pandora roulette

Pandora is such a brilliant thing. It speaks to all of the lazy/experimental/musically challenged people of the internet. "Oh, you like that song eh? Ok, we'll just play songs that sound like that. Cool?" What could possibly go wrong?

I usually have Pandora on at work given the ridiculously long shifts I work. Friday night Pandora perfection was acheived. I put on my Sara Bareilles (aka sad white girl music) station and I couldn't believe what I heard - a wide variety of songs from a wide variety of artists with no repeats? (looks like I've finally got that karma back on track) And the songs were in perfect sequence, as if I had my own DJ in the closet who knew exactly which songs I wanted to hear next (new life goal?). I revelled in my music-induced bliss.

Saturday night brought all that bliss tumbling down like so many Jenga towers. It was a whole lotta bad, and for some reason it kept repeating itself. What's the deal Pandora? Don't want anyone to get too close? Not ready to committ? Oh, ok Joe Cool, you be that way, see if I care. Go ahead and go! And take your bipolar music with you! I don't need you!

(sobs)

*ahem* Anyways, let it simply be said that pandora is indeed a cruel mistress. I guess I'll continue to place my bets and pray for black. I'm sure there's some life metaphor in there somewhere but I prefer to leave it open for the reader's interpretation (read: lazy).

working on the night moves

It's more than Seger, it's a way of life for some people. People like me for instance. I go to work when it's dark and usually come home when it's dark thanks to this frigid death trap we call a state (can anyone say vitamin d deficiency?)

All bitterness aside, there are some definite perks to working the night shift.

Perk #1 - I only work three days a week. Yeahhhhh, just let that sink in. Mmmmmm. That's nice.

Perk #2 - I finally, finally have a legitimate excuse to sleep all day.

Perk #3 - I feel like I've played this great trick on the world that only I know about. My drive home inevitably consists of one or more of these comments:
"Look at those kids waiting for the bus! You have to go to school alllllll day! Ha! I'm going to bed!"
"Look at that guy putting gas in his car in his suit! Going to work? Well! I'm going to bed! I already worked! Ha!"
"Look at this lady walking her dogs! Fresh air? Exercise? Sunshine? Nuts to that I'm going to sleep now!"

It's a secret, non-conformist euphoria that only us night hawks can appreciate.

There are con's a-plenty, as with any job, but I try not to dwell on them. Sure working "regular" hours might be nice, but I'd trade it all for the smug satisfaction that comes with being tucked in, snug as a bug while the rest of the world goes about its' daytime business without me.

everyday questions

Friday was haircut day. Haircut day is an important day, right up there with oh, I don't know, kindergarten graduation. Not necessarily photo-worthy, but bound to have a significant impact on your life depending on a positive vs. negative outcome.

So after my foil and brow wax (both excruciating in their own way) came the big cut. I explained that I would like an inverted bob with the longest piece at my chin, a total of 5-6 inches cut off. The following is the actual conversation that took place:

She: "Why so short?"
Me: "Oh, time for a change! I like having short hair"
She: "But that's really short."
Me: "Yep."
She: "Just wanting a change huh?"
Me: "Yep."
She: "So you're not depressed or pregnant or anything?"
Me: "Ummm, I don't think so?"

I won't delve into the plethora of thoughts rolling around in my head at this point but I will say this - depressed or pregnant!? Is a major haircut some kind of secret coping mechanism sought after by depressed and/or pregnant people? I guess depressed I can see, but haven't pregnant women already made enough bad choices? Do I look depressed? Or pregnant!??! (puts down bag of chocolates) Why can't I just get my haircut?

Well, despite that very awkward moment, cut my hair she did. And it looked so nice that I spent the rest of the night flipping it back and forth like a shorter-haired Cher. And it did make me feel happier, but it did not make me feel any less pregnant.

Later that night, at some point between the car and the front door, my euphoria overshadowed the icy sidewalk of death in front of my house. I fell, and every last ounce of my weight landed on my right elbow. The massive swelling, agonizing pain and my Hulk-like reaction made for an uncomfortable, albeit slightly comical, evening for my house guests. Thankfully the elbow is fine, though why it has started hurting again today after almost a week worries and depresses me.

Maybe time for a new haircut??

is this hell? or just the twighlight zone?

Well I hit the cross country ski trails yesterday armed only with an over-inflated ego. "I can read a map" I thought. "I won't get lost" I thought.

Nearing what I perceived as the end of the 3k easy loop I began patting myself on the back. "That 3k was easy. And didn't take me very long at all!" At the last fork in the road I glanced at the map and took off on my final little loop back to the parking lot. 15 minutes later, the end still hadn't come. "Boy," I thought, "That map must not be to scale. I'll just keep going."

A few minutes later I was back at the same fork in the trail, staring at the same map. "Oh! I see! I went the wrong way! Foolish girl! I'm supposed to go this other way!" I chuckled at my foible and headed down the other path, certain of my eventual victory.

