About a bus

Today as I stood waiting for the bus, I had an idea for a blog. You see, the bus and I have a magical off-and-on relationship. Today it was off. So, so off.

Until I moved to Philadelphia, the idea of riding a public transportation bus worried me greatly. I was okay with the underground, but the bus just seemed so poor. I know, this is not an okay thing to think. I know.

I have no car in Philadelphia. Taxis aren't ridiculously expensive, but they add up. Oh, and I live in the ghetto. I mean, it only takes thirty minutes to get to Center City (and thus to work), but it's so much easier just to hop on the bus. Walk up to Grey's Ferry, hitch a bus, and see what happens.

I will say that I have come to love my fellow bus passengers. This morning, two ladies spied the bus and shouted at somebody walking up that they needed to hurry so they would make it. Us bus cronies, we look out for one another. I mean, yeah, sometimes there's a creepy man with his nose gushing boogers into his beard that decides to stare at me. That's no good. But most of the time, the people are pleasant.

When I had an idea for a blog today at the bus stop, this is what I was thinking of writing about. The bond we all share when we ride the bus. But then the bus didn't come. I was cut loose from work at 2 p.m. and waited at the bus stop until 3:05. I waited and waited and waited. My fellow 12-ers stood around looking down the street anxiously as the 21 passed for the seventh time. We hoped and we talked and we laughed ironically about how much we hated Septa in the snow.

But a whole hour passed.

My toes were frozen. Frozen. Waiting for the bus for an hour is fine, unless it's 29 degrees outside. I could have walked home and back in the time that I was waiting for the bus. But I refused to budge. It was a matter of will-power. I knew that the Septa gods would throw a bus at my stop as soon as I had decided to walk home and I wasn't going to risk it. I knew a cab would be expensive. I knew I needed to wait.

I didn't wait.

After an hour at the bus stop, I hailed a cab. I bade my newfound friends goodbye and good luck and hopped into that little yellow car. The only thing I really regretted was leaving my comrades behind. They soldiered on. They waited longer. I gave in to the cold and paid 5 times as much money to get home as I would have on the 12. And dammit, I'm not happy about it.

So here is the real purpose of my blog. It's a big effffff yoooooou to Septa. I checked your website, the bus was supposed to come THREE TIMES in the hour that I was waiting. And your website reported delays for the 35 only, not for my route on the 12. And the lady with me, my faithful companion, she even tried calling you but it was not successful. When we plaintively asked the other bus drivers for the other routes if they knew anything about the 12, they just closed their bus doors and drove off. You hurt my heart. It was injured bad.

But I will keep using you, like any unhappy but convenient relationship. And there's a chance that you'll keep taking advantage of me, like any big fat jerk. Shape up, Septa. Please?

Cultural differences

Krystina and I are discussing the same style shoes in different manners.

"You know what I think SJ would like? Brian was wearing them..." Krystina
"I know, I love them!" I said. "Chukka boots."
"Wallabees..." Krystina said.

As it turns out, they're essentially the same thing, but with different names and by different brands.

We've decided that maybe this is just a locational thing. For example, the different name of Girl Scout cookies in different places. (Who in the frick calls a Tagalong a Peanut Butter Patty?!)

I wish people actually read this blog so they could vote on the issue.

p.s.-They're frickin chukka boots.

Charlie work

It's a blizzard outside. A real, live blizzard. I don't know that I've ever seen snow like this, but if I have, it was in 1996 -- 13 years ago. Cheese and rice, man, this is pretty crazy. This will not, however, stop Krystina and I from working tonight. I am guessing that once the sun dips below the horizon and the snow keeps going, however, it will be super slow.

This said, I'm hoping there could be some sweet Charlie work to do. I really love Charlie work. The other day as I sat waiting for Krystina, Brian asked her if he could give me Charlie work.

"Moira really likes Charlie work," Krystina replied. "No, really, she does."

And I do.

My Charlie work that night consisted of unpacking some sweet new stainless steel pots and pans.

Here's why Charlie work attracts me.

1) I got to use a sharp knife!
2) I got to throw boxes with reckless abandon into the hallway where the dishwashers were not happy with me.
3) I got to peel fun stickers off the pots and pans. Stickers are fun.
4) The pots were so shiny and pretty!

Now you might say, considering the way that all of those pleasures were quite simple, that I am a simple person. And here I must admit that I am. But I don't think I'm unintelligent. I think it's okay to be simple and to like Charlie work (I can write in things other than pictures, so I think I have one thing that Charlie doesn't).

My life in (not quite) shambles

I realize the heading to this post might be a little misleading. My life is not in shambles. But it is in strange little bits and pieces.

Today as I pulled out my handy-dandy-green-notebook (I love that damn thing so much), I looked through it to see what it contains up to date. The contents are so varied... and sometimes kinda kooky.

