a moment in my day

Last night Mindy Kaling said something that made me think about my dog, Ike.

She was talking to Jon Stewart on The Daily Show, and Jon Stewart asked her when she found time to sleep.

Mindy said, "I have this thing where I don't want to be sleeping because when I'm awake it's so much more fun than when I'm sleeping."

Besides making my heart just about burst because this fabulously normal girl who is just an admittedly awkward comedy geek is living her dream, Mindy's comment made me think about one of the reliably great moments of every single one of my mornings.

It happens just after I wake up (which is usually on the 8th rendition of my iPhone alarm playing Suit and Tie, which is intended to pump me up in the mornings and just isn't really getting the job done). As I drift into consciousness, my bed is shaking a little bit, and it always takes me a few groggy seconds to figure out why.

And then I remember that I have a 55 pound dog with a powerful tail on my bed, and he. is. excited. about. life.

Finally! We're awake! I like to imagine Ike is thinking. Everything is more fun when everyone's awake! Think of all the adventures we can have today! 

(of course, I usually narrate this made up thought process out loud, most likely making Y wish I would go back to sleep and stop conversing with our animal.)

Ike's enthusiasm inspires me every morning as I reach over to hit snooze for the ninth time, thinking that even Justin Timberlake isn't worth waking up for. But then I think, duh, yes he is WHY CAN'T I BE MORE LIKE MY DOG? I should be so happy to wake up every morning. Getting the chance to experience a new day is a privilege, dammit. 

And then I usually hit snooze again. But making me think between snoozes eight and nine? That's quite a feat, dog. Well done.

Anyway, I think we can all learn something from Mindy and Ike. For example: Best friend is a tier, not a person (Mindy). Run away from your poop as fast as possible  -- preferably in circles around the yard (Ike). Why waste time sleeping when you could be awake, experiencing life? (Mindy and Ike, separately, although I imagine they would collaborate well together)

space & hamburgers

Today's topic in the Blog Every Day in May Challenge: What is your greatest fear?

I hate to be ordinary, but I'm afraid of heights. 

I know I've been this way since I was 6, and had my birthday at a McDonald's in Holland. (We lived in Holland, I didn't get some fancy trip to Europe for my 6th birthday. Don't be ridiculous, I'm not Suri Cruise.)

 The theme of my party was space. And hamburgers.

The party room was on the third floor, but as you might expect from McDonald's employees, they went above and beyond. The staff convinced all of us 6 year olds that by going to the third floor, we weren't just going to the party room... we were going to SPACE.

Yeah, no. Five year old me was not having any of that. 

And neither is 28 year old me. I won't even go on a water slide.

(PS I'm also terrified of loud noises)

i write run-on sentences

today's prompt: what do you do?

writing a blog post in the Wicklow Mountains in Ireland

For today's topic, I started writing a list of all of the fascinating things I do, like press snooze eight times! or sing in my car! and then I thought, I just really wish I could go to sleep right now, and then I was all NO! JENNI IS COUNTING ON ME TO BLOG EVERY DAY IN MAY! and then I realized how pathetic I sounded, and then I thought, what is the point of this dumb challenge, and then I was like, NO, I must prove to myself that I can blog every day and then I got sad because I really, really wanted to go to sleep and then I thought to myself, SELF, you idiot, what were you doing for the last hour you were at work today? You were writing a blog post for your job, and in that blog post, you actually explained what it is that you do!

She was right (she being me). I had already completed today's prompt -- and gotten paid to do it, for that matter. As part of my job writing for a Jewish non profit, I post bi-weekly about being new to Minneapolis for a local Jewish blog. Here's a sneak peek of the post I wrote today:

---

I’ve had a little Russian boy on my mind for the past few weeks.

Let me explain: Part of my job is telling the stories of the people who benefit from our donors’ generous gifts. I’ve been able to tell a lot of inspiring stories in my nearly one year at Federation – stories of hope after disaster. Stories of eye-opening experiences. Stories of finding the strength to face another day.

I’m not going to lie, it’s a pretty cool job.

---

(want to know why I've been thinking about a little Russian boy? Click here.)

the sunday currently & being creepy

Today, Jenni's prompt was to show some love to a blog friend. 

