. The night before I had a party at the Snug- I wore a very revealing dress and drank like it was my birthday. I barely remember closing the bar making out with a dark-haired, talented, Meca-grad-turned-fine-dining-waitstaff.
The next morning he rushed out*^ and I realized I hadn't planned anything for my actual birthday. I spent the majority of the day alone, in my 300 sq ft studio, feeling lonely and frustrated about my hangover. I was single, all of my friends were going home to their families, and there was no bus back to Lewiston. My family wasn't celebrating anyway because my mom usually works on weekends and holidays.
Today is Easter and my birthday is next week. In honor of Zombie Jesus Day, I made myself breakfast tacos (which are a lot like huevos rancheros, I think), with a sake/fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice cocktail. 28 isn't exactly a milestone, but the good news is that I have nearly about reached my goal of getting a bachelor's before I turn 30. May 4 is the last day of classes, then commencement 10 days later. Did I mention that I applied to be student commencement speaker? I made the final 5- if I don't get picked, I promise I'll post it here.
Meanwhile, I'm contemplating serious life changes. Some voluntarily and others are in the hands of fate... or the background check company. It's been stressful, dealing with the fear of the unknown. So I'm shopping for Noritake china on Etsy and watching Cheers on Netflix. I'll post some Cheers observations soon. Between homework assignments, of course.
^I ran into him during restaurant league while waiting tables at Bayside Bowl. He bought a bunch of shots of Jameson for his teammates and put them all on his tab. Before I could bring him his bill he said, "I don't even want to know the total. Here's my card. Tip yourself 20%." I thought for a second about tipping myself more than 20%, a bit of redemption for leaving me on my Loneliest Birthday Ever. But I didn't.
The next morning he rushed out*^ and I realized I hadn't planned anything for my actual birthday. I spent the majority of the day alone, in my 300 sq ft studio, feeling lonely and frustrated about my hangover. I was single, all of my friends were going home to their families, and there was no bus back to Lewiston. My family wasn't celebrating anyway because my mom usually works on weekends and holidays.
Today is Easter and my birthday is next week. In honor of Zombie Jesus Day, I made myself breakfast tacos (which are a lot like huevos rancheros, I think), with a sake/fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice cocktail. 28 isn't exactly a milestone, but the good news is that I have nearly about reached my goal of getting a bachelor's before I turn 30. May 4 is the last day of classes, then commencement 10 days later. Did I mention that I applied to be student commencement speaker? I made the final 5- if I don't get picked, I promise I'll post it here.
Meanwhile, I'm contemplating serious life changes. Some voluntarily and others are in the hands of fate... or the background check company. It's been stressful, dealing with the fear of the unknown. So I'm shopping for Noritake china on Etsy and watching Cheers on Netflix. I'll post some Cheers observations soon. Between homework assignments, of course.
*It's odd that he rushed out so fast... because I accidentally gave him like, five hickeys. TMI? Well, would you be rushing home for Easter if you were going to show up to Grandma's looking like that? I didn't think so.
^I ran into him during restaurant league while waiting tables at Bayside Bowl. He bought a bunch of shots of Jameson for his teammates and put them all on his tab. Before I could bring him his bill he said, "I don't even want to know the total. Here's my card. Tip yourself 20%." I thought for a second about tipping myself more than 20%, a bit of redemption for leaving me on my Loneliest Birthday Ever. But I didn't.
February 4, 2012
{Closet Challenge} Week 1
Well, good news! I've signed on to do this closet challenge thing that entails taking one item from you closet and wearing it three different ways every week. It's a continuation of the Dress to Impress project, over at Suz Stephenson's blog Well to do, you.
I over heard a conversation my roommate was having with one of her friends (I wasn't eavesdropping, they knew I was there and it was the next room over, jeez!) The friend said that she felt like she sees a lot of blogs that consist of mostly pictures and she missed the writing. Daisy, I'm sorry to say that my closet, my Instagram and I are upping the photo content of this thing by like, a million percent. But maybe since I'll be posting more often I'll be in the habit of posting more often and it'll be a win for everyone.
Here's the first week. I love this dress. I can make it fancy, I can make it casual. I can wear it backwards. It's great because the print has so many different blues, greys and even a few hues of cream, it might as well be a LBD. Actually, you could call it my little blue dress.
Dress, Target (on sale for $11). Shirt, Anne Taylor Loft. Navy Tights, uhhhh Good Cause Thrift Shop? Charcoal oxfords, Marden's. Beaded headband, Claire's, I think, it was a bridesmaid gift.
Speaking of my roommate, she told me the other day that I do a good job winterizing my summer dresses. Wait, my dresses aren't a house. Appropriating my dresses for winter.
Originally I was going to wear my glasses but they interfered with the headband.
Day two. Grey turtleneck, Lewiston Salvation Army. Grey tights, Goodwill. Ruffled heels, Steve Madden via Find via my friend Heather. (Amanda, did you get those at Find? I sold them!)
Close up.