Here's what's been going on in my book for the past few months:

1) A bit of a story I started writing 2 years ago.
2) Some vowels in Farsi (I wanted to learn)
3) Some pictures of spells from the Harry Potter app so I'd be a better dueler (this is sadly not a joke)
4) A grocery list from when I made my parents dinner
5) A chocolate chip cookie recipe
6) Notes from my "How to Secure a Federal Job in 10 Steps" seminar
7) More of that same story.
8) A different story, completely unrelated, that'll never be published save my "Booked Solid" blog
9) A cost of living worksheet for San Diego (I chose Philly)
10) A list of things I wanted Krystina to order for me from the China food restaurant
11) The menu at Aqua Terra
12) Story map for a new story
13) More Farsi
14) Interview information for the Please Touch Museum (I didn't get the job)
15) Beginning of my new story
16) Menu descriptions for salads at Marathon on the Sq. (I did get the job, thanks Krystina!)
17) Train times to NYC to see Gregs and Emily
18) A record of ponytail Jason getting more action than Chef Brian with the words "BURN!" written below it
19) My most recent addition... my schedule for the holiday season.

Do any of these things go together? Basically, no. I am a madwoman, perhaps. Or at least just not quite sane.

Rainy Day Blog

Know why I'm actually blogging for the first time in about a month? Because it's freaking raining outside and there's nothing else to do.

Yesterday was one of those days where I reaffirmed my ingrained belief that life is about experience. After work, which was not exactly thrilling, I came home to relax.

We went to dinner at Bushido (look out for it on Man vs. Food... and yes, we do know if he completed the challenge or not) a little later and because we're such a big happy family, somebody had to sit in the back. I'm telling you all, if your group of friends has too many people for one car but too few for two cars and somebody's gonna be banished to the back, you should make sure that somebody is you! It's so fun.

So right around dusk, we set out and I sit backwards because sitting sideways involved too many vibrations from the speakers. Sitting backwards allows you to watch things as they pass but not before you pass them. Sounds stupid, but is actually quite interesting.

Coming home from dinner was better, though. In an attempt to stargaze, I decided to lay down and look out the windows. Stargazing in the suburbs is a little difficult, but I did get to see the streetlights and the trees as they weaved in and out of one another. And after leaving Gene's, that was just great. Going over the bridge was perfect. The clouds and the sky were about two shades different from one another and I knew that it would be impossible to capture something like that on a camera. Makes you think the human eye (even a flawed one like mine) is something pretty amazing. The moon's not quite full yet, but on Sunday I plan to go back outside and see how things look then.

Today is less about experience and more about maintenance. Paying my phone bill, cleaning up the house a bit, doing the dreaded laundry. I don't mind these things but they sure as hell do make me want more of those days where I'm out in the world...

Rain, rain, go away!

Just an FYI

I'm graduating from college today.

Something's rotten...

Notice anything different about my blog? How about the fact that I'm signing my posts "Hammy". Don't worry, still me. Just writing a Hamlet blog, too, and can't sign his "Moira".

When did I get to be suuuuuuuuch a nerd?

Dear Tom Robbins

Just when I think that maybe you are getting over the hill, you come at me again with something to knock my socks off. I apologize for the things I said about Villa Incognito and I even feel kind of bad that many of the stories found in Wild Ducks Flying Backwards failed to catch my attention. The publication of your newest novel seriously makes me want to move back to my parents home in Washington and see if perhaps I can't just get a glimpse of you in your natural habitat. Creepy? Maybe. But you bring it on yourself when you write childrens books. They're my weakness. (So is beer.)

B is for Beer

Ode to Socks

Dear Pile of Mens Socks,

From where have you come? Today as Laurie and I cleaned our house we noticed you've grown. Seriously, how? There are a lot of you now. You gross me out so much that I actually put you in with my laundry so that I wouldn't have to look at a pile of dirty mens socks all day. Now some of you rest in your happy little home on our coffee table.



And some of you sit in the dryer upstairs with more of my laundry. And yet more of you are in the laundry that has yet to make it to the machine because just when I thought I'd gotten rid of you all, more popped up.

Stop the insanity! It has been a while since we've even had any boys in this house. Where on earth do you keep coming from and how do you keep finding your way into our home? I am particularly disturbed by exhibit b. I think it is cool that a sock is actually as long as my arm, but I find this to be extremely superfluous. Who needs a sock that long. And what does one do with a sock that long?



And just so you know, mens socks, you better stay away from my socks. They are vibrantly colored because I got them from some silly race or they are super old because I never buy socks. Either way, they do not want any business with you. To be frank, they find you a bit offputting.

On Being a Cool Kid

Blogging is, undoubtedly, one of the nerdier things that I do with myself. Now, that doesn't mean that in the interim time between my last blog and now (far too long, I know, I am severely neglectful) that I have become any cooler than I ever was. I have not. I am still a nerd. Not blogging has not improved my cool-factor in any noticeable way.

I have been doing much of the same lately. Going to class. Going to work. Watching tv online. The things that, to be honest, I've been doing for 4 years now. Oh, I've also been having minor freak-out sessions every time I realize that I've been in college for 4 years now and come May 9, I will have walked across the Cistern Yard and will be one of them thar college graduates.

But this is not one of those posts about that. This is a post about me being cooler! I know, I did say that I hadn't gotten any cooler in any noticeable way since not blogging. But I have gotten cooler since about 20 minutes ago. You know why?

