Scholastic Fantastic

My existence in New York thus far has been pretty relaxed, not to say that the dawn of classes on Monday is going to make life frantic, but I am actually looking forward to having a full 8 hours of my day filled with something other than coffee shop lounging.

Earlier this week I received a confirmation email telling me where and when to show up for registration. At first I didn’t think anything of it, but then panic started to sink in. I haven’t been in a classroom in over 7 years. Do I need to go shopping for a first-day-of-class outfit? Do I carry a backpack or a satchel? Do I sit on the front row? Back row? Or just blend in? What kind of school supplies do I need? Yes, I said supplies (now dredge up memories of your favorite pencil grip w/ matching eraser tip). For some reason this bent me out of shape so much that I emailed the school director to ask. I could hear them laughing all of the way downtown from their high fallutin' office on the Upper East Side. But seriously, I’m not showing up w/ a 3-subject notebook when everyone is bringing a laptop. But then again, do I bring my laptop? I have quickly discovered that you are a complete loser in NY if you have a PC. My Toshiba could be the laughing stock of the Contemporary Art Class.

Shortly after the confirmation/registration I received an email for my first school “mixer.” More on that next week.

What to Expect When You're Not Expecting

You can expect that I’ll first be confused, then pissed off, and then run out of the store in tears, all the while forgetting to grab my purchase. Then when I have to turn around and go back into the store for my stupid hand soap, you can expect me to not talk to you, glare in your face, and expect you to also throw in a freebie for basically calling me fat. You can also expect that I’ll never be back to your store. “Oh!” she says, “well maybe it’s the sweater.” “Oh”, I say in my head, “maybe it’s your face, or your mom, or your mom’s face.”

You can maybe expect me to possibly hang up this sweater jacket…forever.

Spectacular, Spectacular

This morning I began to pack a bag consisting of the following items: hot rollers, hair spray, falsh eyelashes, heavy make-up, panty hose, feather boa, spandex, and various items of glitter and sequin. I know what you're thinking, drag show? No, my dear friends, it's the Adult Tap Spectacular. And tonight is the final dress rehearsal. This year, along with 20 other women and 2 men, spanning the ages of 26 - 75, I enrolled in the Time Step Studio. As a reward for our year's worth of hard work, we peform at the historic Alabama Theatre in the Adult Tap Spectacular. The Time Step Tap Spectacular is infamous in this city, for the courage these tappers show in performing before an audience of 2,000, while donning costumes that would make your father blush, and sometimes seeming the right size for a 10 yr old, and also being able to perform under the influence. But I am doing it happily, as one night on stage a year is all I need to fulfill my (not-so?) secret narcissism.

"So exciting, the audience will stomp and cheer!"

Movin' On Up?

"New York I love you, but you're freaking me out." - LCD Soundsystem

It's official. I put in notice at work, condo goes on the market Monday, and I have posted all worldly possessions including my car on Craigslist. For what? 450 LESS square feet, 2 times more in rent, no job prospects, and money down on some summer classes in the Financial hub of the world during an economic crisis.

Count down to move date: 5 weeks
Level of preparedness (1 to 10 scale, 1 being least prepared): 2

Can you call it a quarter-life crisis when you're nearing 30?

Resolve and Evolve 2009

My Resolve and Evolve posts are not only a time to set goals for the new year, but also a time to reflect on the past year's accomplishments and derelictions. Dating stories are usually always the highlight of my year. 2008 had the 3-date weekend where I narrowly avoided a stalker, a clinger, and a Disney Lifetime Member. But I did meet my 2008 resolution of going on a subsequent dates, which is why I somehow managed to land a boyfriend, who has decided to stick around even after reading my lame-ass blog. I was also able to delete all sentimental text messages - mainly due to the fact that I dropped my blackberry in the toilet. But alas, the new year is here and it's time to Resolve and Evolve.


1) Buy new bras - But this was on the 2008 list? Yes, it was. And guess what, not only did I not buy new bras, but my boobs have managed to get even bigger.

