25 DofC Day 5: List Making with She & Him

Day 5

"Christmas Wish" by She & Him

Figuring out what to write about tonight was difficult so I decided to make a list instead. It wasn't really that hard to talk myself into it because I'm really into list-making (I don't know, I just enjoy the satisfaction I get from bulleting bits of information in an easy-to-glance-at format--so what?) I have to admit that sometimes, like on days where I'm grocery list-making so furiously that I maybe write peanut butter twice without realizing it, I'll completely rewrite the list instead of simply crossing off the duplicate PB. Because I love it so much.

Yeah, that's how I chose to open this post. 

What I Want for Christmas

--Old Nancy Drew books (I've been trying to collect these but all I've managed to find is some weird Nancy Drew 80s series that was buried beneath Atkins' cookbooks at the Goodwill.)

--Moleskine journals. They're my favorite to carry in my purse.

--Prabal Gurung Cape from the Neiman Marcus for Target collection

--Disco Ballroom Skirt from Modcloth. This skirt is just begging to be worn on New Year's, right? Even if my New Year's plans don't go far beyond my couch and TV screen.

--A ukulele. And then lessons if you're offering. I mean, you should probably offer. It's Christmas.

Please feel free to forward this letter to Santa. And make it like a chain letter or something, so if he doesn't read till the end he's hexed for life.

25 DofC Day 4: How To Be The Awkward Girl At The Party

Day 4

“Get Down for the Holidays” by Jenny O.

If you’re lucky enough to find yourself on the “invited” side of a Facebook holiday event, and you fall into the outgoing and socially normal part of the pie chart (there’s no actual pie chart), this post will help you calm down and take your extrovert attitude down a little. I mean, to some people your charming and easy-to-talk-to personality may be repulsive, so how about you stop being so gross about it?

These are some (of maybe a continued series?) helpful tricks and tips I’ve composed from intense dedication to understanding the social complicacies of awkward girls. And really, the dedication isn’t that impressive. I just mainly thought really hard about my own reactions and labeled that as “field work.” By following these suggestions, even girls who get photographed at nightclubs to help draw patrons will be sitting in a corner finishing a New York Times crossword puzzle on their phone while everyone else is playing beer pong. And I’m not sure if people even play beer pong at nightclubs, which should further my credibility in this area of advice. Impressed yet?

(Also, feel free to press play on today’s song. It’s a soft-spoken, quirky song—perfect company for this post and aspiring soft-spoken, awkward girls.)

What to Wear To A Holiday Costume Party

It’s always best to wear something boxy or round. Basically the key is to forget trying to accentuate your shape, but trying to achieve a literal geometric shape instead. Think an M & M candy. Snowman. Using a refrigerator box to dress up like a wrapped present. If it’s difficult for you to fit through the door, you’ve got the look. You’ll notice that you’ll get a lot more compliments than normal because people feel so uncomfortable that they have to say something, but they can’t be honest because that’s ridiculous, so it will most always be, “Oh, you look so cute.” Sometimes cute actually means cute, but sometimes it just means things are weird.

You See A Cute Guy Across the Room Under The Mistletoe

Immediately shut down and ignore him while still being wildly aware of his presence. If you are forced to talk to him, speak in a barely audible mouse voice and end the conversation quickly before he has time to realize you're not really mysterious, just incapable of speaking coherently for any long period of time. If all those romantic comedies you’ve spent your Saturday nights watching teach you anything, it’s that playing hard to get is always how the cute guy notices you, so it's totally fine you abruptly (or is it mysteriously?) stop speaking and act disinterested. Just remember, after a comical storyline about your idiosyncrasies, things will work themselves out and end with him at your doorstep in the snow with flowers. It may take a few years, but don’t give up hope on that guy you made eye contact and gave your number to via telepathic communication—he’s your date for New Year’s 2019!

And that should suffice for now. Let me know if you need more advice--I'm here for you.

