Late to the Party

Please be warned: if you use your college degree to legitimize arguments, some day you will be working with a high school student whose degree is not yet earned, and you will get into a debate about the definition of a word.
You will be wrong. Inflammable does not mean what you think it means.

You may later use this information to make other adults feel stupid. It will be totally worth it. Especially in public.

For His Maybe Trip to Tanzania

Matt's learning Swahili from this guy. At first I was all, "Wow. I wish somebody could just explain Swahili to me clearly. I mean what is it really?" And then I just read the helpful introduction:

First of all, is it “Swahili” or “Kiswahili”? It’s both! It’s “Swahili” if you say it in English, and “Kiswahili” if you say it in Swahili. The following example will make it more clear. The language spoken in France is “French” in English, “Francais” in French, and “Kifaransa” in Swahili. Calling the language spoken in Tanzania, “Kiswahili”, while speaking in English is like calling the language spoken in France, “Francais”, while speaking in Swahili instead of “Kifaransa”.

Funfetti In Your Glass

Obvious Resolutions:

• take hip hop classes
  
• be even more awesome than previous year (subjective, attainable)
  
• eat healthier (perfectly aspecific)
  
• not dish it if I can't take it (vague)
  
• get my business in order (nebulous)
  

Less Obvious Resolutions

• not find naked strangers in my bed when I return home after being out celebrating New Year's at Nate and Jill's house.
  
• stop answering the question "how are you?" with "fine" (even if it's true)
  
• adopt a passable Bostonian accent
  

Too Thousand Ate My Cupcakes. That Bastard.

Putting the "give me awesome shit" back in Christmas: Santa Matt brought me a MacBook and Santa Mom brought me a sewing machine because she wants me to be connected and domestically inclined. We made the yearly pilgrimage to Ohio where this year's quotable quote was "I'm going to get drunk tonight!" Perhaps you remember last year's? "You're !@$^ing dead." We love each other.
In non-religious greetings, Happy New Year all. Let's listen to Jesus songs Ryan Seacrest count 'em down.
To celebrate, I'll continue wearing the same outfit I've been wearing for the last three days. The Ohio Thrift Store was a GOLD MINE of sweaters and t-shirts. And! Plus! Half-off everything.
Carly thinks I look beastly and will thusly not take a photograph. You'll just have to imagine until we meet in the parking lot of Walgreens.

Hey Dexy, Why Don't You and Your Midnight Runners Shut the !@#$ Up?

Too loud. Too much 80s throwback music.
It's the week before Winter Break and everything's getting a leeeeeetle screechy for these precious ears. So I covered up the loudspeaker in my office with a t-shirt and some packing tape.

I Think It's A Cop-Out

"What are you doing to make the world a better place today?"
"Hi, Tom. Taking senior pictures for students who can't afford them."
"That's a good one."
"What are you doing?"
"Asking people what they're doing to make the world a better place."

I Prefer The Ravioli

Being sick in public causes me serious anxiety. I spend all of church trying to plan a gracious decline for the greeting of peace. Do I hold up my used tissue? Er...hi. Um. Peace. Don't touch me.
My weekend was all about convalescing, my only friends: hot water and fudge. (They're sick now, too.) Came back to work on Monday all craggy-voiced with a totally legit reason for missing the Sunday afternoon Holiday Party. Yessssss.
Tidbits:

• There is a slut outside my window: Hoar frost!
• Only now regaining my sense of smell, simultaneously discovering that any frozen lunch option purporting to be Santa Fe inspired may get you banned from the communal microwave.
• Read my first comic book last night by the light of a minivan on my way to Hinckley to perform for a company called Airgas. You will never guess what they sell. Oh. You did. Well done, you.
• Design blogs give me a reason to go on with this crazy relationship I call Internet Use.
  

A Thing or Two About DayQuil

I'm going to email Band of Horses and see if they want to make out. Because phhhhh. This song.
Excuse me as my face melts all over the desktop.
Do you ever have a day where you just want to be in the music so badly that you could just shove your hands into the computer to pull the songs out?

This week could have used more soup, and a flannel fitted sheet, and a hug from Isabel. Because look at that face. We've only been in the same place three times ever and I've known her since Summer 2003:
1. Nice, France. Villa de St. Exupery (now considerably fancier than when we were there.) We discover we are both theater nerds from Minnesota and decide we should journey together to Rome with a couple of other weirdos in tow. (Hi Keeler, Hi Hilary. Hilary loses her passport while we sleep. The perp gets caught by a plainclothes officer on the train and we spend the next 7 hours in Civitavecchia while Hilary tries to make a statement and the only English-speaking officer clacks it out on a typewriter.)
2. Minneapolis, MN. Bryant Lake Bowl. We discover that our theater nerdiness has brought us together and we are both acting in the same venue, different shows.
3. London, UK. This one was planned. $85 Starbucks. Brick Lane. $85 Curry.

My body is in shutdown mode now that our London adventure is over. It's all, "Hey everybody, take five. Go to the loo. Get something to drink. Shit. Did that kid just give her pink eye? Sully, send somebody up to the right ocular station to look at that. Page me if you need me."

Sometimes We Read, But Mostly We Just Giggle

This evening our bookclub (Sigh. Ok, get them all out now. Yep. Good one.) will assemble meals for this organization and then eat dinner at this organization. I've ordered us a limo to get from A to B, and they're giving us a discount on the price of transport TO HELL.
Quoting Anne:
I was assessing what to wear tonight, and thought:
1) Should I dress up or down to assemble charity meals?
2) Should I dress up or down to hit a swank restaurant?
3) Should I really hit a swank restaurant after assembling charity meals?

No Postage Necessary

Matt and I saw Glengarry Glen Ross last night with the illustrious Jonathan Pryce and this guy (so awesome) . I jabbed Matt's arm every time a misogynist idea/phrase/word cropped up in the dialogue. When we left he was sore from laughing and being poked.
Please also note that when I've had a pint of alcohol the words masochist and misogynist are interchangeable in my brain.
Much confusion on Matt's part.
We are home. And thanks to Dan's sciencey input, I am mostly germ-free, having peed in the (statistically cleanest) first stalls all around London's toilets.
Ben graciously hosted us for the rest of the week, while we had too much fun to sit down and write about it. Or remember it. (Moleskine! So handy! So still on my nightstand!)
The trip was a huge success.
If you expected a postcard, I apologize. The only one that got sent was for Matt's grandma. The rest you will get the next time I see you. It will say something like, "Hi. I'm standing right next to you. Ask me about my awesome trip. I will tell you about the Rothko room at the Tate Modern and the time I had to shove my nylons from my waistband into my purse."