2) Mail all birthday/congratulatory/thank-you cards in a timely manner - This resolution may also include me mailing the many, outdated addressed envelopes sitting on my desk at home. I mean, so what if Hebard's birthday card from 2004 never got to her, I'm sure she'd still love to the get a card from me no matter the month. It will be like I'm haunting my friends from the past. Maybe the real resolution is that I should just stop pretending that I'm one of those people who thinks about their friends and buys them cards to celebrate their milestones.

3) Cook at least one new recipe a week - I'm 28 and I figured it's about time I start becoming a little more domestic. At least I think that's the hint my mom is making when she gifts fancy dancy kitchen gadgets and cookbooks every Christmas and birthday. I'll probably start by dusting off the ole gravy strainer?

4) To not buy the Malibu Pilates Chair - Guthy-Renker and all of those other exercise infomercial folks are geniuses. They only air infomercials at a times during the day when normal people are out doing active things, and the pathetic are sitting on their asses mesmerized by the featured product's testimonials and demonstrations. You can get lost for hours dreaming of the potential physical transformation. I'm not going to lie, the Malibu Pilates Chair is a very attractive offer, with some very attractive bonus DVD's, workout charts, and diet suggestions. I mean, who can refute Susan Lucci and her petite little physique? I will not succumb, but rather save the $314.95 for my new bras.

I'd like to briefly showcase a friend's resolution (thanks, Haley): "Build up my immune system." This is really quite brilliant. In saying that you're going to build up your immune system, you don't have to identify the specific, pesky tasks that help you (exercise more, eat better foods, drink less alcohol, take a daily multi-vitamin, etc). This saves a lot of disappointment if you don't lose those 10lbs or eat your daily fruits and veggies, but ultimately you're the one who suffers because you'll be illin' all the time.

Happy 2009!

Cast Your Vote

With the dawning of the lame age of converging last names for Hollywood couples, I'm a bit surprised that it hasn't bled over into the political arena. With less than a month away to the election, I propose we change to the following tickets:

(R) McCalin

(D) Jobama or Obiden (leave me a comment and let me know your favorite)

Talladega Knights

Sunday afternoon, driving back from an estrogen-filled weekened celebrating the last days of singledom for a friend, I was feeling the need for a reprieve and a little bit of male companionship. Given my recent winning streak in Atlanta, it should come as no surprise that the newest fly to swarm over my trap also happens to reside in the home of the Braves. After a week of some hard-core texting and emailing, it was time to come face-to-face, so we spontaneously'ish decided to meet in the middle for an all-out, redneck afternoon excursion. I had never been to the Talladega Superspeedway so this seemed like the obvious destination...and honestly we weren't given much choice given the dearth of attractions between Birmingham and Altanta. But I'm not complain', just sayin'.

Start your engines and meet at Exit 168 in T minus 1 hour. Please note, if you have to wait on your date, no gas station on Exit 168 has an ICEE machine, but the Shell Station's Race City has just about every memento related to NASCAR imagineable. We'll call my date Bobby because that seems to be the most fitting name for the setting. Bobby pulled up, I hopped in his ride and we made our way to the tracks. Just as excitement had peaked we pulled up only to find out that the last tour ended at 4:00pm. By our watches it was 4:45, and well by Bobby's it was 5:45 given that he was on Eastern time and all. Just before we resorted to pounding the steering wheel in anger a white pick-up truck appeared beside us (read Knight on a White Horse)...Dega Security. Bobby explains our devotion as fans and our devastation, so Ed (security) first confirms that we have our camera ready, and second commands, "follow me." Doors were opening. We made our way around the chain-linked fence, past the security gates, down through the tunnel and up to the most glorious vision that is...the Talladega Superspeedway. We drove past the garages, down the track and toward's the victory stage. Ed asked if we wanted our picture taken - duh - but mentioned that we couldn't reproduce any images. Then I asked him about reproducing in general... In an effort to honor his wishes, no pictures will be posted. Okay, maybe just this one:











Ed then asked if we wanted to go to the Finish Line...uh yeah. Pictures were taken at the finish line and as Ed put it, "Talladega looks perfect in the background." We thanked him profusely for his generosity and good deed, and in closing he said "Hey. I understand." I have to admit, I didn't understand at first, but now I totally get it. Ed loves his job. Ed loves that other people envy his job. Ed is, as Bobby likes to say, pretty awesome. We got back in the car and took our vicotry lap - said our own good byes to Ed and to the track, and made our way into town (downtown Dega, that is). Destination? Davey Allison Memorial Park.