I got a SIGG water bottle. And trust me, I know that makes me cooler. I first noticed this particular brand of water bottle last year when one of my hipper/more-environmentally-conscious-and-thus-way-more-vogue than I professors carried it around. And then this semester another professor. And then students. And then one was even brought into our home.

I've been wondering all the time where these beauties (they're not really that beautiful...) were bought and if, upon buying one, you got admittance into some secret society meeting on how to make other people feel like they are less-environmentally-conscious-and-thus-way-less-vogue than you are without saying so out loud.

With the $21 dollar price tag, I figured I'd paid my membership dues. So when's the first meeting? You know what, I don't even need to attend the meeting. My bottle is meeting enough. That's the joy of it. Because I didn't want to have the same bottles as my professors and because I didn't want to get one of the little baby sized ones, I settled for a white one that says in obnoxiously large letters "SIMPLY ECOLOGICAL." It may as well say "I'M SIMPLY WAY MORE AWESOME THAN YOU ARE." But it doesn't. Explicitly. I will have you know that there were even more elitist ones that said "YOU ARE WHAT YOU DRINK, DON'T BE PLASTIC."

I feel confident in my non-assholeness because I opted not to get the one that hit you right over the head with its eco-dogmatism.

Wry toast

I think it is exceedingly clear that the person who is now writing the weather updates on weather.com was an English major. They are probably also a blogger. I know I am not the only person who has noticed the "abundant sunshine" description, Kelly has noted it before in conversation.

But today I got a new one. "Considerably cloudy." Alliteration! Is that you? Oh my dear old friend, how good it feels to be reunited. It's as if a long-lost literary love has leaped back into my longing limbs (how you like them apples?).

Seriously, though. I salute you, new-ish writer for the Weather Channel. I apologize that it seems your degree has lead you to very sad and lonely path. Or at least a stormy one... ha! Get it? Even I know that was bad, don't worry. Look on the bright side (I will let you all know that I resisted the urge to write "sunny" side), at least you have a job. And I bet it pays decent wages.

So, at long last, I raise my proverbial glass in a toast to you, overexpressive weatherperson. You're an inspiration to us all.

But this was the time of no reply

Tonight is one of those nights in our home where everybody mostly keeps to themselves. My particular brand of keeping to myself involves sitting on the porch listening to Nick Drake radio on Pandora. Nothing like lots of Nick Drake, Bob Dylan, and Leonard Cohen to really, really make one feel alone.

It's an interesting feeling to be alone right now. Since returning from Annapolis on Spring Break, life has been a very hectic ride. A great hectic ride with visitor upon visitor at the sweet little home on Morris Street.

I was utterly exhausted last night after I got home from work. Two weeks plus of having people go in and out of your home, your day-to-day, your nights-on-the-town would exhaust you, too. To be honest, I wasn't sure how much longer I would last with running at full-speed, but it was too much fun to slow down for very long.

Now I'm well rested. And I am enjoying being alone. It is not a sad loneliness. It is just a peaceful solitary. Maybe because I know that I'm not really alone. La and Emily are upstairs just behind their doors. Almost everybody else is just a phone call away.

My sister, the only person I can't contact at will, is still my sister and that makes not being able to contact her okay. I know that doesn't make sense, but it kind of does. At least in my mind. And this is my blog.

It's nice to have the option of being surrounded and being alone. If both parts of me were to play rock-paper-scissors for the ultimate control of my soul, I'm pretty sure that they would both pull the same hand. Each and every time. (Unless one of them pulled out "rain of fire" from behind a red velvet curtain.)

This morning I...

Went to bed a little after 4:15.
Woke up a little after 6:45.
Ran a 5k.
Am going to the beach for the first time this spring!

Love my life.

And be loved...

You know how in Love Actually, there's that cheesy line "Love, actually, is all around us." ...I believe it.

Today, as I mosied to the doctor's office, I saw a pink envelope at my feet. I wondered if it was perhaps a letter somebody had been fired with, the "pink slip," or maybe just an overdue bill. It could have been either, really, and there were scrawled what looked like some toll-free numbers on the back.

But in a bigger scrawl. And sending a much more direct message:

I LOVE YOU MORE THAN YOU WILL EVER KNOW

There was no "dear so and so" there was no "from so and so". Just the message. Loud and clear and on the back of a pink envelope. And laying in the sidewalk along Smith St. I hoped that whoever wrote it meant it. I hoped that whoever received it appreciated it. I hoped that maybe it was just on the sidewalk so that love could be spread.

And then, as I arrived home from the pharmacy, I noticed our mail had come. I rifled through it, as I always do, hoping it wasn't all junk or all for Emily and I saw a yellow envelope. It was the kind that looked like maybe it was sent to "Valued SC Driver" from Geico. But it wasn't. In fact, it was addressed to me.

Consider, for a second, my utter surprise. I never get mail. I figured that Geico had learned my name and not learned that I didn't drive. Then I saw that it was from the American Telegram Company. People still send telegrams? They do.

MOIRA STOP

(Stop what? Though I.)

I LOVE YOU STOP

(Oh, right, I think that's how they signify a new sentence in a telegram.)