Day three (at the office.) My office/cubbie at the Public Affairs office can get so cold! But I have to also try and look somewhat professional i.e. not like a student who rolled out of bed just 20 minutes before leaving the house.
Cardigan, Urban Outfitters. Skirt, Dress for Success Southern Maine overstock sale. Black flats, Aldo.
This is the backwards look I mentioned.
I over heard a conversation my roommate was having with one of her friends (I wasn't eavesdropping, they knew I was there and it was the next room over, jeez!) The friend said that she felt like she sees a lot of blogs that consist of mostly pictures and she missed the writing. Daisy, I'm sorry to say that my closet, my Instagram and I are upping the photo content of this thing by like, a million percent. But maybe since I'll be posting more often I'll be in the habit of posting more often and it'll be a win for everyone.
Here's the first week. I love this dress. I can make it fancy, I can make it casual. I can wear it backwards. It's great because the print has so many different blues, greys and even a few hues of cream, it might as well be a LBD. Actually, you could call it my little blue dress.
Dress, Target (on sale for $11). Shirt, Anne Taylor Loft. Navy Tights, uhhhh Good Cause Thrift Shop? Charcoal oxfords, Marden's. Beaded headband, Claire's, I think, it was a bridesmaid gift.
Speaking of my roommate, she told me the other day that I do a good job winterizing my summer dresses. Wait, my dresses aren't a house. Appropriating my dresses for winter.
Originally I was going to wear my glasses but they interfered with the headband.
Day two. Grey turtleneck, Lewiston Salvation Army. Grey tights, Goodwill. Ruffled heels, Steve Madden via Find via my friend Heather. (Amanda, did you get those at Find? I sold them!)
Close up.
Day three (at the office.) My office/cubbie at the Public Affairs office can get so cold! But I have to also try and look somewhat professional i.e. not like a student who rolled out of bed just 20 minutes before leaving the house.
Cardigan, Urban Outfitters. Skirt, Dress for Success Southern Maine overstock sale. Black flats, Aldo.
This is the backwards look I mentioned.
January 23, 2012
Feeling Foolish in Snow Pants
If you're one of the few non-Portland/non-Maine residents reading this blog, let me tell you, it's been unbelievably cold. It was 6 degrees this morning when I woke up. Then I looked at weather.com, and they said, "Feels like -9." I showed my roommate and she was like, "No fucking way! Not even Celcius! What- what does that even feel like??" So when I say it was unbelievably cold, I'm not talking about an unbelievably hot guy or unbelievably funny joke, using unbelievable as a means of exaggeration. No. We actually had a difficult time believing it felt like -9.
When preparing to leave the house I realized, this is not the time to be screwing around. The problem is that I don't have a car and I work(ed) at a fancy boutique downtown. So I can't saunter in looking like a red-faced, drippy-nosed Inuit. I have to look poised- like I wouldn't bat an eyelash at someone spending the equivalent of a month's rent on a sweater that isn't even cashmere; like I couldn't care less that it was incredibly cold outside.
Here's what I wore there:
The boutique: Cardigan, vintage (??). Blouse, L.L. Bean Signature (one of the fanciest shirts I own). Black skirt, vintage from Dress for Success Southern Maine sample sale. Navy tights, Good Cause Thrift Store. Black flats, Aldo.
This is what I wore home:
The "Fuck Winter" look: Jacket, Target. Same sweater I wear every day, courtesy of Kate Digby Skinner's ex-boyfriend, T-shirt I wear all the time, courtesy one of Mandy Wheeler's former lovers, Black scarf, Angela Pizzo's "Free" pile, Snow pants, Columbia via Salvation Army, Boots, L.L. Bean via Goodwill. Hat and mittens not pictured. I try hard to not look homeless when I bundle up, but sometimes I just don't know if that's possible.
I went on to wear this outfit to visit Bridget at the monthly Ceili at RiRa. It was the most well-attended dances that I'd been to, which means a plethora of children screaming and running around (that's not an exaggeration.) There's a chance I might've caused two of them to fall over, but it wasn't my fault- my bulk and bundles of winter gear had an adverse effect on my peripheral vision. I sat at the bar with my snow pants on. Even though I felt a tiny bit foolish, I gotta tell you: I was warm.
Continuing on the theme of feeling foolish, when I walk around in these pants, they make a loud swishing sound. I recorded a bit, to entice my readers with a bit of multi-media t. But because I wasn't paying careful attention to the sidewalk as I was recording, I slid and almost ate it. There was a break in the rhythm of the recording walking whsssh whck whsssh whck SILENCE, but the quality wasn't great and I accidentally deleted it.
So, if you are a person who doesn't do anything outdoors other than walking around and geting cold, I still suggest getting a pair of snow pants just in case.
PS- as I am writing this about the evening in question, which happened last week, we're getting forecasts for over 40 degrees.