To that I say, what exactly do you mean by friend?

Because this blogger that I'm loving right now, Fran, well, we're not friends per se. We have conversed on twitter and instagram -- is that what makes a friend these days? -- and we apparently share a love of the movie Center Stage (but, let's be honest, who doesn't love that movie and reference it as often as possible?). 

Fran is a flight attendant, and basically I'm asking if by friend, you mean someone that I don't know, but would chase through the largest airport maze possible (think Hartsfield-Jackson*) to say hi. 

I'm not going to post a picture of Fran, because that would just be creepy, so instead I'll post pictures of that time Ike and I went to the park to watch the planes.

I may or may not be extra alert in airports, hoping for a Fran sighting. 

(Okay, that's not true. I'm really looking for celebrities. I WILL see Justin Timberlake in the Memphis airport one day. **)

Anyway, Fran is funny in a way that you can tell she's not even trying, a talent I would love to have. She makes me laugh in every post and tweet -- even when she's trying to be serious. Also, I think we both understand the art of using caps to convey excitement. In this world of communication by typing, finding someone who has a compatible caps to non caps balance IS A HUGE DEAL, PEOPLE. 

...................

Well now that I've creeped Fran out to the point that she will never, ever blog again, I'm going to join my other friend (REAL friend, we've made pizza together) Lauren, whose blog I also adore, for the Sunday currently. If you need another link up after May is over and you realize you just can't blog without a prompt, this is one you don't want to miss:

reading Let's Explore Diabetes with Owls,  by David Sedaris. On deck: The Round House, Beautiful Ruins, In the Garden of Beasts, The World's Strongest Librarian, and I've secretly been dying to read this. Also, Curtis Sittenfeld has a new book coming out soon! I adored Prep and American Wife. 

writing every day in May. What's great about it is that usually the prompt will make me think of of two or three things, so I've got post ideas stockpiled for miles. 

listening to -- even though I feel like a giant cliche saying this -- the Great Gatsby soundtrack streaming on NPR's first listen. I CAN'T HELP IT, OKAY. I just want Baz Luhrmann to direct my life and create its soundtrack. That would be a really great contest, by the way, which I would totally enter: send Baz Luhrmann the story of your life, best one gets to have him create its soundtrack. If it ended up being The Elephant Love Medley over and over, I would be okay with that. 

thinking about how my best friend and I actually stood in front of Moulin Rouge and sang The Elephant Love Medley. I was that kind of tourist in Paris. See?

smelling granola. For some reason I decided to bake three kinds of granola yesterday. Don't tell me you've never had that kind of Saturday.

wishing that the state of Minnesota took their medical licenses just a bit more seriously. Y will CERTAINLY not be hanging this up in any office of his:

 hoping that I win that imaginary contest I just made up. 

wearing my favorite, softest shirt. 

loving the new addition to our bar. Our next door neighbors disassembled an old piano and put it out by the trash. We grabbed a piece and now we have ourselves a piano bar.

wanting to read outside on our new little setup. It's 39 degrees right now, but rumor has it we'll hit 70 today!

feeling grateful that my friend Sarah sent me this scarf she knit just in time for the TWO snowfalls we've had so far in May. They're over, though...right?!?!

clicking These blogs I found through Jenni's challenge: The Dirt Life, The Nectar Collective, Big Mario Life. Shay's video about Grey's Anatomy cracked me up. And this gif is my new favorite gif in the history of gifs. And as always, Lauren! Share your sunday currentlies over at siddathornton. 


*Fran, totally trying to impress you with my knowledge of airport names. 
**I don't know the official name of the Memphis airport, but it's gross so I don't think it deserves my knowledge.

if a girl looks swell when she meets you...

I've been thinking about this quote since I read Catcher in the Rye, which, admittedly, was only about two years ago. Holden Caulfield was all over the place, but when he spoke this line, I wanted to hug him. 

Because, you see, I cannot be on time. 

I try! I try so hard. But when I have a time that I need to be somewhere, no matter how early I start getting ready, approximately ten minutes before I need to leave things fall apart. It's like at that ten minute mark, the thought that I could, potentially, be late, sends me into a panic. My brain stops working. 