IRAQ IS WHACK STOP

(Nice rhyming skills.)

CAROLINE STOP

(Why are we both being commanded to stop?)

Sure, it was a love note from my sister and not from a mister. But I'm still loved. Maybe more than I'll ever know.

(And you probably are, too.)

STOP

Could you be loved?

Today I frantically searched my room for my insurance card. It wasn't in the check box where I keep cards that I don't deem important enough to be in my wallet (why don't I find my insurance card worthy? why!). So I looked in the folder that holds things that are old, my Horizon bank folder where I keep most of my writing, pictures, and aha my car insurance card from a policy I no longer hold for a car that I no longer drive. Of course.

As I went through the writing I found the oldest fiction pieces to be from 2004. That is five years ago! Some of them I had to throw away, even though I loved the writing, because the topic made me get all huffy and puffy and I don't want to blow this pretty house of cards down. Some of them I kept because, despite the topic, they were too sweet and terrible to throw away (a particular piece has me channeling Tom Robbins in all the wrong ways- I'm sure he'd cringe at the words). Some of them were so depressing that I kept them just to remind myself that I'm in a better place.

But then I found some things even older. The autobiography I wrote of myself in the 8th grade, for example. But even better, a list of qualities that I wished for in a potential boyfriend in the 7th grade. This isn't a list of qualities I wanted in seventh graders. This was what I wanted in a man, in the man, in the love of my life. It is long, it is so severely outdated, and it is hilarious.

Take a gander.

*My Man* [Yes, I did title it this and I did use stars to outline the title. All punctuation, shorthand, etc. is maintained from the original in the best way I knew how.]

• Over 5'7''
• Shorter than 6'2''
• Handsome
• Thin to slightly built
• Not overly hairy
• Good hygiene
• Pretty Smile
• Siblings
• Better voice than mine
• Funny
• Must love music
• Good @ sports
• No facial hair!!!
• Short hair
• Good style in clothes
• No weird obsessions
• NO SCRUBS!!!!!!
• Romantic
• Sincere/Honest
• Likes dogs (ROY!) [ed note: Roy was the name of the rottweiler I dreamed of owning.]
• Charming
• Polite
• Likes same music as me
• Likes basketball (Jordan!)
• Respectful
• Interesting
• Motivated
• Get along with JC [tween code for Christian]
• Non-smoker
• Good cologne
• Good dancer
• Good breath
• Strong morals
• Loves family
• Humble
• Good eyes
• Good conversationalist
• Understanding
• Protective, BUT
• Not jealous
• Likes shopping
• Likes roller coasters
• Good taste in food
• Good last name
• Forgiving
• Spoils me
• Generous towards others
• Intelligent
• Nice shoes
• Pretty hands
• Confident, BUT
• NOT CONCEITED
• Like children
• No ugly piercings
• No ugly tattoos (black: woo-hoo!)
• Nice friends
• Good at partying
• NOT "perfect"
• Literate
• Watches good movies
• Good laugh
• Responsible
• Likes warm weather
• Doesn't tan

I made a revised list in 2005. It was titled "What I Like in a Man" and had three points. 1. Tall. 2. Smart. 3. Funny.

Funny that I had, by my count, sixty-four points when I was 11 and three points when I was 18. I wonder how many I'd have now, but I think I realize that my high standards don't come from a list. Now, if only I can figure out where they do come from?

Oh hay, Colin!

Every time I see episode 2.13 of Scrubs, my heart gets happy. Is it because the pen explodes on the janitor? No. Is it because Turk asks a little boy to imagine men in his body trying to push the dookie out? No. But that does make me happy... Is it the Tod's killer line, "If I'm so gay, why do I work out so much?" (Killer.) Nope.

It's the ending. Colin Hay soothes the soul. I hope that when I die I get a chance to put on a ballgown and sing. I might not sing "Waiting for My Real Life to Begin," but you can be assured that it will be something almost as beautiful. (Maybe when I die, my voice will magically become beautiful?)

A date with Darren

Aaron has become a sort of Shuck's taxi service as of late. This doesn't bother me because I am probably his best customer. When I say customer I mean to say that he picks me up for work and drops me off at night and doesn't ask for any payment and doesn't seem to mind it at all. I'm not really being a customer at all, then, more of a "moocher" but that sounds bad.

A few nights ago, we had the pleasure of Wendy's company on the ride home. Tonight it was Darren. Darren is a funny sort of man. I would like to note here that I am using the word funny in two of its connotations. He is, in fact, quite comical. Aside from that, he's also funny in the "quizzical" sense. He likes to say really off-the-wall things to me and then when I either a-blush, b-say something back, or c-salute him with a finger and a grin, he goes, "You know what, Moira, you a trip!" Darren is, in every way, the bigger trip in our relationship. He's ridiculous.

Of all the things that Darren likes to tease me about, there is one issue that is his personal favorite. You see, a few months ago, Darren got wind of proof that I am not (always) a prudish hermit who has no fun and sits at home knitting and watching Matthew Broderick movies every Saturday night. As it turns out, Darren finds the idea of me even talking to a member of the opposite sex to be amazing.

