Just Another Manic...Month

As you can see, it's Monday. it was a long week/weekend, and I am not able to synthesize all of what's been tangling in my head. So, you get a list. Forgive me.

Random thoughts by Colleen, in no particular order. That's why they call it random, people.

• Why do some guys just ask for phone numbers? And then not call? I'm going to dub them "digit junkies." And here I was thinking the hardest part was asking for the phone number. Apparently the hardest part is actually scrolling through the phone on Monday morning, assessing the damage, identifying the victim and pressing the green button. Yep, sounds pretty hard to me.


• That tryptophan stuff that they claim is what is in turkey that makes us tired really is pretty awesome. Why doesn't Nyquil just bottle that and sell it? It would rid the market of Ambien and all other sleep-disorder medications. I mean it. After Thanksgiving, I could barely keep my eyes open for an hour. The four glasses of wine had NOTHNG to do with it, swear.


• Is it normal that I'm a little disappointed to have slept through the first winter snowfall? I saw the remnants at 7 o'clock this morning, but it really is much prettier falling than it is when it is puddling by the curb waiting for me to step squarely into it. Trust me. Rubber boots season it is.


• Three nights in a row this weekend (starting Thursday, as if I was 24 again), I attended various holiday parties. However, unique to my (not 24) years, I hurt more today than I could imagine. I know what you're thinking - it wasn't the hangover. It was my legs. I danced so much Saturday night at a benefit event that I could hardly get out of my office chair. I feel like I ran a marathon. Barefoot. Getting old blows.


• I put up half of the Christmas decorations last night. I dreaded it all weekend, and then just had to bite the proverbial bullet and go upstairs to the storage room, drag the crap out of the caged space and lug it to my apartment. As I unwound the knots that are the Christmas lights, I plugged them in to test them (thanks, Dad, for that lesson, otherwise this story would have been even that much more frustrating). I wanted nothing more than to just get it all done, decorate the piddly six-foot tree that I have, and call it a day. Nope. Who wants to guess how many strands, of the four that I have, worked? Yep. Two. I'm batting .500 and as Christmas decorating goes, that's a lousy average. Off to CVS today to replace them. Now they're in the box right near me just taunting me. I think it is because decorating by yourself, for yourself, isn't as much fun as you'd think. I'll get it done eventually. Or, I'll pass out from the overwhelming smell of the 'holiday spice' candles that were on sale at CVS. Whichever comes first, frankly, is fine by me.


• I'd love to put a stop to it, but because my team at work is cramming as much pre-production work into the few remaining weeks before Christmas, we keep having conference calls at ungodly hours of the day. Specifically, in the wee hours of the morning. Today's began at 7:30, so it was conducted from my couch. You know why they call them the "wee" hours? Because that's how your voice sounds. Especially if you live alone, and haven't uttered a word until you dial in, and the entire crowd on the phone is witness to your raspy, small, pre-coffee voice. I couldn't get the Mr. Coffee to work fast enough to save my professional reputation. Next time? I'm singing scales in my kitchen while the pot brews.


• And, in another note from the "it's now winter" files, I lost a glove this weekend. Exiting a cab, I suspect. I am telling you. There's a cottage industry of gloves out there on the sidewalk, primed for the taking. I guess I took it off to pay the fare, and then placed it on my lap (in a safe place, obviously) and then exited the cab (curb side only!) and it fell to the ground. It wasn't until I was leaving the party that I realized I was a one-woman black-leather-glove tribute to our late Michael Jackson. Rats. Mom, can you add that to the Christmas list? Yes, this year. Again. Thanks.


• Jay Cutler and the Chicago Bears won one! It was during the day! And not on primetime TV! I am pretty sure that Jay Cutler's mom has sent him contacts. Maybe he needs a pair of night vision goggles for the rest of the season? Just in case? Yes, Jay. We're the ones in navy. Or white. Just look down first, and then throw to the guy wearing the same shirt as you. There you go, buddy.


• This weekend, I had the privilege of attending a fundraising event for Angleman Syndrome hosted in part by my friend Laura's co-worker's lovely wife. They have a young daughter that has it, and I really knew nothing about it prior to the evening. I was amazed to hear the stories of parents who suffer the trials and joys of having a child who has been diagnosed, often improperly at first, with the syndrome. Wikipedia (if you aren't feeling the link above) says this about the disorder: Angelman Syndrome (AS) is a neuro-genetic disorder characterized by intellectual and developmental delay, sleep disturbance, seizures, jerky movements especially hand-flapping, frequent laughter or smiling, and usually a happy demeanor. And happy they were. The few grown men that were seated at the table nearest ours were grinning, clapping and all-in-all just enjoying themselves. I grew teary, not listening to the parents talk about the uncertainty of the diagnosis, or fearing a seizure (while that is all terrible and sad in itself) but when I heard, and then realized, that the children with AS most often don't speak. Ever. The young men near us were likely in their mid-twenties. And were expressive, and happy, but communicating solely in gestures and looks. As a communicator, and one who relies on and treasures words and verbal expression, my heart just broke for their parents. Can you imagine never hearing the sound of your own son or daughter's voice? As they express themselves and tell you they love you? Neither could I. If you can, or want to, participate to help fund and find a cure, please visit the link and see how you can get involved. I'll step off my soapbox, because tears have once again made it hard for me to see.