PPS- I crashed at the barn for the first time in way too long. When we woke up, this was the temperature:
When preparing to leave the house I realized, this is not the time to be screwing around. The problem is that I don't have a car and I work(ed) at a fancy boutique downtown. So I can't saunter in looking like a red-faced, drippy-nosed Inuit. I have to look poised- like I wouldn't bat an eyelash at someone spending the equivalent of a month's rent on a sweater that isn't even cashmere; like I couldn't care less that it was incredibly cold outside.
Here's what I wore there:
The boutique: Cardigan, vintage (??). Blouse, L.L. Bean Signature (one of the fanciest shirts I own). Black skirt, vintage from Dress for Success Southern Maine sample sale. Navy tights, Good Cause Thrift Store. Black flats, Aldo.
This is what I wore home:
The "Fuck Winter" look: Jacket, Target. Same sweater I wear every day, courtesy of Kate Digby Skinner's ex-boyfriend, T-shirt I wear all the time, courtesy one of Mandy Wheeler's former lovers, Black scarf, Angela Pizzo's "Free" pile, Snow pants, Columbia via Salvation Army, Boots, L.L. Bean via Goodwill. Hat and mittens not pictured. I try hard to not look homeless when I bundle up, but sometimes I just don't know if that's possible.
I went on to wear this outfit to visit Bridget at the monthly Ceili at RiRa. It was the most well-attended dances that I'd been to, which means a plethora of children screaming and running around (that's not an exaggeration.) There's a chance I might've caused two of them to fall over, but it wasn't my fault- my bulk and bundles of winter gear had an adverse effect on my peripheral vision. I sat at the bar with my snow pants on. Even though I felt a tiny bit foolish, I gotta tell you: I was warm.
Continuing on the theme of feeling foolish, when I walk around in these pants, they make a loud swishing sound. I recorded a bit, to entice my readers with a bit of multi-media t. But because I wasn't paying careful attention to the sidewalk as I was recording, I slid and almost ate it. There was a break in the rhythm of the recording walking whsssh whck whsssh whck SILENCE, but the quality wasn't great and I accidentally deleted it.
So, if you are a person who doesn't do anything outdoors other than walking around and geting cold, I still suggest getting a pair of snow pants just in case.
PS- as I am writing this about the evening in question, which happened last week, we're getting forecasts for over 40 degrees.
PPS- I crashed at the barn for the first time in way too long. When we woke up, this was the temperature:
Seriously?! It's like you're photoshopped!
January 14, 2012
2011 in iPhone pictures
A nice lady I know who blogs at Sweet William made a post, "2011 in iPhone pictures."
I thought it was a great idea, so here are mine.
Overall, 2011 wasn't terrible. No complaints. That's mostly thanks to Cleveland, my normal, functional, loving boyfriend and my extremely large workload, which keeps me out of trouble. The only things missing were a new high bowling score and ANY KARAOKE AT ALL. Seriously, I don't think I karaoke once in 2011. Wait, does that count as trouble? Where has the time gone?
In 2012, you can look forward to more pictures! Seriously, I finally upgraded to the iPhone 4 and these pics are sweeeeet!
I thought it was a great idea, so here are mine.
Overall, 2011 wasn't terrible. No complaints. That's mostly thanks to Cleveland, my normal, functional, loving boyfriend and my extremely large workload, which keeps me out of trouble. The only things missing were a new high bowling score and ANY KARAOKE AT ALL. Seriously, I don't think I karaoke once in 2011. Wait, does that count as trouble? Where has the time gone?
In 2012, you can look forward to more pictures! Seriously, I finally upgraded to the iPhone 4 and these pics are sweeeeet!
December 31, 2011
Music Scene: Kino Proby at Empire 12/30/11
Today began leaving the Bilmar Beach Resort in Treasure Island, Florida (3/5 stars) to drive an hour to the Manatee Viewing Center at Tampa Electric (seriously, if you like manatees half as much as Hannah Morrish, you need to go to there. I saw dozens of manatees.) Then it took almost an hour to get to the airport. At the Tampa International Airport, if you're every flying jetBlue, make sure you stop at the Tequilaria and try the Spicy Mango Margarita. Much like the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears, it was just right. Cleveland and I waited two hours, took a two and a half hour flight to Boston, waited an hour, then took a two hour bus to Portland. It was the kind of travelling day that makes you want to get straight in bed when you get home, regardless of the appropriateness of the hour.
Instead, I decided to go see Kino Proby at Empire. Kino Proby plays once a year, if we're lucky and much like the Ice Bar at the Portland Harbor Hotel, I'd been meaning to go for years. One member lives in Russia, one in LA, so it's quite an occasion. None of my friends were available; Cleveland was going to bed, Roommate #1 was out of town, Roommate #2 was actually vomiting when I crossed the threshold into the apartment after being in Florida for six days, Mandy was tired and it was too late/short notice to call anyone else. So I went alone.
