A Bird Flew Into My Window Today

So, a bird just flew into my window.

The scene of the incident.

It was one of those moments that if you’re alone, you just sit and look around the room doing that “Did anyone else just see that?!” thing,  then immediately feel unsatisfied because the inanimate objects you’re looking to for confirmation aren’t responding.

So, I had to blog about how a bird just flew into my window.

I was writing a really profound piece of literature while simultaneously learning how to play the violin—you know, really productive stuff that’s not at all just sitting on the couch watching re-runs of The Office—when out of my peripheral vision I saw dark feathers ruffle past the window. As soon as I turned, I heard a thump, and then the bird was gone.

I live on the seventh floor which means my exterior windows are like, never washed, so the fact that a bird accidentally flew into it sort of astonishes me. I had that stunned, delayed, and illogical reaction that caused me to get up minutes after it happened and look out the window. As if the bird would be hanging onto my ledge by its wing, hiding.

But, nope. It was gone. And all I could think about is what if the window had been open and the bird flew into my apartment? Would I have died? Would the newspaper headline try to cleverly reference Hitchcock’s “The Birds”? Or would the bird have become a fun pet that ties ribbons in my hair and listens to me sing Huey Lewis and The News songs to myself when no one’s around?

Guess we’ll never know. 

Lists & Catfish

Note: I actually wrote this post a while ago, posted it, re-read it and wanted to edit it, reverted it back to a draft, and then likely fell asleep and never came back to it. After sitting in front of a blank document for about 20 minutes tonight, I decided to just tweak this entry and post it. Here's to blogging again! I promise I'm trying, so just stay with me here.

I haven’t really been inspired to write, which is the worst feeling ever. So I thought to trigger something, or at the very least, keep me writing, I’m going to start posting about things I’m into right now. Sort of like an ongoing list because list making is my favorite and my self-indulgence tells me everyone would love to know what I’m interested in.

So, here goes.

Catfish: The TV Show

I wasn't really watching MTV anymore. And when I say wasn't really, I mean never. I’m not even mildly interested in their television programming, which is saying a lot because I watch some seriously stupid stuff sometimes. But this show, (which, thanks, Kacie for introducing me to it!) is so addictive. If you don’t know, it’s based off of a documentary by the same name.

Breakdown “Catfish” the cute, sweet guy Nev was the subject of a documentary by the same name a few years ago. He fell for some girl online who happened to be absolutely not who she said she was. It's a really good movie--go watch it. But now Nev is helping other people meet their online loves to see if they’re legit. ~~SpOiLeR AlErT~~ (I think it’s a requirement that you write it like that) they’re almost never legit. I don’t understand this.

Maybe I’m just super paranoid (I know I possess this really cute personality quirk that makes me assume everyone is guilty until proven innocent) but I would never trust some random person in Nebraska who adds me on Facebook. No matter if this guy is like a Ryan Gosling with a Joseph Gordon Levitt charm and a Caleb Followill sense of style kind of guy who somehow became a millionaire by saving stray animals. In fact, I’d be DOUBLY suspicious then. Like, um, why are you messaging me, of all people?  I’m just some girl who lives in some town that has to be identified by the cities it’s sandwiched between. Not to knock myself, but I know Dexter Banks, the model/jetsetter/millionaire who lives in Nebraska and has no access to a webchat device (but he’s a millionaire) probably wouldn’t be into me.

Why do none of these people see this? And I know I’m sounding really cynical and harsh, but understand that while I’m watching these shows, I’m like, actually into it. Not even in an ironic way. I’m invested in these people and I always want Banks the business mogul with a six-pack, to be the real deal.

I mean, thanks to “Catfish,” I pretty much think anyone I don’t know on the Internet is the exact opposite of the image they’re putting out there of themselves. And we all know a heightened sense of paranoia is great addition to anyone’s TV lineup. Can't wait for season 2.

I Can't Believe I'm Awake Right Now

There’s this really disturbing alley/club thing that I don’t totally understand within earshot of my apartment building. Every Friday and Saturday night, this phantom club that pops up on weekends yet is completely invisible during the day (seriously, I always look for it, but I’m met with a suspiciously small, literal gross alley way with the club’s name above it) plays aggressively loud music in between muffled sounds of a DJ shouting random things at club goers.  (Which, by the way, no thanks. I’m not a club person, but I can’t imagine that someone telling you to “Hype up the party!” actually energizes you into having a great time.) A few minutes ago, Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” was blaring through the streets, up seven flights of stairs, and into my little living room.

For some reason, I felt the need to go look out my window. I mean, what I was looking at, I’m not sure (sounds can’t really be seen) but it didn’t stop me from prying the blinds apart long enough to peek in the direction of Journey (maybe the music was coming from John Cusack’s boom box in a sweet attempt to motivate me?), then realize how creepy peeking through blinds is. (It’s super creepy. There’s nothing wrong with looking out an open window—it’s so artsy and transcendent—but when you add closed blinds, you take a turn for the weirdo.)

So, I decided to sit down and write. About nothing, as usual.