25 DofC Day 3: Cardigans & Clumsiness & The Worst Xmas Ever

Day 3

"That Was The Worst Christmas Ever!" by Sufjan Stevens

Today, my cardigan got caught on the handrail in front of my office’s door and I felt like a frazzled cartoon character when I was dramatically yanked back just as I was reaching for the handle.  What’s worse is that when you have an awkward, clumsy moment like that, you have to acknowledge it otherwise you end up looking even more foolish. Like when you trip or fall, the rule is you have to laugh extra loud so everyone knows the joke IS NOT on you because you’re creating the joke (as proven by the maniacal, obnoxious laughter tensely leaving your mouth.) So today, I laughed, you know, to myself and said, “Well, geez!” to the bushes. My cardigan will not make a fool out of me.

(Here’s the thing,)

Some days I’ll have really great, witty, profound things to write about and other days I’ll start the post with an uninteresting anecdote about cardigan problems.

This is already the issue I see arising in blogging everyday. But hopefully you’ll stay with me, here. Whoever you are, darling readers.

Today’s song really reminds me of college and studying in the library and the awkward moments I’d seem to find myself in daily. (The first one that comes to mind is when the elevator door literally smashed my hand and this guy had to pry it off me.)

 Scents of coffee tangled with old books—that’s what this song is to me. It’s tights with converse sneakers, headphones and scarves, creating study mixes instead of actually studying, and of course, cardigans and clumsiness. 

25 DofC Day 2: Learning How To Ice Skate With Ryan John Cusack Gosling

Day 2

“Just Like Christmas” by Low

I’d really like to learn how to ice skate this winter. My mom, in her attempts to be genuinely helpful, suggested that I take lessons at our local civic center.

Which would be totally fine if I was in grade school and okay with having a teenage instructor who’s getting paid in the form of community service hours. But considering I’m a teen-plus (thanks, Mindy Kaling for that phrase!) I of course choose to think in more practical, adult-like ways.

The rink of dreams.

I mean, the art of ice-skating should be taught by a cute, witty guy you met at a coffee shop and spontaneously decided to go ice-skating with. And because he’s cute and witty and non-creepy, you go with him and aren’t afraid he’s a sociopath who will kill you—you know, things stay light-hearted and fun.  And while you’re skating, you do that, “Oh, I’m gonna fall!” but you don’t because he catches you right before it happens and you guys laugh and laugh and somehow you look around and you’re in Central Park or something, which is weird because you were just in Florida. Oh, and today’s song is playing from the sky.

You look glamorous the entire time, even when you’re being awkward, and despite the inevitable misunderstanding some time during your “getting to know you” storyline (which involves some sort of road trip through wintery beauty), you guys eventually come back together.

My boyfriend. His glasses make him witty.

Probably at that very ice skating rink where you fell in love the day it teleported you to New York. And he’s holding a mitten or something and the skating rink is empty except for you guys, because that’s absolutely possible during the peak ice-skating season, and you’re holding the other mitten even though you’re not totally sure why, and the guy is a John Cusack circa “Say Anything” and Ryan Gosling wearing-quirky-eyeglasses, hybrid. 

And then there’s a boom box involved, of course. And from the boom box, the same song plays that played from the sky that first day. And over the sound of the song and the rain that is probably falling, Ryan John Cusack Gosling says, "Hey girl, this relationship is super weird and kind of impossible because, well, a lot of things just don't make sense, but I love you. Let's ice-skate to this song while the credits roll."

It’s a completely realistic moment that’s totally unique and your own, and not at all stolen from various scenes of “Serendipity,” “Say Anything,”  generic holiday Hallmark movies and Ryan Gosling memes.

And today’s song was there every step of the way. You see, that’s what I meant when I said I wanted to learn how to ice skate. 