Anyhow, after "hearing all about" me, Darren latched onto whatever it is that he heard and dug his claws in. Hard. He asks me at least three times a night how my man is doing. I always divert this comment into something about Joey or Mark. They're safe and fun for me, I enjoy acting like I am in love with them both.

On the ride home tonight, he asked again.

"I heard about you and your man. I heard all about your date."

Puzzled, I turn around.

"What date was that?"

"You know, you went down on the Battery. You sat in your man's car on the battery eating a pizza that you had delivered to you."

"Did I?"

"Yeah."

At this point we start asking questions. What kind of pizza was it? Pepperoni. I tried to convince him that it was Hawaiian, but he insisted. What color blanket did we sit on? No blanket, because we didn't leave the car. We just turned the heat on. We drank soda "or sparkling water, whatever it is that you drinkin'". We tipped the delivery man two dollars and offered him a slice of our pizza. Darren was especially annoyed by the fact that we were both such terrible tippers. (I generally tip any delivery person at least five dollars, FYI, Darren.) And so on and so forth. He was so insistent. And so detailed. I asked if he was really that lonely that he sat around and daydreamed of a date for two people who aren't dating. He insisted it was all a reality.

I think that's the reason that I don't mind Darren's outbursts. They're hilarious. And they make me feel a little bit more normal.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a cold slice of heaven waiting in the fridge for me...

Où est le bébé?

Connie rocks. Connie sent us a king cake. She baked it, packaged it (with appropriate instructions, "Please handle with care! Thanks!"), and shipped it right to our little home.

Emily also rocks. Emily attacked the king cake last night. I helped her. We are trying to find the baby! Just let us! Justin did not let us. He stopped us. There are still parts of the cake left, but it has suffered great losses. And we have not found the damn baby.

Maybe we need a real detective on the job?

A question of logic

If P -> Q.

If you blog -> your blog is about who you are.

If you are what you eat -> your blog is about what you eat.

Does this make sense? I stopped going to my logic class about halfway through its run and that was many semesters ago. But I think it all follows correctly. That said, today's blog will be about food.

Krystina posted a blog not too long ago about Ratatouille, a movie I currently have resting on my bedside table from when I watched it a week or so ago. It was a hard jump for me to make, watching a movie about a rat in a kitchen and it's supposed to be good? But I made it and I enjoyed it. The reason Krystina wanted me to watch the movie so much was because I am a foodie (Or a fatty, really. Funny how those two rhyme...). I love food. I have a love affair with food.

This week in French class, we're talking about the French love affair with food. Today's lesson focused a lot on le déjuner. Part of the whole "French people don't get fat" logic is that they have their scandalous trysts with bread, cheese, and wine in the afternoon rather than late at night. Le diner is served late and served light. Le déjuner, on the other hand, is practically a party. But I am not here to school people on the aspects of French vie et culture that they already know from their textbook. I am here to share how the French gave me some inspiration for a delicious lunch of my own.

So, I walked to Caviar and Bananas and made some careful selections to bring home with me. The end result, un festin.

First, I gobbled up a healthy serving of brussel sprouts. I would like to thank my mom here for being one of those people who actually liked the things and, as a result foisting her like upon her little girl. After that I snacked on a little bit of bread with a little bit of cheese. I needed something to hit my sweet spot so I took a little more of that same bread and put just the tiniest bit of Nutella on it (I admit- I am an addict). To top it all off, a cappuccino.

I am so full. And so happy.

So, back to my logic.

If the Food makes the Moira -> what does this food make this Moira?








(I think the answer might be a budding Francophile. More to come on this development as it, well, develops.)

For the poopsmiths...

Today I shall resurrect a post I started about a week ago but got too lazy to post pictures. I dedicate it to Krystina. More than a dedication, though, I consider this post an In-Your-Face-Sucker! moment. Bask in it. I am.


I was bored as I sat on my couch this evening. Nobody was home. Scrubs was over. The dogs had just been walked. There was not a whole lot going on. Did I want coffee? No, it was just a little bit too late for that and I've already had my self-imposed espresso quota (one per day, otherwise the convenience of it will overpower my weak, weak willpower).

So what should I do? Make myself something sweet? But I wanted something warm. I had nutella... and milk... And, wait... Could this work? Well, might as well research.

My first research tool, of course, was to ask Krystina. As she texted me no, I was already searching the world wide web (I was anticipating this answer and wanted a second opinion before I got the first).

The world wide web gave me a resounding yes. Where my friend had said "no", the anonymous world said, "Oh mama, bring it on!" Maybe this is why people love to date online/ find friends online/ play World of Warcraft. Okay, that last one was overkill. There just may be no excuse for WoW. But I tried.

So I tried. I saw a number of variations with cinnamon and espresso and such. I just wanted to stick to the basics. (Though I did add some dark chocolate to the mix.)

And the result?


See how inviting that massive, massive mug of hot cocoa looks?


It lights up an entire room. Like a beacon of warmth. And deliciousness. And chocolate-hazelnut goodness.

Eat my poop, smiths.

Ch ch ch changes...

I wanted to paint my blog black.

