Archive for the ‘bffs’ Category

Betsy and Kari’ should start a blog.


Am I right or amIright?


At the intersection of Cute and Pathetic


is you and your boyfriend renting the same movie and watching it “together.”

When you’re in two different cities.

We’ve come full circle.

Do you see a theme?


This year, I hate Year-End-Reviews. Because if I did one for myself, it might look like this:

2008: The Year of the Almosts

January: The Boyfriend Who Shall Remain Nameless (TBWSRN – long and annoying, no?) begins Elusive Job Hunt- all interviews are out of town.

(And before you get all- it’s just your boyfriend, don’t you have a life, blahblahblahhhhh… YES. I have a very good life, actually. Thank you for asking. BUT when you’ve been together so long you’re practically married and literally EVERY job interview was out of town, YES. My year did kind of sort of revolve around his job search. You spend your year going… are we? aren’t we? And this is meant to be a bitter list. So, bitter it tiz.)

February: TBWSRN has a heavy moot court month – competitions out of town

March: TBWSRN and I plan a trip to London. Which he has to miss because of unanticipated job interview.

April: Um, think he’s in town.

Beginning of May: TBWSRN interviews for more jobs. And gets one! Oh yay!

End of May: Another, better job offer! Takes it!

June: The “better” job (with the G-O-V-T) is moved to a new department. Has to re-interview. Gets it!

Beginning of July: The entire department is cut. No job. Seriously.

Mid-July: People feel bad for him (as they – ahem – should) and help him find a new job. We’re moving and it’s settled. Yaaay.

End of July: New job -fun surprise!- wants him to stay in Minneapolis for first six months. Not moving anymore. At least not for awhile.

August: Month spent in godforsaken hotbox that is apartment that was meant to be temporary because …we’re moving, right?

September: TBWSRN gets an AWESOME opportunity to work with an AWESOME “someone’s” campaign. Does it. Obvs.

October: TBWSRN is still campaigning. Doesn’t make it home.

November: TBWSRN takes a job offer from said AWESOME “someone.” Angels come down from heaven and shake my hand. I Hyperventilate. Break out in metaphorical hives. Annnnnd- he gets to come home for Thanksgiving! Wee! Head spins like the chick in the Exorcism.

December: Able to calm down. The Boy is still working between Chicago and DC. So, no holiday visits. Temporary Sadness.

SO – good year, no? Well, if you want to get all technical on me, there were some incredible parts. My wish for 2009, though, is for a little freakin’ stability.

So let’s get to the many good, incredible things that happened in 2008 that had nothing whatsoever to do with a male, like:

  • my principal having mercy on me and giving me my job back
  • friend’s wedding
  • a trip to fabulous Las Vegas with Bean to visit Amanda (the PCD, remember)
  • getting incredibly acquainted with the girls from SATC during my alone time (that sounds dirty, but isn’t) (but would almost be sort of cool if it was?)
  • experiencing London with Kirsten
  • Rachel’s health getting better and better every single stinkin’ day! Take that, TBI! Take that desensitized and overworked doctors! Lesson learned: you NEVER give up on people.
  • adopting a little doggy friend, Iris
  • going to DC for .5 seconds, walking around all independent-like
  • meeting up with TBWSRN romantic-comedy style in New York City. It’s about the city, not the male.
  • training for and running my very first half marathon
  • OBAAAAMAAAA (okay, this one has to do with a male)
  • encountering Netflix and making it my new boyfriend (not technically a male)

Though it’s been a rough-and-tumble kinda year, it could absolutely be worse. I can still say I’m genuinely happy. AND healthy. I even overcame my fear of the dentist this year. We’ll save that story for another time.

For these, I can be grateful.

Sidenote: I figure that, for those of you who don’t know me personally  and who don’t *get* to hear the day-to-day details of the litany above, I should clarify that the bitterness is directed towards Lady Luck – who I will not adjectify because it wouldn’t be ladylike – and not toward TBWSRN, who has been thoughtfully maintaining our relationship through all of the crap.

The Curious Case of Beloved Blankie


In the dawn of my life, I was given a baby blanket. It was your typical blanket: a pale yellow square of cotton waffle fabric, trimmed with monochromatic satin and smelling of Downy fabric softener. It was, as all security objects are meant to be, a comfort. I loved that blanket.

Like all blankets, it was intended to serve its purpose until I grew up and became embarrassed by it, pretended not to care about it, and  and replaced it with more age-appropriate toys, like a purple boombox and New Kids on the Block cassette tapes.

Friends, that would have been a total waste! Our best years together came later.

My blankie actually became MORE of a toy as I grew up. Though I probably should have been embarrassed by that, as a late elementary into middle-schooler, it still held a permanent place on my bed. Aiding and abetting in what psychologists might today label an “attachment disorder,” was my best friend Rachel. I knew we were meant to be when we met; she thought my blanket was AWESOME and still had her blanket too.