Here are my tweets from the evening:
Here are my tweets from the evening:
Upstairs at Empire, the first people I see are the Food Coma TV crew and half the staff of CIEE. One of the members of Kino Proby saying something in Russian, then in English asked how many people in the room understood him. About half. I approached the bar, intending to dutifully drink a bunch of vodka. There were 10 Russian/Eastern European men ahead of me, half of them wearing leather bomber jackets and the other half with gel in their hair. Once the crowd parted, I realized one of them ordered about 15 shots of Jager. That same guy saw I was waiting and offered me a shot. Holy shit, the shots were ordered with no designated recipients.
Instead of a play by play of the entire evening, here are some quotes:
"Kino Proby is like the U2 of Russia." (Then in my notes I wrote, Kino Proby : Russia :: U2 : Everywhere other than Russia. Yup, I took notes.)
"I know your name, Alex Steed. I wanted to let you know that I'm not scared of you. Two years ago, at this show, I was crazy dancing in the front. I looked up and your face was like, right there- and you were dancing right next to me. It freaked me out. But now I'm not freaked out anymore and I wanted to let you know."
"Russia or Lewiston?"
"That guy is like Michael Jackson meets Marty McFly." Red and black shiny bubble vest, gelled hair, bright white sneakers.
"What's the sexual mood in the room?" "I don't know. But I've accidentally made eye contact with like, ten Russian men. They are like sharks."
"Shot glasses are going down like bullets."
"Out of RedBull!"
"I don't want my fingers cut off with cigar trimmers."*
Instead of a play by play of the entire evening, here are some quotes:
"Kino Proby is like the U2 of Russia." (Then in my notes I wrote, Kino Proby : Russia :: U2 : Everywhere other than Russia. Yup, I took notes.)
"I know your name, Alex Steed. I wanted to let you know that I'm not scared of you. Two years ago, at this show, I was crazy dancing in the front. I looked up and your face was like, right there- and you were dancing right next to me. It freaked me out. But now I'm not freaked out anymore and I wanted to let you know."
"Russia or Lewiston?"
"That guy is like Michael Jackson meets Marty McFly." Red and black shiny bubble vest, gelled hair, bright white sneakers.
"What's the sexual mood in the room?" "I don't know. But I've accidentally made eye contact with like, ten Russian men. They are like sharks."
"Shot glasses are going down like bullets."
"Out of RedBull!"
"I don't want my fingers cut off with cigar trimmers."*
Lastly, a PSA (and I've been meaning to say this for a while). Portland cab drivers: if your light is on, it means you are available for service. If your light is off, it means you are not available for service. If there are people in your car, getting a ride, turn the light off. This will signal to other potential customers that you are nor available.
*There was an incredibly intoxicated woman all over Joe, Andrew and Alex. She kind of looked like Maybe from Arrested Development, but without freckles. Alex called her the Drunk Manic Pixie Dream Girl, or something, but I decided after her very unamused boyfriend/not boyfriend came over and didn't say one word while administering a flawless death stare, she was actually Manic Pixie Nightmare Girl. Maybe it's because Russian is always villified in the movies, but this guy did actually look like he might have been capable of something like cutting fingers off. Disclaimer: I think all people were created equally and I try to not perpetuate stereotypes. Russia is very intriguing and someday I want to go to there.
December 22, 2011
Blogging for Good: Dress for Success Southern Maine
This week, Corey Templeton of Portland Daily Photo asked a handful of Portland bloggers to take some time out of their busy blogging/holiday schedules and acknowledge a not for profit organization worthy of their attention (and dollars?).
I could talk about SPACE Gallery, the Telling Room or public radio (some of my favorites and heavy hitters in town), but I know there is an organization that needs my recognition even more: Dress for Success Southern Maine.
The mission of Dress for Success is to help disadvantaged women re-enter the workforce.
Picture this: you are interviewing candidates for a position at your awesome company. Someone comes in dishevelment, anxious, and then you found out that she just got out of rehab. Or has been out of the workforce because she's been on welfare and couldn't afford childcare for her kids and work. Or, she was in prison.
Now picture a confident looking woman who comes in, dressed in appropriate interview attire and of her gap in employment says, "I was out of work for a little while dealing with some personal issues, but I'm focused and ready to get serious about my career. I want to work for your company." That's their goal. They work with women to help them get the confidence they need to succeed in life. It starts with women looking themselves in the mirror, dressed for success. Since their inception, Dress for Success Southern Maine has suited over 1,000 women.
I have some first-hand experience with the subject matter. My sister is a struggling, single mom. I've been on food stamps since I lost my full-time job last year. Disclaimer, I interned there this fall. However, my internship is technically over and I'm still volunteering because I believe in what we're doing. Sometimes when I update the testimonials on the website, I get a little teary-eyed. I mean, I'm overly emotional. Just read some of these:
Collecting and sorting donations, maintaining the organization of the boutique, managing volunteers to be personal shoppers for the clients, planning fundraising events and professional women support groups- these things all take time and money. Donate to Dress for Success Southern Maine here. Learn more about volunteer opportunities here.
I could talk about SPACE Gallery, the Telling Room or public radio (some of my favorites and heavy hitters in town), but I know there is an organization that needs my recognition even more: Dress for Success Southern Maine.