No, really, I just got tired of always having somebody else's layout as my blog template. So, until I am in the mood to make one myself (which will happen some day, I promise, but perhaps not some day soon), I will just use the template that blogger gives me.

If you want something done right you have to do it yourself, no? I actually don't subscribe to that wisdom, but I do want this blog to be an expression of myself and not of whomever it is that makes layouts at cutestblogontheblock or myspaceoryours. Though they are both very talented, I think it is time to take matters into my own hands.

If what you see is what you get, you might as well see something that is my doing. Get a little more me and a little less everybody else. That is what this blogging business is all about, right?

For my Friend

I love you! And how do I express that? By making a playlist. Weird, I know. But I think it suits me. And I hope the playlist will suit you. I couldn't resist the John Legend. The rest are just songs I think you should love as much as I love you. Can't wait to live in Philly with you!!!! (I mean that, no matter what Joshua says.) And so I present...

oh-KK

1. The Beach Boys- Wouldn't It Be Nice
2. Counting Crows- Rain King
3. Dido- Here With Me
4. Hall and Oates- She's Gone
5. Jefferson Airplane- Volunteers
6. Tom Petty- Mary Jane's Last Dance
7. Rooftop Singers- Walk Right In
8. John Legend- Ordinary People
9. Queen- You're My Best Friend
10. Justin Timberlake- Rock Your Body
11. The Who- My Generation
12. Soft Cell- Tainted Love
13. Lauryn Hill- Everything is Everything
14. Rilo Kiley- My Slumbering Heart
15. Death Cab for Cutie- We Looked Like Giants
16. The Verve Pipe- Bittersweet Symphony
17. Mariah Carey- Fantasy
18. No Doubt- Simple Kind of Life
19. The Police- Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic
20. Portishead- All Mine
21. Belle and Sebastian- If She Wants Me
22. The Postal Service- Such Great Heights
23. Rachael Yamagata- The Reason Why
24. The Rolling Stones- Brown Sugar
25. The Darkness- I Believe In A Thing Called Love
26. The Cranberries- Linger
27. Scissor Sisters- Filthy Gorgeous
28. Fatboy Slim- Praise You
29. Colin Hay- Overkill
    

I hate to brag...

But there are some things I am just good at. I won't list them all here because that would be obnoxious and I am certain that there would be people around who could contest that I do not, in fact, do those things well at all. And that is fine with me.

It isn't quite right to toot your own horn tout le jour, buuuuut I figure just this once won't hurt so much, will it? We all like that feeling of accomplishment when we realize that we can do something with excellence.

And what can I do with excellence?

I can make a latte. A delicious latte.



Don't you just want some?

Cold and colder

When I woke up this morning, I checked the weather. It was cold. When I say cold, I mean to say that the temperature was 26 degrees and it "felt like" 17. This to me is actually more than cold. It is, quite technically, below freezing. In my world, though, it's below the conditions in which humans should be expected to live/function/survive.

In fact, I think this cold is so absurd that I actually checked my school email account to make sure classes weren't canceled. If I were a professor, I would have canceled classes today. All that work to get your PhD and you still have to trudge through the below freezing cold weather to teach? Naw dog. Not me.

But I don't have the power.

There is, however, something that annoys me more than the cold weather.

People who are prepared for the cold weather, what is your problem? Seriously. You live in Charleston. Charleston, where? Charleston, Vermont? Nooooo. Charleston, North Dakota? Nooooo. Charleston North Carolina? Closer, but nooooo. Charleston, where? Charleston, South Carolina. Sud. Sur. South. That means, in our Northern hemisphere, down toward the equator. It is supposed to be warm here.

In fact, it was colder here today than it was home in Maryland, where it was snowing. No snow here. Just people wearing parkas and long wool coats. And these people, they're the ones who really get my goat. Where in the hell did you get this from? What, somewhere in your brain you remembered that once every 12 eons it gets cold in Charleston and you bought this nice down coat just in case?

Why aren't you like the rest of us? The rest of us are unprepared. We dress in many layers. We finally trade our flip flops for a pair of boots. We wear scarves (usually just a fashion accessory, but in this climate functional). We drive our cars to class (or get rides from our roommates) instead of walking. We do the things that normal, unprepared people do: improvise.

And there you are. In your huge down coat. It isn't as if you're one of those people who just happens to have a ski jacket for when you take vacation. This is a coat designed for New York City winters. Sure, you may be from New York, but you're not there now! Why do you have this! And why, for the love of all things holy, are you taunting me with it!

So here's to you, you prepared bunch of ninnies. I zip up my hoodie, slip on my gloves, and peer at you with a mixture of jealousy, contempt, and wonder from beneath my ski hat. All in honor of you. Enjoy your "warmth" and don't worry about the rest of us, we're doing just fine. And no, we're not shivering, we're actually just seething with anger at your preparedness.

And while we're in a blogging mood...

Know what makes me feel better when I'm feeling a little under the weather?

A big glass of Simply Orange pineapple/oj. And a bowl of steel cut Irish oats (inspired by Nie, I think my body enjoys the nutritious switch).

The best part about it is, of course, having the perfect spoon with which to fly your oatmeal around the airspace that is your head.