I walk out the door with nine minutes to spare only to realize that I forgot four out of the five things I need. 

Or I remember all five of the things I need, but in my panic place them in, I don't know, the oven, leaving me searching for them for an extra 20 minutes. 

Everything I put up falls down. Everything I touch breaks. Sometimes it feels like the universe is working against me to make me late, and I may or may not, on occasion,  have left my house crying in frustration.  

Since I know that I piss people off daily, it's nice to know that there's an alternate fictional universe where someone doesn't care if I'm a few minutes late.

They only problem is that after my tardiness-induced panic attack, I in no way look "swell". Unless, in J.D. Salinger's day, "swell" referred to girls who were sweaty, frazzled and covered in hives. Yes, let's go with that. 

sweat on the back of my knees and the kkk: things that make me uncomfortable

Well, now that I have experienced one of the longest Minnesota winters in recent history, I think I can safely say this: I prefer snow in May to heat and humidity in November.

When people asked why I wasn't worried about moving to Minneapolis, I shrugged. I like cold weather, I told them. (Then I went behind their back and made a really passive agressive video about them.) 

You'll see, they said.  You're going to wish you never left. You haven't experienced real winter.

Sure, I have!  I replied. One time I went to Chicago and wore a scarf and light jacket! AND, there is a photo of me as a baby building a snowman on my high chair in a freak Houston snowstorm.

They were right, of course. With the exception of three early childhood years in Holland, I was born and raised in Texas and Louisiana. Winter was a three-day stretch in December where the temperature dipped to 37 degrees.

But you know what? I just had a feeling I would be okay.

In Louisiana, my entire life I've dreaded spring, because I know that after spring comes summer and with it, the sticky feeling of being trapped in my own skin -- sweaty, pale skin that I don't think was ever meant to be exposed to sunlight. 

this is how I feel about heat. my bangs agree.

I can't explain why I can't stand the feel of sweat pooling on the backs of my knees, or sweaty curls stuck to the back of my neck, or the smell of hot pavement after a 90 degree rainstorm. I just know that by the end of a Louisiana June, most of the time I just want to curl up in a cool, dark corner for the next 4 months, when I can finally walk outside and feel a chill in the air. 

The point of my post: hot weather makes me uncomfortable.

You know what else makes me uncomfortable? When you're enjoying a nice lunch on a patio, and someone at your table -- who, in his defense, is not from this country and possibly isn't too familiar with American History -- decides to make a mask to entertain the child at the table who is quickly growing restless. 

celebrity baby names are important, right?

Last week, I started to register for a young professionals networking event, but I couldn't make it past question 3: tell us about something you are an expert in.

I thought about this for days, but as it turns out... I'm an expert in nothing. There are things I would like to be an expert in, sure: Cheese. American presidents. Wine. World War II. Middle Eastern politics. I read books and articles about these things. 

But ask anyone that knows me: my memory is, well, broken? Some would call it borderline creepy. 

I'll remember what color shirt you were wearing at that restaurant we went to on a random Tuesday, and I'll remember your cousin's ex girlfriend's name that you briefly mentioned -- by the way, how did she do in that marathon you told me she was running 2 months ago? -- but I have trouble remembering the plots of TV shows or the details of articles that I read. Sometimes I'll hear something fascinating on NPR, try to tell Y about it 5 minutes later, and realize I can't remember what I just heard. 

Thanks to this tendency to retain only incredibly useless information, the things on which I can call myself an expert are few and far between. 

But I think we can all agree that they are oh-so-important:

• The birthdays of all three Hanson brothers.
• U.S. state capitals.
• Celebrity baby names
• Plot details of all of the Baby Sitters' Club books
• The words to the rap at the end of Waterfalls by TLC (I seen a rainbow yesterday, but too many storms have come and gone leavin' no trace of not one god-given ray...)
• Mall directions (I always know where I am in a mall. Even the Mall of America. That's kind of impressive, right? Just say yes.)

I didn't go to that networking event -- I didn't even finish registering -- but I'll bet the people that did go have no idea who Kristy Thomas is, and why her great idea was so important.

Idiots.