Well, folks, it is with bright eyes and a happy heart that I give you some unexpected news: the sun has triumphantly returned to Philadelphia. It has brought with it a number of things. The days are warmer and longer. Peoples' moods are considerably brighter. And this little girl wants to do some redecorating. So I did!
Inspired by the vibrant spring sun, my room is getting a citrus wash.
I finally hung the artwork I made a few weeks ago, just in time for it to catch the morning sun.
I started to re-do that little hutch that we found on the side of the road a month or two ago. It's going from a dark hunter green with an Americana-themed apple and checkered print inset to bright canary yellow. Can't quite tell in this shot, but the color is anything BUT boring.
And my most expensive find? Not really that expensive, actually. (I have to admit, I did some home shopping at Walmart.) I bought some new sheets. Tangerine! Can't wait to see how it all comes together...
Last night I did something that I don't believe I've ever done before.
I went to dinner by myself.
I know I've had lunch alone before and I've sat at a bar and had drinks by myself (is that the sign of a problem? maybe). But I've never gone out to a restaurant where I didn't know anybody, sat my little self down, and eaten alone. That is, before last night.
I went to a little place right off Rittenhouse Square called Friday, Saturday, Sunday. No idea why it boasts this name as it's open seven days a week. And it was pretty good, I must say.
There was one major dilemma that occurred to me as I prepared to make my way out. You see, when dining alone, I feel that perhaps it is more appropriate to sit at the bar. But I have this weird belief that sitting at a bar for dinner and not ordering an alcoholic beverage is a bit strange. And remember, gentle reader, that this girl has sworn off the devil's drink until April 4. So I had to choose, sit alone at a table (which makes me a little more uncomfortable than being at the bar) or sit at the bar sans drink.
The layout of Friday, Saturday, Sunday made this choice relatively easy. I haven't been upstairs, but the downstairs had many deuces open, so I snagged one for myself. Immediately after I walked in, another gentleman sat alone as well. This made me feel somewhat less awkward.
Still not one to find this notion of dining alone completely enjoyable, I pulled out my handy green notebook and wrote as I waited for my food, and a little as I dined. Krystina told me that this restaurant boasted the best mushroom soup in town. I also read a yelp! review that said something similar. So I tried it. And it was delicious.
Next I had the petite filet, and it was yummy. I figured that after a bowl of soup, I didn't need the big filet, and I was right. On the side were potatoes gratin (not my favorite, which was nice, because I got to skip the extra carbs) and some sauteed squash and zucchini (one of my favorites- yum!).
Before looking at the dessert menu, I told myself that if they had tiramisu, I would order it. They had tiramisu. I did not order it. I had already had, after all a rich bowl of soup and a delicious steak. Who needs dessert after that? Coffee sufficed quite well.
And now a short note on coffee. I drank a full cup at just before 10 p.m. I went to bed at 11:30. Is that natural? Am I supposed to stay awake longer after that? Is my body so immune to caffeine that it just doesn't register when I take it in? Maybe I should have given up that for Lent. But to be honest, I think alcohol is hard enough. Rob me of my two favorite drinkstuffs, and I'll just be sad.
Yeah, I know, I'm not doing so well on the whole "blog every day" thing. Buuuuuuuuuuuut who really cares? So save the guilt trip.
As it so happens, day 17 of the 500 days of Moira is also day 1 of Lent. And boy, oh boy, is this going to be a long Lent.
Don't worry, we celebrated Mardi Gras in grand style last night. By this, I mean to say that Squirt and I knocked back a few pints at Black Sheep where Shawn and Beth showed up before heading to Alfa. At Alfa we met these really great (I use the word "great" here somewhat loosely, but they actually were quite enjoyable) South Americans who told me that I looked pissed off.
They also threw out these gem as Squirt and I finished off our bottle of brut rose.
Venezuelan: "In my country, the person who finishes off the last of the bottle will never get married." Ecuadorian: "Do not feel bad. In my country the person who finishes off the last of the bottle will marry somebody whose name begins with the same letter as the drink. So B... B.... Do you have a Bob? Or a Brian or a Benjamin?"
Squirt and I erupted into giggles. Because let's face it, we're immature as is. And we were tipsy. And it was kind of funny.
Anyhow, I think I shall give up the booze for Lent. Let's be honest, giving something up for Lent is supposed to kind of suck. I feel like I always half give things up. Like I plan what is going on in the next 40 days and if I think whatever I give up will be inconvenient, I don't give it up. But that's not faiiiir. And I'm pretty sure all the Mel Gibson Catholics in the world hate Moira Phillips Catholics because we all do that.
So I'm laying off the drink. (I have still not had a cigarette, by the by. Kudos to me.) I'll let you know how this goes. Maybe I'll just get really moody and want to be sad in my blog and this will turn into a "Where have all the addictions gone!" blog. Oh man, that sounds depressing.