Davey Allison Memorial Park is a beautiful patch of grass and trees with a circular walk of bronze reliefs of all of the major NASCAR players, and a brick path in the middle which contains bricks purchased by die-hard fans, chiseled with warm messages to their eternal heroes. A few favorites include:

While at the park we met the local lawnmower repairman who guided us to the best place to get a cold one. He recommended two Mexican restaurants: "Maragaritas is the cleanest. And there's one on the square, but I can't pronounce the name." We went to the one with the hard-to-pronounce name on the square. Please note, when making a small-town excursion on a Sunday, pack a cooler. No alcohol is served on Sundays. Since we didn't really want Mexican without a margarita we opted to end this red-neck rendezvous in style with fine dining at the Cracker Barrel, after browsing through the Country Store first...obvi. An order of chicken and dumplings, and one meatloaf dinner later, we rocked out in the famous CB rockers discussing our favorite part of the day. Bobby and I both agreed that if it weren't for Ed, none of this would have happened. We eventually parted ways, but not before we did some neckin' with my other Talladega Knight in the parking lot...Is there any other way to end it?

More People I Love (It's Getting Hot in Here)

Men in my hot yoga class. I'm not talking about the walk-ins, I'm talking about the regulars. Three in particular.

Karate Chop - This guy is in his mid 50s, comes into class very serious. he's tall, very fit, and always has on short nylon running shorts with to-the-knee spandex underneath, t-shirt tucked into to shorts and spandex, and, this is my favorite, a karate headband around his forehead. Karate Chop always walks in with a purpose and is determined in the mastering of his moves. Favorite Pose: Awkward Pose.

Inflatulation - This gentleman, also in his mid 50s, is the stereotypical male yogi...in his mid 50s. Longer, curly dark hair, goatee, slightly scrawny. Always adorned in a white tank and baggy shorts. He brings his own mat and places it in the same spot every class. This is the guy who becomes so relaxed and focused that he FARTS at various points throughout the class - making hot yoga 20 degrees warmer. Favorite Pose: Downward Dog (ass in the air - all you need to know).

Dan - Just straight up Dan, because that's his name. Dan knows everyone in class, and if he doesn't, he'll introduce himself to you. Dan is also in his mid 50's (starting to see a trend), talks with a calming voice replete with lisp, and has a pretty significant gut. Dan dresses every class in head-to-toe Under Armor...and all-black Under Armor at that. When I say cap-a-pi, I mean the sleeveless black tank, full-length spandex pants, wrist bands on each wrist and head band across forehead. All black, all Under Armor. Dan is a big fan of sharing his zen-like philosophies such as: "Dance like nobody's watching," or "Love like you've never loved before, " or "Life is not meant to be complacent." Favorite Pose: Breathing (while breathing is not technically a pose, it is so yoga. I know Dan loves breathing because of his loud phlegm-like inhale, and even louder exhale, showing off the length at which he does both).

She's Gone...So Wrong

I recently received the following email from a guy that I had ONE date with in September of 2007. After several attempts at a 2nd date, I finally had to tell him that the Scheduling Gods were not in our favor (it is actually you buddy, but I'm blaming the Scheduling Gods b/c I don't have the heart to tell you that asking a girl 7-8 times for a 2nd date after she's said "no" 7-8 out of those times is a huge turn-off). Anyway, it's now April 2008 and the email is as follows:

For some reason I thought about you when I got this; take that as a compliment please.
http://youtube.com/watch?v=vZZngTkp54I

What in this video actually reminded this guy of me: (1) the mock irony? (2) the costuming and hair? (3) the devil, or, (4) the actual lyrics "she's gone...oh why...what went wrong?"

I guess my kiss is still on his list.