Our blankies became an important part in our play. In our creation of the still relatively unknown “RSK” television network, the music videos we (Rachel, Sarah, and Rachel’s little sister, Krystal) created often used the blankie as an integral prop. The most memorable was the “Blankie Land” rap video where, not only were our blankets the inspiration of the song, but also guest-starred right before the beatboxing part: “Now introducing the King of Blankie Land” (Sound the trumpet made of pure blankie).

When we played “Abusive Husbands” -I know, I’m sure psychologists would have plenty to say about this, too- and had to quickly flee with our Felecity and Samantha children because “They’ve found us again!” (in a British accent, always in a British accent), our blankies served as shawls to keep our babes warm as, of course, we had to run away barefoot in the middle of the freaking winter. Damn husbands. If we’d have been wiser, we’d have just divorced them and taken their child support money to buy shoes and move to Miami. Duh!

I aged, my blanket aged. And as it did, it went through its own metamorphosis. The square-shape of its origin imperceptibly changed, eventually becoming a long, beehive-shaped pile of knots and torn ends. Instead of being able to gather the folds of my blankie together for comfort, these piecemeal knots came together in a pile of what we called “nubbins.”

As I entered high school, the collection of nubbins was still around my room somewhere. But, much to the relief of my parents who were probably becoming a little worried at this point, it wasn’t such a thing anymore. Then, one day, the blanket disappeared unceremoniously. Stomping extra loudly up the stairs from my bedroom, I demanded that my mother reveal where she had hidden it. She swore that I must have just misplaced it, but later commented, “There was nothing left of it!” Complete and total admission of guilt.

With this story, I lay you to rest, blankie. Gone, but never forgotten.

Did you ever have a toy that you were overly attached to?

*Another trip down memory lane: two of the songs that iTunes shuffled to as this was being written were “Not If You Were the Last Junkie On Earth” by the Dandy Warhols and “Cut Your Hair” by Pavement. 93.7 The Edge, anyone? I curse the day this station was struck down. Sing it with me: “I never thought you’d be a junkie because heroin is so passe´.”

Imagine the potential guest list at their imaginary wedding! Hooks it up!


There are some things that just classically belong together.

peanut butter and jelly

wine and cheese

The Notebook and a box of tissues

Carrie, Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte

Ross and Rachel

Pussycat Dolls and Chippendales Dancers

So, I was talking to one of my best friends on the phone last week. She lives in Vegas and her ACTUAL  job is dancing in the Pussycat Dolls show (Las Vegas PCDs are different from recording artist PCDs) at PURE nightclub. So, in a nutshell, she gets paid more than I do to go into work at 9 pm, put on some surprisingly-tasteful burlesque outfits, dance two shows (10:30 pm and 11:30 pm) and then she’s done for the night. All in a day’s work.

Most nights, she’ll stay in the club after the show, wander up to the VIP area, sip on a drink from the complimentary bottle service, and befriend whichever disgustingly rich or fabulously famous people happen to be partying behind the white curtains at the same time.  Perhaps she’ll get paid overtime to sing “Happy Birthday” to said celebrities who have just magically increased their wealth by simply choosing to celebrate their birthdays at that particular locale. Occasionally, her arm, half of her face, or sometimes her whole entire body will end up appearing in one of those US Weekly “Famous People Partying” collages. In fact, she was pictured partying with Lindsay Lohan right after she got out of rehab. You know – the night she was photographed with one of those fancy anklets that are all the rage in Hollywood right now.

In short, her life is pretty awesome.

And imagine the benefits of VISITING a friend like this. It really IS that wonderfully ridiculous! Not at ALL like the real world. Which is why I can only handle it once a year, 4 nights at a time.

Anyway, on the phone last week, she told me that she started dating someone new.

“He’s younger than me,” she tells me.

“Mmmhmmm,” I reply.

“He’s a vegan and doesn’t drink or smoke,” she continues.

“Right,” I say.

“And he’s a Chippendales dancer,” she finishes.

“PERFECT!” I gush.

Because it just makes sense. Don’t you love it when the planets align and something as logical as this happens?



When I turned the corner and headed down my hallway, I was witness to a small miracle. Living room chair cometh!


Because the directions actually had WORDS instead of just pictures (ahem, IKEA is the bane of my existence!), the chair was tush-ready in just a few quick minutes. See?


Dog with Laser Beam Eyes Sold Separately


ACTUALLY, the chair was SUPPOSED to arrive prior to la partie avec mes amis on Saturday night. It did not, but never fear. Everyone still had a chair and we crowded around the table in a cozy-like way. Which is perfect for us because we’re cozy kind of people.

As we sat in chairs squished next to one another, we did what all old friends do. For the nine-hundredth time, we remembered how good DomestiKate’s dinners were, how Kari’ almost kicked a hole in the wall after a night of too much excitement, and how Bean and Betsy took 25 minute “power naps” in the library while on route at their job in the mailroom. We JUST KNEW Bean would be one the first to get married, despite her self-proclaimed “Eventually, a nun” status. We still anticipate Betsy’s dancers and their annual recitals – dedicating this year’s to our curious friend Michael Jackson. We marvel at the seven years that have passed so quickly since we met. The stories and memories have become just as squished into one another as we were as we sat in our chairs on that particular Saturday night.  One memory rolls into the next and it becomes hard to remember who was there on the night we wore side ponytails to the bar because we thought we were cute in a funny kind of way and which year we left which laborious and witty away messages on our AIMs.