• My condo building hallway smells like burgers. From the grill. In December. In a high-rise. Doesn't that seem unfair to a girl that is trying to eat healthy prior to the "it's winter and the clothes are puffy so you may as well pack on 12 extra pounds" season? I thought so, too. And, seriously. If that is off your George Foreman Grill, it is just rude, cruel and unusual not to share. I'll bring the ketchup?

That's all I've got. Sorry you waited a whole week for this one, but the brain's a bit mushy these days. And not just from the aforementioned work, turkey and wine.

Ok. Maybe the wine.

I've Got the Want To

Do you ever have the insatiable urge to do something totally wacky? Something that would startle others? Something that breaks all of the laws of etiquette, business or normal rational behavior?

I do.

This is a topic I used to discuss with my old roommate Shannon, as she often experienced (and sometimes acted upon) these urges.

Before you go calling me crazy, or signing me up for the next support group, let me clarify. Often these urges are as simple as telling jokes in a crowded, awkward elevator. It may even be as simple as having ice cream and chocolate sauce for dinner. Sometimes it can be to shove someone off the sidewalk for walking irritatingly slow in large herds.

However, I don't act on these urges.

My first experience with this type of thing was in church as a kid. It was so quiet in there during mass, so peaceful and serene. I just wanted to stand up on the wooden pew, raise my hands over my head and yell out something crazy. Since I grew up Catholic, and didn't belong to a very progressive church where they may look fondly on someone expressing their devotion in such a wild way, it would have been very strange. I wasn't even fighting the urge to speak in tongues—just to behave madly and cause a ruckus. My mother would have been mortified.

I wasn't even a rebel, or a kid who pushed the limits or even colored outside the lines, but these urges exist.

Still, today, I find myself hit with a sudden urge every now and then. To sing at the top of my lungs in the grocery store. To dance down the halls of my office. To skydive. To really tell a client what I think of them. To respond to passive agressive emails or text messages in a truthful, and harshly frank, real way. To glare back at the stranger who rudely stares you up and down. To drink champagne for breakfast. To drive 140 mph on the Edens. To pour water all over a stranger's head. To dye my hair dark brown. To buy a one-way plane ticket to Australia. To jump down onto the El tracks to see if they REALLY would electrocute you upon contact. To read my book aloud on the bus, with voices for each character. To cartwheel across the park lawn (ok, so I do that one every so often). To pick up and move back to my hometown. To approach the beautiful girl on the street and pay her a random compliment. To call in sick and just lay in bed watching bad TV all day. To get a tattoo just to say I did. To tell the obnoxious teenagers on Michigan Avenue what I really think about their outfits. And so on.

Am I fighting these urges because to act on them would make me a crazy person? Or are they really so fleeting that by the time my body catches up with my brain, I've moved on? Or, am I just too shy to be the totally wacky person that sometimes I want to be?

So, I pose the question to you, Internet. What do you have the urge to do, but don't?

If I'm the unkowing cause of a terrible movement of people acting irrationally, I am really sorry.

Fight the urge!

In a Little While

Sometimes you just have nothing new to share. No new story to tell, waving your arms animatedly as you dig up the most random details. No little joke, no tiny little funny event to lighten the day. And, to top it off, no one did anything too outrageous (this is a sliding scale, remember) on the bus today.

So, you post a Meme. I know, I know. It is a bit like playing the MASH game to see who you will marry and whether your home will be a mansion, apartment, shack or house, but I'm bored, and I'm going with it. Read on if you like.

Maybe it's telling?


MEME Rules:
1. Put your iTunes/ music player on shuffle
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER WHAT

IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OKAY” YOU SAY?
Closest (Look Out)—Matt Pond PA (maybe the look out part is a warning?)

WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
Three Margaritas—The Truth (isn't that hilarious?)

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY?
Amazing—Josh Kelly (okay...that works)

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
The Park—Feist (maybe it should read 'where would you rather be today?')

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE?
Crazy—Gnarls Barkley (at least that didn't come up for what I like in a guy)

WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
Thank You—The Calling (not a bad one for a polite Southern girl!)

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Stand—R.E.M. (maybe that I'll stand up for them? or stand for something?)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS?
All is Full of Love—Bjork (well that worked out nicely)

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
I Only Have Eyes for You—Jamie Cullum (hmmm...maybe I'm a romantic?)

WHAT IS 2+2?
When You Were Young—The Killers (ha! the math works!)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Pilgrims—Widespread Panic (seeing as I'm the girl that moved 1,000 miles away, maybe I AM the pilgrim?)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Cheap and Cheerful—The Kills (I swear this isn't rigged, and he's not cheap either)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Silver and Gold—U2 (well that can't be all bad!)