You've Got to Be Foolin'

I'd like to believe that this was some sort of radio April Fool's prank, but unfortunately the sincerity and grammatical usage in the voice leads me to believe otherwise. So I was driving into work this morning mindlessly listening to a talk radio show in which callers are playing the game "Fact or Bologna." The cheesy talk-show host begs the question to the latest caller/participant:

"Fact or Bologna? Mussolini and Hitler are a famous comedy duo from the 1940s?"
To which the participant responds: "Fact"

Need I say more?

Un-Veiling the Truth?

Email from Friend(addressed to 8 recipients): Does anyone have a veil that my sister could borrow for a bachelorette party? I can get it back for you after this weekend. I passed mine on after I had my bach party.

Me (to all): I do...think I have one at home. I sometimes play bride in the mirror on Saturday nights.

Friend (to me): Will you call me and let me know and I can come get it?

Me (to friend, thinking she was joking): :)

Friend: Call me when you are available and I can come pick it up…Please

Me: friend, you know I was joking, right?

Friend: Yeah but do you have a veil?


I'm sad to say that there were a few other exchanges beyond that point. First suggestion, when sending out an email about bridal veils, if you've already gone to the trouble to dwindle down the recipients to a seemingly targeted group - don't include 7 married folks and one single girl.

More concerning that the somewhat numbing exchange, is the fact that she thought that I actually could potentially be playing bridal dress-up in the mirror, on a Saturday night. Or she did have my sarcasm at "I do.l"

Baby's Got Her Boot Camp On

This morning I did something that I think I'm going to totally regret. In my sickly fog (my ears are stopped up, so I probably couldn't understand what my friend was asking), I agreed to sign up for Birmingham Boot Camp. Well, $210 and an anxiety attack later - I have agreed to meet with my instructor to take my measurements, determine my body fat, and take a before picture. I mean, I know all of these things advertise that they are for all fitness levels, but take one look at the women on the web site and you too might immediately regret your decision. I don't know if my ego can handle getting its ass handed to me by a 50 year old mom, who is better looking and in better shape than I am. More overwhelming than the word "boot camp", is the time "5:30 am", which is when I'll be standing at attention in the field of a local elementary school. Maybe I should really be offended that I signed up in the first place. I am a bridesmaid in my good friend's wedding this summer, and the bride is the one who in fact convinced me to sign up in the first place. Was she trying to tell me that I needed to be in better shape for her wedding? But not knowing what the after pictures look like, she's totally running the risk of me looking better than her at the wedding (i kid, i kid).

Maybe if the after results are as good as I hope they will be, I will put on a pink bikini, and re-enact Heidi Montag's "Higher" video.

Stay tuned for updates on my boot camp survival.

I'm Bringing Single Back (The Single Extinction)

Is the single female becoming extinct? I was briefly rapping with a friend about the upcoming wedding season (probably a conversation prompted by how our lives were not that far off from the ridiculousness of 27 Dresses - luckily I only have 8 in my closet), and in a tone of relief I exclaimed that mine was pretty tame with a total of 4 to 5 weddings between now and the end of the year. Let's face it, there really are no "seasons," just months with a higher celebration concentration. As I started to revel in the low-density of my wedding year I started to realize why there weren't as many. By the end of 2008 roughly 98% of my girlfriends will be married off. Maybe the Presidential primaries should focus their platforms on the rapid decrease of the 25 and over single-female in the human population. When age 30 hits there could be a legitimate crisis. This particular demographic could very well be climbing their way up the ladder of the extinction list, leaving only a select few to encourage and nurture a population increase. I realize that sometimes geography plays into the waxing and waining of this particular demographic - - but just like the chimpanzees in Africa, it's only a matter of time before we're forced out of our native territories into a foreign sanctuary, being taught how to socialize with our own kind.

Who's with me?

Irony Clad Banking

Whenever I need to check the level of funds in my checking account, I usually dial the 1-800 number for Regions bank. I always find it completely humorous when the teleprompter says: "to better protect your account information, please enter your social security number." What about protecting my identity people?