My mother would always preach that “you change so much in your twenties.” I may only be in my late-ish 20s, but I have to say that I disagree – though I would never tell her to her face because, let’s be honest, my mom is scary. The point is that these girls have been my friends from my early moments of twenty and though our lives have changed, I’d say we’re all pretty much the same.

Which is refreshing and comforting all at the same time.

**PS: Thanks for the app. recipes! They were delish.

Need a wedding planner?


Call Kirsten – she’s the best.

picture-23 Events

Revealed: The Internal Dialogue of a Half-Marathoner


8:42 AM*, Starting Line: Cold, cold, cold.

8:55 AM, Mile 1: STILL have random people one inch away from me. People, back off! Can’t you see I’m trying to run 13 miles here?!? Worry, worry. Can’t seem to be able to set a steady pace.

9:15 AM, Mile 3: “I Tried” by -yes- Bone, Thugs -N- Harmony comes on. Adopt this as personal motto for race. “Let me explain that I’m just a black man…” Wait, not that part. “I tried so hard…” – there it is.

9:35 AM, Mile 5: Runners around me begin to spread out. FINALLY. Breathe, calm down. Springsteen’s “Born to Run” comes on. Predictable, I know.

Friend of friend who regularly appears next to me in races is again running at same pace. Do I say something? What if by saying something I use more energy and can’t make it? Oh, you’ll be fine. (Look in her direction) No, she’s concentrating. She’s way into this. Crap, I need to get more into this.

9:55 AM, Mile 7: Hills approaching. Pink’s (I REFUSE to substitute the “i” for an exclamation point. Who does that?) “So What” blaring. Pair of killer inclines in sight. Apply hill strategy: music at full volume, go tippy-toe, back straight, stare at the ground, BREATHE.

10:05 AM, Mile 8: I AM a rock star! I DO have rock moves! I’m 8 miles in already?!? (Immediate swelling of head)

10:10 AM, Mile 8.5: Pull out candy stash stuffed in sports bra, pop some jelly beans. Stick hand down shirt to shove back in. Guy next to me shakes head and laughs. What do you think YOU’RE looking at? Stuffing things in a private-part area is personal business, SIR! Avert your eyes!

10:15 AM, Mile 9: Celebrated too soon. Slowly feel the dying move up my legs. Okay, I know family and cameras are coming soon. Look in control, look perky.

10:18 AM, Mile 9ish: Shit. Shitshitshit. Ignore the fatigue. Ignore. Ignore!

10:25 AM, Mile 10: Smile and wave to cameras of other people’s families on the left, turn to the right and see my family, try to communicate casually via eyebrows and lips that someone needs to fake a heart attack IMMEDIATELY so I have a damn good reason to stop. Please- can’t someone just drop dead so I can quit this thing?

10:35 AM, Mile 11: Maybe I’ll just walk. NO! You didn’t train this hard to walk! Wuss! (Become angry with and criticize self until it is a certainty that I will not stop.) Slow WAY down to a walkish jog.

10:38 AM, Still Mile 11: Plan! Continue walkish jog until mile 12 to conserve energy!! Brilliant! MUST cross finish line running looking bad ass!

10:40 AM, Almost to Mile 12: Miley Cyrus, “See You Again” on the iPod. Sing loud and unabashedly. MUST be delirious to admit so publicly that I’m listening to Miley Cyrus.

10:45 AM, Mile 12: End-is-near, I-think-I’ve-made-it, out-of-body-experience time. Standard closer is on: DJ Khaled’s “Out Here Grindin’.”  Run faster. One more hill? You’re going DOWN, stupid bleeping hill.

10:55 AM, Finish Line: Ache, ache, ache. What? You want me to BEND DOWN to untie the chip? “How was the race?” says sadistic Chip-Taker-Girl. “It almost killed me,” with deadpan expression. (Awkward Laugh from Chip-Taker-Girl.)


Congrats to my running friends! We did it!

*Times are estimates. I finished in something like 2:13ish so I applied fuzzy math to that number and what resulted is listed above. Mileage may or may not also be off. In other words, the only thing precise about this is that only crazy people run for enjoyment.

New BFFs


Sounds like:

“Look, they’re chasing!”

“Aren’t they cute?”

“Errr, that’s not, like, real fighting, right?”

“Crap. Did Iris just pee again?”

Rhymes with:

Muppies & Mizza

That’s right, it was a ….

PUPPIES & PIZZA night!!!!

H-O-L-L-A to Kirsten and Husband for the large amount of slack with our less-than-perfectly-trained (alright, she struggles) puppy.

TBWSRN and I couldn’t be happier because after a night of this:

we have enjoyed a relaxing day of this:

Followed by this:

And I also just have to post this because it’s cute:

Sorry. I’m done now.