This week has been pretty uneventful. I felt a blur of days that I couldn’t completely differentiate swirl past me and suddenly, it was Friday and the week was over. I really hate when that happens. I’m not one of those awful “Seize the day!” people who make you feel incredibly insignificant in comparison to all these awesome things they’re constantly doing (think of that friend you have on Facebook who you don’t even really know that well outside of that one class you took freshman year. Why’s that jerk always rock climbing or canoeing or landing great jobs that are not even really jobs, but legit careers?) but I’m also not one to be content to have not done anything slightly productive over the extent of  several days.

The only thing I did that was at all impressive (and by impressive I mean I wasn’t watching Seinfeld re-runs while simultaneously watching Youtube videos) was that I went running (okay, briskly walking/kind of feigning a jog) last night around a lake I thought would’ve had much more lighting than I was actually met with. I blame the creepy, murderously dim areas of the trail for why I couldn’t really run much. I can’t risk tripping in the darkness and making things easier on the psychopaths who just love attacking young women jogging (okay, briskly walking).

Despite my dramatic assumption that I was uncomfortably close to becoming the topic of a Lifetime movie, my walk made me feel accomplished. And not even because I somehow benefitted physically from it, but just being outside made me feel better. That's a weirdly simple realization to make, but it's true. I forgot how much I enjoy breezes and water and nature and not being inside getting untanned by fluorescent office lighting. I really, really hope it starts getting lighter out sooner--I want to actually start running and it not be because I’m afraid some shadow creep is chasing me.

And on that note, the alley club is playing “Super Freak” and it’s really super loud. Like, it’s really loud.  For real, you guys. No one should have to endure this.

This Is Kind Of Like A Food Blog, But Not Really At All Like One

A riveting photo of the random items in my fridge right now.

I decided at the beginning of the week to not buy groceries until Saturday. Part of this was due to the fact I don't get paid until Friday, but the larger reason was how insanely inconvenient purchasing groceries is for me. It's like an eye roll and a huge sigh all at once every time I reach for the shopping cart.

A few reasons for this:

1. I make a list every time but then don't reference the list once I'm in the store. Don't ask why I do this. I have this obsessive-compulsive, idiosyncratic desire to write down each and every item the slightest whim brings to my mind, but once I'm actually inside the store I get so flustered, I don't even want any extra garbage getting in my way. Suddenly, I'm like, "Fuck this list and all the pressure it brings! I need to go with the flow and just find things the natural way!" So, here's my first problem.

2. People always want to look at the exact same thing I want to look at. Oh, that really off brand of crackers that no one else has ever heard of but that I read about in a newsletter from Whole Foods, and Publix somehow carries? Oh yeah, that lady over there wants to look at them for a minimum of an hour at the same exact time I inch my way toward the shelf. I could always say, "Excuse me" but then again I assume everyone should understand that my quiet, polite mannerisms translate to, "SCRAM, RUDE LADY!" (Yeah, I just said scram. Deal with it.)

3. I almost never buy based on meals. Again, this may harken back to the list debacle since I'd have a better shot at getting meal-conducive items if I didn't feel like a single sheet of paper was such an incredible burden to pull out of my purse, but I hardly ever purchase items that make sense for a meal. Oh, hummus and peanut butter and sun-dried tomatoes? Gotta have all that! Not sure what to do once I actually want to, you know, eat.

4. I get distracted by gimmicks. Wait, Triscuit crackers are buy one get one free? Better buy, like, four boxes since I will probably be entertaining a lot of people in the future and crackers are always a hit, I guess. Or something. (And I always regret that I've purchased things I usually don't even want in such large quantities that don't make sense to my lifestyle.)

So, knowing all that, I procrastinated and as a result, this entire week I've had a skeletal selection of food. Last night, for instance, I finished some cottage cheese and hummus with the last of the oddly abundant Triscuit crackers I'd been hoarding since November. For breakfast, I had a weird egg wrap featuring leftover sweet potato fries (can't waste money!) that I threw away after a few bites (okay, I guess you can!) And that's another thing, since realizing the incredible price of just existing, I feel like any food I bring into my apartment must be eaten. I will save the smallest amount of leftovers imaginable because, hey, I may want a bite-sized portion of an entree at a later date. (Does anyone else do this?)

But, tomorrow is Friday which means I'm one day closer to not making meals that could possibly be featured on an episode of "Diners, Drive-Ins, & Dives."**

And I have a pretty long list written out, too. Wish me luck.

**Although, one night, I did use up the rest of my arugula and spinach and basically felt like writing a cookbook after I created my own brown rice recipe with it. Totally sounds fancy, right? I was so close to photographing it for Facebook, I swear to God.

Being A Size Smug

If you’re friends with me on Facebook (and let’s face it, most of you are. I blog under no illusion that I’ve reached a status that doesn’t require solicitation on my part via the social networking site. Unless you count the random views I get from international readers—which I do count. Every day to boost my already weirdly inflated yet extremely fragile ego) you know I was starting an exercise regimen last night.