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
I Thought She Knew—N'Sync (I'm so embarrassed to have this on my iTunes, but it kindof worked out)

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Scientist Studies—Death Cab for Cutie (not sure this one works)

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Show Me What I'm Looking For—Carolina Liar (I thought I WAS?)

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Kathy's Song—Eva Cassidy (doubtful, wouldn't it be Colleen's Song?!?)

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Story of Your Bones—Jennifer Nettles (I swear to goodness that is what came up...spooky!)

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
I'm Tired Joey Boy—Van Morrison (yeah, not really)

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
She's For Free—Cary Pierce (I'm not for sale, thank you very much)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
(Nice to Meet You) Anyway—Gavin DeGraw (how funny!)

WHAT SHOULD YOU POST THIS AS?
In a Little While—U2 (how appropriate)

Thanks for indulging me. And, for not ridiculing me for having N'Sync's album in my archive.

Step One, Go to Trader Joe's

I keep getting praised for my newfound "cooking skills" now that I'm all homey and domestic and stuff.

Do I have to tell him that it doesn't really count as cooking if it was frozen ingredients opened, heated and served on a plate?

My argument against this revelation is multi-dimensional: the fruit salad was all raw (it was never in a frozen state) and I picked each ingredient out myself and put them together for just the right amount of zing and zip. I really did pay attention to having a nice well-balanced dish with plenty of color, just to distract from the aforementioned frozen ingredients. Each part of the meal involved opening a separate bag and using lots of different pots and pans and bowls. It took several different rounds of the kitchen timer to get it all done at the same time so we wouldn't go hungry while waiting for the rice to be ready. I bought and carried home the pieces and parts from the grocery store, including two bottles of red wine. Finally, and for the grand finale, I served the entire concoction on matching dishes with linen napkins and wine.

So, do I have to tell this sweet partner in my eating adventures that the above doesn't really qualify as cooking?

Yeah, I didn't think so either.

Jumbled Thoughts

I present you with a stream of consciousness list, rather than a story. This may be more telling than anything else anyway as to where my mind is today.

Why is it that you can be underwhelmed and overwhelmed, but never just whelmed?

I just saw a t-shirt at Nordstrom that says, "Internet killed the mix tape star." and found that to be a rather clever and modernized play on "Video killed the radio star." Though mix tapes were really dead when the recordable CD came along, now weren't they?

My sister hung out with Patrick Dempsey at the NASCAR races in Miami this weekend, and she says he's not only a nice man, he seems like a regular guy. With great hair and sparkly eyes. It is sad that it always comes as a shock to find out that a celebrity can actually be a kind human being. Why do we let the others get away with their sub-standard behavior?

I miss my friends from home. With all of the social networking sites around, I get to see updated photos and hear their news on a regular basis, but there is nothing quite like sitting around drinking some cheap wine and laughing about old times. The unique bond that comes from having known each other since we were in elementary school doesn't go away, and as the years tick on, and the milestones of life continue to pass by, the one constant is that we always have each other. That makes me feel all warm inside, kindof like a tequila shot, but without the hangover.

Marking projects/tasks off a to-do list probably shouldn't bring me such joy, but I can't help it. If I complete a weekend task that wasn't on the list, I add it, just so I can mark it off. It is a disease, I'm fairly certain.

Can't help but wish I'd named this blog something a little more general, and something that rolls off the tongue a bit better than this alliteration disaster I have. Wonder if it would be too much trouble to change it, and if not, what would be the right name?

How can the meterologists continue to flub on the forecast? Last night, at approximately 10 pm, on the local news they proudly and boldly proclaimed that it would be 66 and partly cloudy today. It is currently 45 and raining. Didn't they see that moving mass of rainy stuff on their fancy schmancy Doppler radars?

The Cubs have their first home opener at Wrigley today, and I must admit I'm not jealous of the dedicated fans who are sitting in their royal blue and white ponchos waiting out the rain delay. Although a kosher hot dog with grilled onions wouldn't hurt anyone.

Should this marketing thing not work out, I think I have a future in a barber shop. I was taught how to cut hair with the men's clippers this weekend, and surprisingly, was trusted to do so. I'm a beauty school star in the making.

I was disappointed in "The Darjeeling Limited" and despite Wes Anderson's direction, the movie fell flat for me. And, there was a snake in 3 scenes, which didn't help.

Gummy bears don't sit well on an empty stomach. Leftover movie candy is filling our work kitchen after the office's "snack and learn" showing of the documentary "Helvetica" on Friday. It is torture to walk by, and the gummy bears just seem to keep following me back to my office. If I shut my door they may just stay outside. Until I open it, save them from their lonely existence and send them to their doom. In my aching stomach.

And, there are 62 days left until I go to Costa Rica. It sounds like less time when you count it in days, I assure you. I've tried both ways. The "turn the page on the calendar day" always feels like an accomplishment.

Go on. Turn the month page a day early. You rebel you.