I know, I'm sorry. But to be honest, the past few days have been kind of boring. Work in the mornings, home in the evenings. Whoooo wants to hear about that? But I'm about to talk about some other stuff people don't want to hear about. Namely, how much money I just saved! (And I wasn't even buying car insurance.)
Today Krystina and I went to the gym. That is soooo not exciting. Later we went to Qdoba, also not very exciting.
Then we went to Urban Outfitters. When we walked in and looked at things, I was hesitant. I'm not exactly rich these days and I didn't want to blow money that I don't have.
But everything I wanted was on sale! And all sale items were 50% off! So, for example, those silver disco-ball looking Toms that I've been lusting after for years cost me $10. Ten dollars. (Don't worry, we discussed with the sales associate and we're pretty sure the kids will still get their shoes and we're not stealing for them.
Aside from that I got lots of fun things like skirts and sweaters.
But what I really want to brag about is the money I saved, so here goes:
Total original cost of the things that I bought: $314 Amount I bought it for: $74.94 Money saved: $239.06
I quit smoking on February 1. This is a task that ought not be very hard, to be honest. When I first got to Philly, I went weeks without smoking. Then I started to smoke pretty infrequently. Then it got more frequent. Then my chest started to hurt. And oh yeah, I smelled bad. And it's really cold and running outside to get my fix was so unpleasant. And boy oh boy, aren't cigarettes expensive these days? And who wants emphysema in their future? Or cancer? Not this girl.
Yeah, I know. There are at least ten million reasons not to smoke. But that doesn't make it much easier. I mean, not when you picked up a nasty habit at the age of 16 and kept with it for a good couple of years after that. And I've gone through my periods of non-smoking. And I've gone through my periods of smoking a lot. And I've gone through my "just one or two a day". But maybe one or two a day is one or two too many.
So I quit. I figure if I can make it through the month of February, I can make it. And dammit, I will make it through the month of February. I mean, I picked this month as a sort of homage to my mother. So I will make it.
But I've been dreaming. Terrible dreams. I told Krystina that just the other day I had a dream that Bradley Cooper went out with us and cajoled me into a cigarette. And I cried when I smoked that cigarette in my dream. I got very angry with myself and threw it in the gutter and cried. I woke up feeling so strange.
I dreamed something similar last night. Not quite so dramatic. But I went out for drinks with co-workers and somebody offered me a cigarette and I took it and smiled. But I only had a puff or two before throwing that one out, too.
Why am I dreaming about cigarettes? Do people do this when they quit? I mean, to be honest, I haven't even been smoking that much recently. And it hasn't been that long since I've had a cigarette. So why these dreams where I give in to the temptation and am immediately racked with guilt? They're terrifying in a sense.
Today's episode of "Friends" was the one where Chandler started to smoke again, much to the chagrin of all the rest of the crew. After listening to everybody's reasons the entire episode he gets to the end and tells them he doesn't care because "smoking is cool!" It's kind of hilarious. And kind of made me think. And kind of made me sad.
Smoking isn't cool. (Except that it is. And it's kind of fun.) Even if you do think smoking is cool, though, it surely isn't cool enough to risk all the terrible things that may come from it later. So I quit.
Stay tuned to see if I can make it another 495 days without a cigarette.
Today I watched movies. That's really about it. I caught a little bit of Step Brothers and a good portion of Forgetting Sarah Marshall. Later in the evening I watched one of the alltime best movies ever, The Graduate. After renting Away We Go and only watching part of it, I entered into a conversation with Krystina (and later with Gregs) about babies, which led to a conversation about me being single, which led to dating advice.
Dating advice doesn't work for me. It makes me anxious and antsy and a little bit self-loathing. I hate to admit this, but it's true. So then I sat around and moped for a bit and had the realization that I was feeling for myself the way Audrey Tatou's character does in Amelie. You know, that scene where she dies alone at the age of 23 without anybody to love... just a bunch of people whose lives she tried to make better anonymously? Well, I will admit that I don't do as much for people as Amelie does, but I kinda feel that scene. I don't quite think anybody wants to die alone.
So I popped in Amelie. And I'll tell you, everything about that movie works for me. I like that they label Amelie as a dreamer more than a loner. I like that Amelie gets angry at Monsieur Dufayel for trying to give her romantic advice. I love that she doesn't initially call Nino, it would be "a reality check, something she does not want." I love that the way she goes about courting Nino is actually kind of creepy, but it's just her way of doing things.
I understand Amelie. But alas, my life is not a movie. I am a 23-year-old waitress, but Rittenhouse is hardly Monmarte and I am hardly Audrey Tatou. However, I'm almost positive that there's a Nino out there. Maybe I just have to start hanging around photo booths...