Resolve and Evolve 2008

"So this is the New Year, and I don't feel any different." - Deathcab for Cutie

It's that time again. Time to jot down some resolutions that I might actually adhere to in December 2008 just so i can have some sense of accomplishment. I seriously don't feel that 2008 will feel much different than 2007, but I am a) trying to set expectations low so that they have a chance of being exceeded, but also because b) 2007 wasn't really a bad year. I started a new job in April that I genuinely like, have made some new friends, have become slightly more financially stable, and yes, it took some serious patience, but I have even been nicer to my mother. So with the fundamental resolutions of 2007 having been somewhat met, it's time to dig a little deeper for 2008. So here's the list, Resolve and Evolve.

1. Do not judge a man on the first date, and if asked on a subsequent date, take it. They say that you should go on 3 dates with a person before making up your mind (who the hell do "they" think they are?). I have a hard time not passing judgment quickly, but am willing to be more open-minded and open to opportunities. This resolution is contingent upon a man putting his car in park when dropping me off, keeping his clothes on (unless taken off by me), and not whipping out a joint within the first 30 minutes of meeting. I guess this is somewhat a continuum of 2007's "go on more dates."

2. Confront confrontation. I have a serious problem with confrontation. Whether it be someone confronting me, me not being able to confront an individual, being a part of a group that is being confronted, or even watching confrontation on television, I literally have to get-up and walk away. Take the movie Borat for instance, probably saw 1/3 of the movie because I left the room anytime they confronted him on his antics, pathetic. From this point forward I vow to confront those that done me wrong, to stand up straight whilst being confronted, and to keep my ass glued to the sofa if watching an uncomfortable situation on the t.v.

3. Buy new bras. What is the average lifespan of a bra? I'm not really sure if there is an answer to that question, but I'm almost positive 99% of mine have passed their expiration date. It's like I'm in complete denial that my boobs have grown, and for the majority of women (and men), that should be a good thing, but to me it's like the whole Peter Pan syndrome of not wanting to grow up (or out, in this case). Like my bras carry any real memories worth clinging to.

4. Delete all sentimental text messages in phone after one month. That seems like a long-time still, but honestly I just deleted some text messages that have been sitting in my phone for 2 years. They were there to remind of days gone by, but all they were really doing was taking up storage in my Inbox that could otherwise be filled by more text-flirting with new, potential text-partners. A stored text, is not the safest form of text.


This is my list for now, but I have a feeling that it will continue to grow (much like my boobs).

Food Confession

Putting a 6 oz cup of Stoneyfield Farm french vanilla yogurt in the freezer, is not the same as eating Vanilla Frozen Yogurt. Just sayin'

The Bathroom Stall

There are few things more annoying to me than walking into the bathroom at work, seeing a co-worker also in the bathroom, and as soon you enter the stall and sit down she starts talking to you. I mean, could you have not started the conversation before I went into the stall? Then you have to make the decision on whether or not you want to hold your business and finish the conversation, which can become painful if it's a bathroom emergency, OR start your business and have the conversation over trickling noises. All in all it's just very uncomfortable. Even worse is when said co-worker also enters a stall and your forced to have the stall-to-stall conversation.

Stang Operation

I recently rented a car to drive from Nashville to Birmingham. Little did I know that when selecting a “Midsize” vehicle (read: cheaper) on my reservation form, that I would actually be stepping into the biggest ride of my life. The perfect early-fall weather had arrived which already made me excited for the road trip, but when the Hertz Representative asked “will a Mustang be alright,” I grinned from ear to ear and told her that I wouldn’t accept any less. And then when she told me it only had 54 miles on it, I suddenly had a flashback to Ferris Bueller - “You guys got nothing to worry about, I’m a professional.”

Once our transaction was complete she pointed me in the direction of Parking Space No. 12. Behold, the bright cherry red brilliance, and its seamless tan cloth interior that cleverly and continuously reads “Mustang” on each seat - just invisible enough so that one might think it a design, but in a way that only a true believer could see the scripture. This car needed no introduction, but just in case you’ve been couped up in a mini van your whole life, the geniuses at Ford had “Mustang” lettered on each side of the exterior. Coincidence that the words Respect and Mustang have the same number of letters? You do the math.