Open up the hangar, here comes the aaa-irplane!

And zooooooom, a spoonful of deliciousness lands safely within the safe cavern of my mouth.

No need to be jealous. The great thing about enjoying the simple things in life is that they're so easy to attain. I dare you to try this the next time your body is acting mad with you. It's like the flowers/card/candy combo sent straight from above to cure any ailment that might riddle your relationship with your, well, yourself.

I can't do this all on my own...

I know, I know. I've been a neglectful blogger. Just when things were getting back on track. I've never been one of those to post photo blogs, but you oughta know what I've been up to these days and why I've been treating you so bad.

It goes something like this:

Selling a hundred papes a day with these jokers...




Torturing Zuli




Getting some culture (and spying some scenesters)






Seducing Hadley, of course...




Pissing off PETA but giving that rabbit fur coat another chance of love




Less (read:no) alcohol, more Anna




Changing my name to Sally and selling saggy skullcaps by the seashore with Oldboy







(And don't you know? That's not even the half of it.)

And you?

Sometimes when I'm reading cjane, I wonder about all the things she does for nie. I mean, there's a pretty ridiculous amount of work that goes into caring for your sister's children and completely changing your lifestyle for her. Then I wonder about nie. Her life is so changed... she missed three whole months of it! Either way, these girls have lost a lot and gained a lot since August.

That got me to thinking about what my sisters and I would do for one another. Anna made the comment yesterday that "You and your sisters are ridiculous about giving each other things." I don't think this is quite true, though. In fact, I think we rarely give each other anything. But that doesn't bother me. I think we're pretty set in the whole "we love one another" thing.

Anyway. This is for Caroline- ma jumelle. If you want my Toms for Iraq, you may have them (and I will not take your flip flops!). If you want to get away, I will buy some plane tickets to Paris, shop for an apartment, and have a Nespresso cafe au lait ready for you before you can blink your eyes. If you find you can't have children, I will be your surrogate (as long as I can name one Emmeline). If you need me to throw granola at anybody that offends you, anywhere in the world, I will throw with gusto. With vim and vigor I will violently toss hearty chunks of granola at said foe.

And if you give me a gift I can't quite say thank you for, I will make you a playlist. :) My humble offering. Accept?

For My Sissy:

1. Amy Winehouse- Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow
2. The Beach Boys- God Only Knows
3. Blind Melon- No Rain
4. Black Eyed Peas- My Humps
5. Belle & Sebastian- O, Get Me Away From Here I'm Dying
6. The Beatles- While My Guitar Gently Weeps
7. Dave Matthews Band- Dream Girl
8. Death Cab for Cutie- Cath...
9. The Doors- Riders on the Storm
10. The Flaming Lips- Do You Realize??
11. Foo Fighters- Times Like These (Acoustic)
12. The Four Tops- I Can't Help Myself (Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch)
13. Janis Joplin- Me and Bobby McGee
14. Jimi Hendrix- Little Wing
15. Joshua Radin- Star Mile
16. Leo Sayer- You Make Me Feel Like Dancing
17. The Mamas & The Papas- California Dreamin'
18. Modest Mouse- Float On
19. Nick Drake- Fly
20. Nirvana- Come As You Are
21. Oasis- Don't Look Back in Anger
22. Pink Floyd- Wish You Were Here
23. Rilo Kiley- With Arms Outstretched
24. Roy Orbison- Pretty Woman
25. Scott McKenzie- San Fransisco (Be Sure to Wear Flowers in Your Hair)
26. Spencer Davis Group- Gimme Some Lovin'

I would laugh if only...

This wasn't so true. Stuff White People Like has always been one of those websites that both amuses and horrifies me. It is so true that it is funny and so true that it is tragically very, very unfunny.

(Note the links at the top of the entry to Rosetta Stone. Point taken, SWPL, point taken.)

Read this?

Had to read this for class today. Found it interesting, especially within today's (changing!) political sphere, that the things he is arguing for in 1784 are still fundamentally lacking (in some ways) in 2009.

Give it a browse if you have a chance, let me know what you think.

What is Enlightenment?

Will the real bon mot please stand up?

This blog will be short, I promise. I need my sleep.

Here goes, the simple truth: I'm really excited about this semester. Except for statistics, which I've been avoiding by switching in and out of different sections so as to try to get the best professor possible (tomorrow will be my first time actually in the classroom), I really love the classes I'm in.

I think this is due to the professors. Everybody is so passionate. And it's almost contagious.

I just realized as I lay in bed that I was reciting French verb conjugations in my head just in case I do not have time to study them after work tomorrow. Then I realized something frightening. While many of my classes are just as foreign to my fellow students as they are to me, French is not going to be one of those classes. Most of the people in my section have had three to four years in high school. I do not think my 10 week after-school program in the 4th grade and a semester of 101 a year ago is going to put me at much of an advantage.

I will say that I am taking French purely as an elective. Mostly it is because I might like to be able to actually read some of the awesome French philosophers that I've become acquainted with in the past year in their native tongue. Partly it is also because I want to understand everybody in the entire world (at least what they are saying) and French is as good a place to start as any. Also, a tiny bit, it is because I used to live with a completely gorgeous French man and I figure that if my old roommate can go abroad for a semester and snag a fabulous man, maybe I ought to start looking for love in new lands, too.