25 DofC Day 1: Valley Winter Songs & Panic Attacks

Day 1

“Valley Winter Song” by Fountains of Wayne

I’m welcoming December with mixed emotions. I have the tendency to neurotically over analyze things and dissect situations until I’m completely paralyzed by elaborate, nonexistent, thematically-influenced possibilities that are “worst case scenarios as seen on CSI.” And I don’t even watch “CSI.” But the first two minutes I seem to always catch after watching re-runs of “Big Bang Theory” have managed to perpetuate this dramatic assumption that young girls who live on their own get stalked and attacked and murdered.

What a fun way to start my “25 Days of Christmas” countdown, right? But this is what you’ll be getting from me. I mean, not necessarily just gloomy, awful posts about murder, but If I blog every day, I can’t not write about what I’m feeling. And lately, it’s kind of nervous. My natural, initial fear of living alone has been heightened by other weird happenings, but fortunately for me, my best friend is not at all over sensitive or dramatic and was able to combine efforts with my parents to calm me down.

It was collectively decided that I have to toughen up. I have to put creeps in their place and I can’t be scared of the world. And if all else fails, my dad will kick their ass.  (I mean, I’m still their only child.)

So now that it’s awkward, I wanted to share one of my favorite, most soothing holiday tunes with you. Let’s balance out the weird venting session the first half of this blog served as.

If you can forgive Fountains of Wayne for “Stacy’s Mom” and “Pretty Fly For A White Guy” then you can remain open minded.  I don’t use the word  “cozy” to describe songs very often, but when I do it’s because it’s genuinely how it makes me feel. Every time I hear this song, I see winter. It’s simple, sweet, and familiar. The melody is calming and somehow seems like home, and what’s more necessary during the holiday season than that?

So before we get too deep into the madness that is Christmas, let’s take a second to welcome December properly. For me, it’s not hiding beneath my covers like a scared little girl.

Hello, December.  

(Okay, alright, I may be writing this right now from beneath covers, but it’s only because it’s chilly in here and has nothing at all to do with fear!)

I'm Thankful for Al Roker & Good Music

Oh, Al. You're my favorite.

One of my favorite things about Thanksgiving is watching Al Roker bumble around, frantically trying to dodge floats and giant balloons while Matt Lauer sits in some kind of VIP lounge. It’s not at all fair, yet Al is so entertaining and animated that it’s almost like watching an endearing cartoon character narrate the parade.

This year will be no different, I’m sure. And then afterward, I’ll watch the dog show and LOLz big time at all the dogs whose fur is so fluffy you can’t see their feet. I mean, it’s hilarious—they look like little roombas gliding across the floor.

All of this while my mother buzzes around in the kitchen and I stand outside of it like I’m still five years old, unsure of where to jump in at.

This Thanksgiving will be a quiet one for my family, which I’m appreciative of. I’m in the process of moving and working and trying not to be freaked out by creepy older men who have asked to help me move (I mean, come on old guys! Resist the urge to freak young women out) so to just be able to celebrate with my parents (and of course, at some point in the day, Tinkham) is nice.

To compliment the simple, quiet Thanksgiving I’ll be having, I’m yet again posting a Thanksgiving mix. I’ve posted this same mix for a few years, but it’s still my favorite and I hope it becomes your favorite, too.

Happy Thanksgiving, friends.

1. Great Pumpkin Waltz -- Vince Guaraldi Trio

2. Orange Colored Sky -- Nat King Cole

3. Sweet Potato Pie -- Ray Charles & James Taylor

4. Rock of Ages -- Ben Kweller

5. I've Got Plenty to be Thankful For -- Bing Crosby

6. Young Pilgrims -- The Shins

7. Mushaboom -- Feist

8. Shine on Harvest Moon -- Betty Carter

9. Thanksgiving Theme -- Vince Guaraldi Trio

10. Stuffy Turkey -- Thelonious Monk

The Tell-Tale Frog

Poe, impressed by my scary story.

It was all Hallow’s afternoon and despite the intentionally menacing way I started this sentence, it was actually not creepy out at all. The weather was pleasant, I was wearing a fun costume, and on my way to lunch with some of my favorite people. But don’t horrifying stories always start out semi-innocent?