The mission of Dress for Success is to help disadvantaged women re-enter the workforce.
Picture this: you are interviewing candidates for a position at your awesome company. Someone comes in dishevelment, anxious, and then you found out that she just got out of rehab. Or has been out of the workforce because she's been on welfare and couldn't afford childcare for her kids and work. Or, she was in prison.
Now picture a confident looking woman who comes in, dressed in appropriate interview attire and of her gap in employment says, "I was out of work for a little while dealing with some personal issues, but I'm focused and ready to get serious about my career. I want to work for your company." That's their goal. They work with women to help them get the confidence they need to succeed in life. It starts with women looking themselves in the mirror, dressed for success. Since their inception, Dress for Success Southern Maine has suited over 1,000 women.
I have some first-hand experience with the subject matter. My sister is a struggling, single mom. I've been on food stamps since I lost my full-time job last year. Disclaimer, I interned there this fall. However, my internship is technically over and I'm still volunteering because I believe in what we're doing. Sometimes when I update the testimonials on the website, I get a little teary-eyed. I mean, I'm overly emotional. Just read some of these:
“I found your place to be incredibly wonderful! Everyone there was sensitive and respectful -- fun, helpful suggestions, laughter making the experience such a positive one! I have felt so much more confident knowing I had a beautiful new and modern outfit. Thank you for your help. It is SUCH an encouraging and confidence boosting place.” "Thank you so much for helping me. From the time I arrived, it was a great experience and I walked out feeling better about myself. The people at Dress for Success Southern Maine are so helpful and kind. Thank you.”
“When I’m in a suit I feel like I’m getting there. I might not be there yet, but I’m well on my way.”
"Women in active addiction lose so much. When they arrive in treatment with Crossroads, they are addressing many crucial areas of their lives all at once; their addiction, their mental health issues, health problems, family and childcare problems, legal issues and all with limited economic resources. More importantly is the loss of confidence, dignity and hope. Dress for Success Southern Maine gives the women an opportunity to present themselves at interviews in a way that inspires hope, dignity and confidence. And the kind support that they receive when they go for their "personal shopping" appointment helps them feel a part of the greater community again - or for some, the first time."
Teresa Valliere, Director of Inpatient Services, Crossroads for Women
Collecting and sorting donations, maintaining the organization of the boutique, managing volunteers to be personal shoppers for the clients, planning fundraising events and professional women support groups- these things all take time and money. Donate to Dress for Success Southern Maine here. Learn more about volunteer opportunities here.
December 18, 2011
My Promos!
I've also been laboring away in the production room at WMPG all semester. Our assignments included making a 45 minute DJ demo, and a 15 minute talk show demo. This might be a little bit confusing, but here are the promos that I made for the demos that I recorded. They are far from perfect, but feature music and shoutouts to some local bands. Sometimes when you're working on a project, be it a painting, an essay, a 50k word novel or a one minute radio promo, you need to stop tweaking and let it go.
Posting audio is something I'd like to do more often, but there have been a lack of recording opportunities lately. Oh right, and my iPhone 3 is so slow it might as well be dialing up to get the internet. (I might upgrade soon, I might downgrade... trying to prioritize wants vs. needs.)
The Mixtape Collective, my pretend show from 5-7 Saturdays on WMPG
The Student Standpoint, an actual podcast at iTunes U.
December 11, 2011
Since I been goooooone
You know those unbelievably annoying Geico commercials that are always on Hulu? No? There's one that starts, "Did you know Geico could save you twenty percent on car insurance? Have you been living under a rock?" and then a guy who has actually been living under a rock comes out, sees the billboard and goes, "No way!"
I've kind of been that guy.
As of right now, this moment, I have three, count 'em THREE jobs, an internship and a few days of completing a fifteen credit semester. I'm wiped. out! OH WAIT! There were also three stupid weeks in November in which I tried to participate in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo for those of you who are 'with it'.) After only 30,000 words, I decided to focus on the work I was actually being graded on. (Writing will resume after my last class this Wednesday). After all that, I barely had the mental capacity for Hart of Dixie, let alone more sophisticated comedies like Community or the Office.
I was planning on doing a redesign complete with a FAQ page and some other stuff for my first post after this elongated, unintentional hiatus. But as I was trying to will myself to sleep so I can make it into the office at 9 a.m., I realized that if I was going to be losing sleep because of things I haven't done, I should stay up and do stuff.
There's good news, though. Soon, I'll be back with a few posts about non-profit management, the Big Lebowski, a woman who went crazy on LinkedIn, and maybe a few other things.
In the meantime, I have a few things to share:
1) I made a professional portfolio website for myself: amandapleauwrites.com. I got an A. There's also a pronunciation guide to my last name, in case you had it wrong all these years and want to feel bad about it.
2) I'm contributing to Get Vintaged, a website some classmates and I put together for our Senior Seminar. This is a promotional video we put together that I sound kind of weird in. But I also wrote some of the shop profiles and a blog.