Tangent aside, let's get to the present. (Or the very recent past, at least.) I had a panic attack right in my little bed and shot up as quick as an arrow. What if I do poorly in French? What if I can't remember anything? Merde! To fix this problem, I am going to do what they always used to do on episodes of TGIF shows. I am going to record my lessons and listen to them while I sleep. Then again, I thought, I bet somebody has already done this.

Here I would like to thank technology. Particularly the mac fellows. Sure there are mp3 players other than the iPod. Sure, I could probably find torrents of French lessons on various websites all over the Internet. But you, mac, you made your podcasts so readily available that I have to do virtually no work in order to get these lessons. In fact, all I have to do is sit and blog while I wait for the downloads.

And the downloads ought to take a while. I am getting not one, not two, but seven hundred seventy two French instruction episodes downloaded to my computer. So far... only 29 have downloaded.

Mon dieu, this could take a while.

Why is it...

That more people are on facebook at 2 o'clock on a Wednesday morning than I have seen on there all day long?

We're all insomniacs?

Dear Darla,

I love you.

Your hopeful mommy,
Mo

What's the good word?

A week or two ago, as we sat on the couch with "The Girl on the Couch" (Hadley), I wondered out loud if her mother would continue her blog, Polly-vous Francais? now that she is back on American soil. Hadley admitted that she didn't know because she didn't read her mother's blog as much as one would think. Imagine reading about your mother's social life... I don't think I'd want to go down that road, either.

Anyway, as I clicked on the blog to read the latest, Hadley noted how proud her mother was of her name. I always admired it myself. But of course I would, as I subscribe to the geekdom that is blogging myself. After laughing about her mom's pride in coming up with her own witticism, Hadley inquired as to what the name of my blog was.

"Mo-torious," I sheepishly answered. Luckily Hads was gracious enough to not make note of how cheesy my name was and how proud I was of my little witty name.

A few days later, as I walked down the street, I was thinking of what name I would come up with if I were to use some other language for my blog. And it came to me. Bon Mo! And I can tell you, I thought it was brilliant. But I advised myself in my mind not to use it. a-Wouldn't want to copy Polly. b-Wouldn't want to be too proud of myself for something so silly.

And then this evening I thought to myself, what the hell? Why not? And here we are. At the start of another era.

New year, new name.

What do you think? Could this be the good word?

If you find yourself caught in a horror movie...

Tonight La and I decided to watch a scary movie. So we head to the video store and pick up The Strangers. Word on the street has it that this movie is, "almost too scary" which to us spells out a good night. The thing is, I am not a horror buff. To my knowledge, Laurie isn't either. But this doesn't deter us.

What does deter us is the movie itself. It was pretty scary. Not in that "I can't watch this" kind of way. Mostly in that, "I can watch this and then tonight I won't be able to sleep" kind of way.

Fun facts about the film:
1) It was filmed in Florence, just up the road from us here in Charleston.
2) While it is marketed as being based on "true events," that's not quite what it seems. A tiny bit of the plot is based on a story from the film maker's life and the larger theme is based on the Manson Family's work. (La and I have read extensively on these people, so that doesn't scare us too much.)
3) Gemma Ward is in it. She always was kind of creepy.
4) Dennis Reynolds (Glenn Howerton if you must use his real name) is also in it.

Anyway, fun facts aside, the movie was still scary. As a coping mechanism, Laurie and I thought of a number of ways in which we, in our infinite genius, would escape this situation should it occur to us.

La and Mo's Escape Plan Which Everybody Should Use at Their Own Discretion Should They be Attacked by Murders in Masks:
1) Don't go out for cigarettes leaving your girlfriend home alone in a house in the woods at 4 am. Just a thought. Preventative measures here.
2) Play dead. You know. Knock yourself out. On the one hand, they may think they've won. On the other hand, if you're unconscious you won't know that you're being stabbed repeatedly in the abdomen!
3) Steal a mask. This is La's idea. I would like to add that if no masks are lying around, make one out of a flour sack, a pillow case, or a pot holder. After putting said mask on, pretend you are one of the "bad guys" and make a run for it.
4) If all else fails, pop a Xanax, baby. Take this guy's method for coping (though I will say being murdered is harsher than being drawn on-- high school, who needs it?). This follows the logic from the "if you're unconscious..." reasoning above. Seriously though. Doped out of your mind? Good way to go. At least a much better way to go than to be conscious and fully aware of the cruelty/pain/suffering/ow!ow!ow!get-the-friggin'-meat-cleaver-out-of-my-torso-ness of the situation. I hear people have been using perscription pills for years now to take away their sorrows. If ever a situation were more sorrowful than being systematically toyed with and then executed, I don't know of it.

So, take my movie tidbits, tuck them in your back pocket, and skip your way into the sunset of another happy day in which IMDB still makes dreams come true.

Then take my escape advice, tuck that into your front pocket, and don't die.

All in all, this was a good day.