Once I got on the highway I had an out-of-body experience, the ‘Stang was in control. For the first few minutes leaving Nashville, the Mustang had to listen to the rest of the Colts v. Titans game. As you can imagine, the Mustang celebrated the Colts’ victory, kicked the speed up about 10 mph, and turned its radio dial to any station playing Lynard Skynard, Aerosmith or hard-core country. And soon my 3 hour trip, was taking much longer than expected. Who knew the ‘Stang would have so many important stops to make:

Everyone eating the Mustang’s dust.

Will you ‘mare’y me?

An empty bottle of dark liquor on the floorboard is a staple accessory in any Mustang. But Mustang’s don’t drink and drive – alone.

A Mustang in its natural habitat. Can you really take a man out of the Mustang?

The Mustang always pays homage to man-made marvels, fabricated out of steel, built to overcompensate shortcomings, and equipped with inter-galactic horsepower.

The Mustang breaks for DQ dip cones and an Alabama Terd Bird at Stuckey’s…obviously.

The Mustang only stops to refuel because the oil industry forces it to. But then again, this is America. Coincidence that the words America and Mustang have the same number of letters? You do the math.

Cruel Joke

Picture this: Three girls stuck in Labor Day traffic traveling from The Gulf back to Birmingham. Car moving at an average of 30 mile per hour in a 70 mile per hour speed limit. The inevitable happens - - all three of us made of the mistake of renting one too many diet cokes and now had to turn them in. We finally arrive to Greenville where every filling station was equally as packed as the Interstate. We find ourselves about 10 ladies deep in the bathroom line (of course, that's 10 persons more than the men's line). We're standing there, and all you can hear is a steady stream. It sounded like the world's longest urination...and it only made me have to go to the bathroom worse. And as it kept going, I kept thinking how unusual until I saw that some Jack-Ass had decided to spruce up the bathroom line by placing a FOUNTAIN in the hall by the restrooms. Are you joking? Either the manager of the Shell in Greenville is either incredibly clever, or devastatingly dumb.

The Act of Inaction

It’s never surprising to my friends when they come over to hear “don’t mind my bedroom, I forgot to pick it up.” The running gag, is that I never pick it up – or any other room for that matter. I HATE cleaning. I don’t know if it’s that I don’t like the smell of cleaning supplies, or the space the equipment takes up in my small apartment, or the energy you have to exert while actually picking up. It’s pure laziness, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. When you live by yourself, it becomes even worse because you don’t have to share a space with anyone; however, I’m sure many to all of my old roommates would agree that I probably had very little regard for public space as well.

Today, folks, I’m coming clean. The truth is, the act of inaction is much more exhausting, costly, time-consuming and unhygienic than the actual task itself.

Inaction #1: Cleaning your sheets, but never actually putting them on your bed.
Result: Sleeping for many weeks either on a bare mattress, or on your couch. This really disturbing result needs no explanation. Sleeping on the couch can result in a bad back, a poor night’s sleep, and a permanent indention between the far right and middle cushions where your ass laid to rest.

Inaction #2: Keeping a dry cleaning bag full of clothes, but never taking them to the dry cleaners.
Result: Either a really pricey dry-cleaning bill when you eventually decide to go, or, a limited days of the week wardrobe consisting of faded items that can only be put through the wash.

Inaction #3: Pretending to be healthy and fit by signing up for a gym membership, but never actually picking up your membership packet or stepping foot inside the door.
Result: Throwing $75 a month down the drain, and achieving the opposite physical results.

Inaction #4: Feeling hungry, looking into the empty fridge, and not going to the grocery store to buy normal food.
Result: Scrounging around for change because you don’t have any money after you wasted it on a pointless gym membership or new clothes because you don’t want to wash the ones you have, and hitting up the dollar menu at McDonald’s, or the convenience store for 8 packs of Ramen Noodles for a dollar (genius). Suspected physical results.

Inaction #5: Coming in from a weekend away and never once unpacking your bag except for the essentials like your toothbrush, and occasionally your hair brush.
Result: Wasted time looking for your favorite t-shirt in your dresser when it’s crammed at the bottom of one of the 10 unpacked weekend bags in your living room. Eventually turning your living room into the walk-in closet you always wanted.


I’m making myself stop here.