Despite being temporarily derailed by a multitude of distractions that included requesting catalogs for various department stores online and a labor-intensive, healthy meal (which, by the way, was a little too healthy. I ate a few bites and felt overwhelming dissatisfaction and thought, maybe that’s how insanely healthy eating works—you starve from unhappiness because your food is weird) I actually got up and completed 20 minutes of cardio.

And now I’m waiting on a call from NBC to cast me as the next trainer for "The Biggest Loser" since I’m a fitness expert.

I won’t tell you what I’m doing because I’m kind of embarrassed by the cheesiness of it, but it’s a DVD fitness series thing that I specifically requested for Christmas (and no, it’s not Flirty Girl Fitness. I have some self-respect).  It’s insane that even in my living room, with the blinds shut and the volume down low enough so my neighbors can’t hear, how insecure I am about the fact I own fitness DVDs. Like it’s some weird thing I have to keep hidden under beds or in underwear drawers.

Despite my irrational fear of people knowing I work out to high-energy videos that feature pop hits from Britney Spears and P!nk, I will try and do this everyday. And it’s not for some noble reason like wanting to be a “size healthier” (looking at you, bullshit weight loss commercials. What does that even mean?) but because I want to lose actual pounds. You know, the kind that when you add them up makes it possible for you to buy a pair of jeans from Abercrombie & Fitch. And hey, let’s talk about that store. I don’t think I’m some abnormally sized person ready for immobility, but yet Abercrombie refuses to offer sizes beyond size 9 in their stores. SIZE 9. So if you’re above that, then I guess you should just never see the light of day and consider your life a failure. And I honestly don’t even want a pair of their judgment jeans, I just want to be able to buy jeans there, but choose not to. Being able to smugly walk past their store (and probably have no one even notice) is the ultimate goal here.

So, yeah. Last night I started an exercise regimen.

Fancy For The New Year

I’m not a huge fan of New Year’s Eve. And this dislike hasn’t developed as a coping mechanism for the fact I’m shy and rarely ever attend any party I’m invited to. New Year’s has always been a strange celebration to me. I mean, technically, each day signifies a year’s over. Your birthday, for instance, means a year has gone by and you’re a year older. I just never understood the fascination with switching out your calendar.

But, I mean, I guess I get the appeal. It’s a definite date of renewal. On this date, the past is the past and I have a whole new year to do something with my life. It’s a pretty liberating mindset. And I do like the idea of having an excuse to start over and regain motivation.

One year, I will have a very fancy New Year’s Eve. If I do ever decide to celebrate it in some grand gesture such as staying up late enough to actually see the glow of the digitized 12 on my clock, I’d like it to be fancy. I’d like there to be lots of gold confetti and glamorous, sparkling dresses and guys wearing ties. And this music playing in the background.

Fancy for the New Year mini mix

1.     The New Year – Death Cab for Cutie

2.     My Dear Acquaintance (A Happy New Year) – Regina Spektor

3.     New Year’s Resolution – Otis Redding

4.     Io (This Time Around) – Helen Stellar

5.     Where to Begin – My Morning Jacket

6.     January Hymn – The Decemberists

7.     Auld Lang Syne – Various Artists

So maybe that’s my New Year’s resolution: to have fancy parties and throw gold confetti in the air more often.

What’s yours?

25 DofC Day 25: Writing You a Merry Christmas

Day 25

"Spirit of Christmas" by Ray Charles AKA my dad's favorite Christmas song.

Right now, I'm sitting here with my mom watching ABC Family's original movie, "The 12 Dates of Christmas." It has Zack Morris in it, which is pretty much all I need in a movie.

She's half asleep and my dad's avoiding this movie entirely--he's decided to take a shower then watch an episode or two of "Pawn Stars" in the back room. And then probably add another three or four episodes after he realizes I have "Holiday in Handcuffs" waiting in the wings. Later, we'll watch "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation" and he'll make some reference to which characters resemble our relatives most, and then I'll probably cry during the scene where Clark's watching old home movies in the attic while Ray Charles' "Spirit of Christmas" plays in the background.

But right now, I'm sitting here sort of bored.

So, I decided to blog. I really have no direction with this entry, but I think that's okay. It's kind of how I feel about the new year. No direction, just an unfocused desire to move forward and onward. I find myself saying, "We'll see" about a lot of things in my life. Job opportunities, guys, adopting a dog, whether or not I can successfully use this fancy new electronic wine opener my BFF, Ricky, gifted me. It's all uncertain, but, again I think that's okay.

I had a really nice Christmas. It's weird because I always get kind of depressed Christmas evening. It's this inexplicable cloud that hovers over me as the day ends and I can keep feeling the cloud deepen until I'm just sitting stone-faced thinking about the new year.

This year, like every other year since I can remember, I began to feel that way. So I started writing and surprisingly, things seemed better. I felt not so sad that the holidays were over.

What I'm trying to say is that writing brings me out of funks. It makes me feel better and stronger and powerful and more connected when I feel sad. Writing is what has brought me through so many things and because of it, I know whatever the new year has, I'll write through it.

Hope you guys will stick it out with me.

Merry Christmas, everyone. Thanks for reading :)