GetVintaged.com Promo from CMS Videos on Vimeo.
3) I've been blogging over at dressforsuccesssouthernmaine.blogspot.com
4) I'm looking forward to a trip to Florida in a few weeks to meet half of Cleveland's family!! Pop-pop!
What's up with you? Any book/music recommendations? Year-end wrap up lists I should know of?
I've kind of been that guy.
As of right now, this moment, I have three, count 'em THREE jobs, an internship and a few days of completing a fifteen credit semester. I'm wiped. out! OH WAIT! There were also three stupid weeks in November in which I tried to participate in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo for those of you who are 'with it'.) After only 30,000 words, I decided to focus on the work I was actually being graded on. (Writing will resume after my last class this Wednesday). After all that, I barely had the mental capacity for Hart of Dixie, let alone more sophisticated comedies like Community or the Office.
I was planning on doing a redesign complete with a FAQ page and some other stuff for my first post after this elongated, unintentional hiatus. But as I was trying to will myself to sleep so I can make it into the office at 9 a.m., I realized that if I was going to be losing sleep because of things I haven't done, I should stay up and do stuff.
There's good news, though. Soon, I'll be back with a few posts about non-profit management, the Big Lebowski, a woman who went crazy on LinkedIn, and maybe a few other things.
In the meantime, I have a few things to share:
1) I made a professional portfolio website for myself: amandapleauwrites.com. I got an A. There's also a pronunciation guide to my last name, in case you had it wrong all these years and want to feel bad about it.
2) I'm contributing to Get Vintaged, a website some classmates and I put together for our Senior Seminar. This is a promotional video we put together that I sound kind of weird in. But I also wrote some of the shop profiles and a blog.
GetVintaged.com Promo from CMS Videos on Vimeo.
3) I've been blogging over at dressforsuccesssouthernmaine.blogspot.com
4) I'm looking forward to a trip to Florida in a few weeks to meet half of Cleveland's family!! Pop-pop!
What's up with you? Any book/music recommendations? Year-end wrap up lists I should know of?
October 18, 2011
Two Princes
If my cat Baby was able to like, type, she'd dedicate this song to all of you in honor of the Spin Doctors playing at Port City Music Hall tonight.
"If you want to call me Baby, just go ahead now..."
"If you want to call me Baby, just go ahead now..."
October 11, 2011
I ride the Greyhound Bus
I'm on a Greyhound bus right now.
Let me tell you. If you didn't already know, avoid taking the Greyhound bus at all costs (and it's not because that one time some guy shot himself in the head.)
Two nights ago I tried to purchase my ticket online. Portland to Lewiston same-day round trip. But the website told me that I couldn't get a ticket for that schedule online, that I should modify my search. There are like, three buses a day that go to Lewiston, so that wasn't an option. Defeated, I decided to try again the next day.
Last night, I again failed at purchasing the ticket online, so I figured I'd call the number provided to try and get a ticket that way. Fifteen minutes and several attempts navigating the dial by number menu, I finally reached someone. Nope. TEN DOLLAR unadvertised service fee for purchasing tickets over the phone. So I asked Juanita or whatever if she could explain why tickets weren't available online. She connected me with web support, who tried to sell me the ticket over the phone and didn't mention the service fee until I brought it up. THANKS FOR NOTHING, WEB SUPPORT! Then he offered to try and buy the ticket online for me.
A broad-shouldered black man with a deep voice and a doo rag has been sitting behind me the whole time. He's been on the phone with his baby mamma or something since 8:00. They're just chatting now, but when he got on the bus he said, defiantly, "I ain't gunna ride dis fuggin bus no more. Das it." Though I don't really understand who the eff is up at 8 a.m. to have a 30 min chit chat over the phone, I couldn't have put it better myself.
(I hope this post doesn't offend anyone except Greyhound. I am SO GRUMPY and I am in dire need of ANOTHER COFFEE AND A TISSUE. And really, I'm not so different than these people. My mom should probably buy me breakfast.)
Let me tell you. If you didn't already know, avoid taking the Greyhound bus at all costs (and it's not because that one time some guy shot himself in the head.)
Two nights ago I tried to purchase my ticket online. Portland to Lewiston same-day round trip. But the website told me that I couldn't get a ticket for that schedule online, that I should modify my search. There are like, three buses a day that go to Lewiston, so that wasn't an option. Defeated, I decided to try again the next day.
Last night, I again failed at purchasing the ticket online, so I figured I'd call the number provided to try and get a ticket that way. Fifteen minutes and several attempts navigating the dial by number menu, I finally reached someone. Nope. TEN DOLLAR unadvertised service fee for purchasing tickets over the phone. So I asked Juanita or whatever if she could explain why tickets weren't available online. She connected me with web support, who tried to sell me the ticket over the phone and didn't mention the service fee until I brought it up. THANKS FOR NOTHING, WEB SUPPORT! Then he offered to try and buy the ticket online for me.