Another 20 minutes or so and there I stood - back at the same map.

Now I was certain that I had read the map wrong. Still feeling mostly cheery, I took the first path again, knowing I would be back in the car in no time, laughing at my skiing misadventures.

Nope. Upon reaching that fork AGAIN my now completely deflated ego was quickly replaced with an over-active imagination. "Is this the Twilight Zone? Is there some kind of black hole on this trail that no one told me about? *gasp!* Maybe it's worse than that. What if I fell and hit my head and died and this is hell and I have to go around this loop for all eternityahhhhhhhh!!"

"Get ahold of yourself!" I ordered myself. I couldn't let my new found Sisyphus-complex get the better of me. I took the first loop again, knowing that's where I was supposed to go.

And what did I find when I got to where trail split off? (something that had apparently alluded me on 2 previous trips) The steepest, curviest, icy-ist, scariest hill EVER. It became quickly clear to me what happened. The part of my brain that values my limbs being in tact had hog-tied and gagged the part of my brain that allows me to follow simple directions. And now I know why.

I'll spare you my inglorious decent (on my getting-tougher-by-the-day ass) but I finally made it to the car, one hour later than I was supposed to. Se la vie.

I took today off from skiing. But! Next time I KNOW I'll be able to find my way. And since my ego can't take much more of a beating, I'll only have to worry about breaking every bone in my body! Stay tuned!

first sign of the apocalypse

This weekend I experienced a phenomenon I've only read about in fairy tales and fitness magazines (ok, same thing). I was warm, outside, in the winter, in Minnesota. And I'm not talking "Oh boy was that fun! And look, only three of my toes are black with frostbite! Could someone please finish my sentences until the feeling comes back to my face" warm that I usually experience. I actually thought I had too many layers on. And what could cause such a delightful warmness in such a delicate woodland creature as myself?

Drugs!!

No, only kidding! Cough.

This weekend marked my cross country skiing debut. I went in determined, fearless, and confident. 3K easy loop? Piece of cake! And that piece of cake tasted like misreading-of-the-map-ending-up-on-a-6k-intermediate-loop-baptism-by-fire goodness! Yum! The plus side? If you connect the bruises on my ass it kind of looks like a T-Rex.

But then, as I collapsed into the car, I felt this warmness...this watery substance started seeping from my pores (could this be "sweating" that the common folk speak of?). Warm in the winter and working out? Too good to be true? Apocalypse now? I'll let the reader decide.

Things got even more interesting on the way home between my co-skier and I:
He: "Do you want to know a secret?"
Me: eyes widening "Yeeeeeeees"
He: "If you keep pushing yourself, go skiing everyday for a week or so, you'll break that plateau and you won't be sore anymore...like athletes. And you'll actually tone up a little and be stronger too."
Me: eyes wiiiiiiiiiidening "Me? Athlete? Toned? Warm???"

And yes, I've gone skiing everyday since. I'm proud to say I've even learned how to fall "properly." (Sitting back and sliding down hill on already bruised, cushioned butt cheek = good. Getting your skis crossed and falling forward with all your weight on one rolled ankle = bad) And I've enjoyed myself. Dare I say I even wish it was a little bit *colder* outside? (cowers under desk waiting for snowy, icy, windy, inevitble blizzard of death)
My new found smug sense of self-satisfaction and I wonder if there's anything we can't do? Climb Mt. Everest? Find the Loch Ness Monster? Bring about world peace? Drugs?

No, no, scratch that last one. Cough.

is this the end??

Ok all Simpson's quoting aside, it's time I talked about something else I pretend to know a lot about but actually know very little about: Pro Football.

Now, I know what you're thinking: "Oh great, another dumb girl talking about football." To which I would respond, "Shut up. I'm cuter/smarter/funnier than your girlfriend/boyfriend/partner/divorced parent that you're living with right now." But I digress...

This weekend, four football games were played, three of which were predictable. Just as they should be. 2 #1 seeds and one #2 seed moving on. Ho hum. And then Rex "Yes-I-really-am-this-jolly-all-the-time" Ryan's JETS decimated and humiliated Norv "Anything-resembling-a-smile-will-certainly-crack-my-face-in-half" Turner's highly favored Chargers. It. was. amazing. Left with a renewed sense of anything-can-happenness and an insatiable crush on Mark "I-look-like-I-don't-know-what-I'm-doing-but-I'm-playing-in-the-AFC-Championship-so-all-you-naysayers-can-shove-it-up-your-ass" Sanchez, I can't wait for next Sunday.

In other news, welcome to my blog whomever you are. Suffice it to say I like bringing smiles to people's faces. I tried the whole deep, personal, woe is me blog and promptly quit (committment phobe? trust issues? choose you're own disorder!) Even if you don't think my blog is funny (but how could you not...seriously). Smile. You'll feel better.

And now you know the rest of the story. (That's not copyrighted, right??)