If I find him in the next 496 days I'll be sure to let you know. Until then... I'll just see you tomorrow.
A picture is worth how many words again? On today's episode, I'll share a few recent pics and let you surmise what they say about me. I wonder what kind of pictures I'll have to show 497 days from now. You never know what could happen... Only three images today, after all, we've only been doing this for three days.
This is the corner office in my room. By corner office I mean the window full of books, a water bowl for the kittens, the big orange chair complete with Jew bear, and my bedside table complete with McDonald's cup. Yeah... that's where I am right now.
This is Farmer staring at one of the loaves of bread that the kittens drag up the stairs and destroy (kinda) on a daily basis. Farmer is decidedly not responsible for this trend, it is definitely Thing One and Thing Two (aka Lou and Turd). There's also a tea bag, perhaps they just wanted some breakfast?
This teak bench is a funny story. I found it for half-off somewhere in Center City. Half-off was still in the $300 range and I don't have any money, anyway. So I texted my dad and sent him a picture and asked if he'd make it for me as a wedding gift. I told him he probably has about 12 years before I even think to get married (that is, 4383 days...).
His response: "If I make it faster does that mean you'll get married faster."
The thing about this 500 Days of Moira nonsense is that I'm going to write every day. This morning I thought that perhaps I'd write something about my current state of mind but then I decided that I'd leave it until the end of the day when I actually had something to write.
Work was awfully slow, so that gave me nothing to write about. Mostly I just sat there and took three tables and talked to Squirt and Bobby and Alicia. That said, they did make some yummy onion rings and I did spend a few minutes giving Golden Boy the third degree about his future and making snap judgments.
Then we went to happy hour. Well, first we went to the Gallery. The Gallery is the mall that is featured in the "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" Christmas special. You know, when Charlie goes to the mall and eats Santa's face off? Mostly we just went to Old Navy and I also hopped by the Chik'fil'a for a sandwich.
Happy hour was great. Except for the fact that I had the best idea ever which is to make pathetic hour. Let's be honest, what's so happy about happy hour? You're drinking because your day is over and presumably, it sucked. You're drinking with people who are also drinking because of how lame work is. You're drinking to drink it alllll away. Is this happy? No, it's pathetic.
At Moira Phillips's pathetic hour, you will not be allowed in if you're going to be obnoxious and happy. You will be allowed in if I think you're amusing/in need of alcohol/pathetic. Done and done.
I will make a LOT of money off of pathetic hour, juuuust you wait.
This blog, on it's 100th post, has been given a new purpose: to monitor the progress of my next 500 days here on Earth.
My latest project was inspired, if only in it's name, by the movie 500 Days of Summer. I would say the inspiration ends there, though. I am not Zooey Deschanel or any other cute little hipster chick. I am not a love-struck dude. I'm just me. With my blog. And 500 days ahead of me, the contents of which I cannot begin to predict.
This, then, doesn't make my blog so different than usual. The main change lies in my spirit and the attitude with which I will approach this corner of the Internet which I so happily call my own. It is now an adventure. A captain's log of my stargazing, musing, and sometimes merely surviving. Sounds pretty [self'-]important, huh? It is.
So here we are. Day One.
As a way of starting things off, I'll look into the murky waters of the future. How long, exactly is 500 days? Well, if today is Monday February 1, 2010 then 500 days from now will be Thursday June 16, 2011.
I'm not setting any goals for where I want to be in the next 500 days or who I want to be for that matter. Here are things that will be true.
It will be Summer, an escape from this miserable chilly weather now. I'll be a year (and a half) older, putting me at 24. A full moon will occur on June 15, so I'm guessing it'll still look pretty full.
And here's the present, for posterity's sake.
I'm 23. It's Winter here in Philadelphia (and I'm freezing!). The moon was full the other night but still looked nice last night. It's sunny outside as I type. Current room conditions are a little untidy with a great need to go buy some cleaning supplies from the rite aid (my room is a litter box...).
Also, I quit smoking today. Let's see if I can make it all 500 days!
Here's the thing. I can't watch sports. Generally, I follow sports by checking my ESPN score center app. This works for me. Watching sports does not work for me. Or rather, it doesn't work for anybody in my general vicinity.
I am obnoxious.
Krystina used to make us dinner when we had football dates and she would spend most of the night in the kitchen and her ex and I would sit and yell at the television.
Why do I yell at the television? It's obnoxious.
Anyhow. You know I can't stand the Cowboys and I'm gonna be behind any team that is playing them. When the team happens to represent my new hometown and they got SPANKED by the Cowboys just a week prior, this makes tensions even higher.
That said.
GO EAGLES.
Red wine and football, baby! That's what [a displaced] Maryland[er] does!
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?
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.
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).
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.
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...
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".
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.)
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.
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.
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