So this morning, I roll out of bed, bright and early, and even manage to form coherent sentences before 7:30 at the coffeeshop. I make it to the Greyhound station, where I'm supposed to be buying my ticket, and it's locked. The bus is coming in 15 mins and there's a small crowd of poor, pathetic Greyhound losers with hodgepodge luggage and fucked up teeth. I decide I will fight them all for a ticket, if need be. My gigantic laptop computer will act as a shield against their blows.
The bus pulls in and we're told that the reason the terminal isn't open is because there is no power. What? Uh. The biggest hospital in the state is pretty much next door and I'm almost positive I saw lights on in the convenience store across the street. The driver, Mr. Moore, tells us that if we don't have a ticket, we can get on if we surrender a form of id, which will be returned to us in exchange for a ticket. While other simpletons struggle with the concept of not having a ticket but allowed on anyway, I wonder if replacing my State ID is less than a one-way ticket...
(I hope this post doesn't offend anyone except Greyhound. I am SO GRUMPY and I am in dire need of ANOTHER COFFEE AND A TISSUE. And really, I'm not so different than these people. My mom should probably buy me breakfast.)
October 4, 2011
Grand Falls Hut
A few days ago I went on a little adventure with the Nature Conservancy and Maine Huts and Trails.
Cleveland drove and it was raining the whole way there. A lot. He frowned and sighed for the majority of the three hour car ride, but for some reason I wouldn't budge. I kept saying things like, "It won't be that bad! Think of this as a challenge, like we're going to feel amazing afterwards. And we're going to be so relieved to get warm in that hut and sit by the fire and drink hot cocoa! We'll only be soaking wet for a few hours!"
WTF was I thinking? I'm still not entirely sure. He even confessed considering offering an alternative plan, like hiding away in a hotel with a hot tub somewhere just to not do it.
It was nice, being at the hut, getting warm, and it actually felt like we earned that Jumbalya with the fruits of our labor... surrounded by hardcore ski/outdoor people who were debating which remote Maine roads were washed out by Hurricane Irene between the Forks, Sugarloaf and Saddleback.
This is a Polyvore set that I made roughly outlining my outfit. Note: my shirt wasn't yellow, it was black and white.
This is what our companions were wearing, with the exception of possibly Maggie, who kept her Ponomo earrings on the whole time.
Just kidding. That's from the Patagonia website.
Here's the hut:
A friend recently told me that I'm outdoorsy now. I said that I didn't have the right gear to be outdoorsy. Seriously. Do you have any idea how much Gortex costs? At one point, when we were packing, Cleveland pulled a hat out of his closet. I said that he should bring the hat, he said he didn't particularly like the hat, thought that it looked sort of stupid. I'll tell you. We both looked sort of stupid in Cleveland's grandfather's beautiful wooden canoe, with our piecemeal outdoor gear (anything not cotton). But that stupid hat definitely kept his head warm and dry.
One of of the other women on the trip, a fundraiser, also paddled to the hut (as opposed to hiked.) Her and her husband run an adventure/coffee business non-profit business and is currently looking for takers on a Costa Rica trip: part sustainable coffee tour, part white water rafting/adventure. She asked me how our paddle was (they literally paddled six miles an hour downstream. That's a lot.) Cleveland and I are new to paddling together- I'm inexperienced at steering, and he's not terribly experienced in a canoe, though in his defense he's done more kayaking and rafting than I have. But we somehow found our groove and we made decent time. Adventure woman seemed genuinely happy for us, then remarked, "They don't call them divorce boats for nothing."
At the end of the second day, my muscles were definitely aching. We paddled 12 miles and hiked about 5. Grand Falls lived up to it's name, and I'm excited to visit Maine Huts and Trails again... when it's sunny. Maybe this winter?
image c.o rangeleysnomobile.com
Cleveland drove and it was raining the whole way there. A lot. He frowned and sighed for the majority of the three hour car ride, but for some reason I wouldn't budge. I kept saying things like, "It won't be that bad! Think of this as a challenge, like we're going to feel amazing afterwards. And we're going to be so relieved to get warm in that hut and sit by the fire and drink hot cocoa! We'll only be soaking wet for a few hours!"
WTF was I thinking? I'm still not entirely sure. He even confessed considering offering an alternative plan, like hiding away in a hotel with a hot tub somewhere just to not do it.
It was nice, being at the hut, getting warm, and it actually felt like we earned that Jumbalya with the fruits of our labor... surrounded by hardcore ski/outdoor people who were debating which remote Maine roads were washed out by Hurricane Irene between the Forks, Sugarloaf and Saddleback.
This is a Polyvore set that I made roughly outlining my outfit. Note: my shirt wasn't yellow, it was black and white.
This is what our companions were wearing, with the exception of possibly Maggie, who kept her Ponomo earrings on the whole time.
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Just kidding. That's from the Patagonia website.
Here's the hut:
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| mainehuts.org |
A friend recently told me that I'm outdoorsy now. I said that I didn't have the right gear to be outdoorsy. Seriously. Do you have any idea how much Gortex costs? At one point, when we were packing, Cleveland pulled a hat out of his closet. I said that he should bring the hat, he said he didn't particularly like the hat, thought that it looked sort of stupid. I'll tell you. We both looked sort of stupid in Cleveland's grandfather's beautiful wooden canoe, with our piecemeal outdoor gear (anything not cotton). But that stupid hat definitely kept his head warm and dry.
One of of the other women on the trip, a fundraiser, also paddled to the hut (as opposed to hiked.) Her and her husband run an adventure/coffee business non-profit business and is currently looking for takers on a Costa Rica trip: part sustainable coffee tour, part white water rafting/adventure. She asked me how our paddle was (they literally paddled six miles an hour downstream. That's a lot.) Cleveland and I are new to paddling together- I'm inexperienced at steering, and he's not terribly experienced in a canoe, though in his defense he's done more kayaking and rafting than I have. But we somehow found our groove and we made decent time. Adventure woman seemed genuinely happy for us, then remarked, "They don't call them divorce boats for nothing."
At the end of the second day, my muscles were definitely aching. We paddled 12 miles and hiked about 5. Grand Falls lived up to it's name, and I'm excited to visit Maine Huts and Trails again... when it's sunny. Maybe this winter?
image c.o rangeleysnomobile.com
September 28, 2011
Joseph Gordon-Levitt does Axl does Gaga
Haven't done a real post in a long time, but until the epic post I finish is ready, here's a GEM of a karaoke video. We've all known for a while that Jimmy Fallon does amazing impressions, but Joseph Gordon-Levitt doing Axl Rose?? This might be the all-time greatest TV karaoke moment.
August 21, 2011
August 18, 2011
Midcoast Weekend Pt. 1
Cleveland and I stayed in Boothbay Harbor this weekend. Here are some highlights. Lowlights to come.
1. The berries. We were hiking (ahem, walking) in the La Verna Nature Preserve in Bristol, ME, contemplating the many reasons Dirty Dancing should NOT be remade (more on that to come). He was burdened with the very serious task of looking out for poison ivy. I can never remember what it looks like- I always think it should be redder and more poisonous-looking. While scouring the underbrush, he found some blackberries. “Hey Amanda! Check this out!” So I ate one…and then like Mandy when she goes to Forever 21- I got the crazy eye. It’s like I had one mission and one mission only. To find! More! Berries! He could have left me on the trail and I probably would’ve been so caught up in my foraging that I wouldn’t have noticed. I could have sustained myself out there for days! Weeks!! It was so badass. I started trying to remember whether Survivor is still on the air... Feeding yourself with berries from the woods is so cool.
Here's a map. What's not pictured is the contemplation point:
2. Cleveland’s family was visiting a few weeks ago, and they had to cancel the kayak trip they were going to take. They left him with the voucher. So we went kayaking! Our guide, Damon was a typical river guide, super chill, really knowledgeable. He even explained the dreaded headwind that I always seem to be paddling against whenever I try to paddle in the afternoon. Attean Pond, I’m looking at you! I’m happy to say that according to Damon, I’m “a natural” at kayaking and excited to check ‘palindrome boating activity’ off of my bucket list.(no pictures, we were too busy paddlin' for our souls.)
3. When Cleveland’s family was visiting, they also took a Hardy Boat to Monhegan Island. Every time the Hardy Boat makes a trip, they ask their passengers to fill out a comment card about their trip, and enter those people into a drawing for a free Hardy Boat ride. They’ve really got the incentive part of survey-based research figured out. Anyway, Cleveland won a free trip! We decided to go on the Puffin cruise to Eastern Egg Island, the southern most Puffin breeding ground. Let me tell you, the cruise was awesome. We needed binoculars to see the birds, so the awesomeness stems from the narration by Dr. Stephen W. Kress from the National Audubon Society and the Project Puffin. There weren't too many birds, since the breeding season was nearly over, but we did see a few hanging out in the ocean.
Dr. Kress was so excited about the Puffins, floating near the boat he’d say, “Just look at the beautiful lighting on that bird. Oh. Just beautiful.” He said this like four times for every bird we saw. Which was maybe six. Or the same two birds three times. I don’t know. But I had no idea Puffins were so adorable. I happened to learn all kinds of interesting Puffin facts, so email me at amandajennifer at gmail dot com if you're interested in hearing a rant.
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| BABY PUFFIN! |
And look at these guys!
4. Shaw's Fish & Lobster Wharf Restaurant. My friend’s dad thinks that no one should ever order lobster at a restaurant, and I sort of think he’s right. With the exception of places like Shaw’s, however, where you will actually see the boats bringing in the day’s catch next to the deck you’re eating on. The restaurant is on a wharf, hence ‘Wharf Restaurant,’ which I think sort of negates the idea that lobster is inappropriate to eat at a restaurant. I still felt like I was covered up to my elbows with salt water after eating it, but it was worth it. So fresh, so delicious.
There was also a bar we did not get a chance to hit, but look at this weird thing:
August 16, 2011
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