Keep reading, if you dare.

As I open the door to the backseat of my vehicle, a lunatic frog maniacally lunges at me.

“Ahhh!” I scream, then jump back, because that’s what you do when frogs try to touch you. The frog, because it is a mentally deranged kind of frog, doesn’t jump out into the fresh air, but instead hops further into the car and under some cup holder compartment that’s impossible to see into.

Everyone decides that our hunger is enough to give us the courage to ride in what has become a mobile haunted house. There’s danger lurking somewhere in the shadows and you know it will jump out on your face and once this happens, you know you will crash the car and die.

This luckily doesn’t go down at lunch. The frog stays hidden. It is clearly just here to torture me.

So now I’m left alone to deal with the frog on my way home.  Once I get to my car later that afternoon, I fling open the door dramatically and stomp randomly around the vehicle.

But, it doesn’t come out. So I climb inside and shut the door, looking out the window pleadingly like people in horror movies who just entered some weirdo’s house and they know in their hearts life will never be the same for them.

Plagued with paranoia, the entire way home I think everything is the frog.

“OH MY GOD, WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT? WAS THAT THE FROG FLYING THROUGH THE AIR TOWARD MY FACE?!”

No. It was the reflection of a leaf blowing past the window in my peripheral vision.

“WHAT’S THAT RUSTLING? THE FUCKING FROG AND ITS FROG LEGS READY TO JUMP ON MY FACE?!”

No. It was my purse strap gently grazing my coffee thermos.

“WHAT’S THAT ON MY LEG?? THE FUCKING FROG AND ITS FROG FEET STURDYING ITS FROG BODY FOR WHEN IT LEAPS INTO THE AIR AND JUMPS ON MY FACE?!”

No. It was a Starbucks straw wrapper that got caught on my tights.

In my lunacy, my senses have been heightened to superhero levels.

I think about relaxing—maybe listen to some music because riding in silence is making me crazy--but I just know it will only be for the worst. There’s nothing more ridiculous than when you see someone in horror movies acting carefree one second then screaming psychotically the next. I imagine it:

“La la la singing along to my favorite song, la la la, OH MY GOD THERE’S A FUCKING FROG ON MY FACE AHHH I’M SO GROSSED OUT AND I CAN’T PAY ATTENTION TO THE ROAD!! I KNEW I SHOULDN’T HAVE RELAXED! FROGS ARE SO WEIRD!”

But none of that happens. I make it home alive and feel confident the frog will die overnight. I do not feel guilty about this, since the frog has chosen this fate.

THE NEXT DAY (AKA, TODAY)

After work, my coworker Jennifer offers to see if she can get the frog out since there was no sight of it all day. She is not a baby like me. I assume this will just be a mission to find the frog’s remains and then lay them to rest in the office’s shrubbery.

Until…

“Oh, there he is! He’s a squirmy one,” I hear Jennifer say as she crawls half way into the backseat.

UH, WHAT?

It’s alive. And I catch a glimpse of its weird pale, gross, weak but still alive, zombie looking self for a second before it leaps under the passenger seat. I scream and start giggling like a kid who’s scared but then also sort of excited by the prospect of adventure. I run around to the passenger side with Jennifer and while she’s peering into the backseat, I look under the front.

And there it is, staring at me. At my face. Like he wants to jump on it. For a moment, I’m almost sad and just wish he would jump out and be free. But then he moves a little and it’s “death to the frog” again.

“Jennifer!” I yell and jump back because, again, that’s what you do when frogs try to touch you.

She runs to the front, but the frog has disappeared. This time, under the floorboard.

She can’t reach it at all and it looks like it seriously can't get out. So I turn to Jennifer and say goodbye and climb into my car. It is hopeless.

I didn’t want the frog to die from starvation because it was trapped—I just wanted it to never jump on my face.

As I'm driving, I think I hear the frog under the floor trying to get out. It’s scary and sad and horrifying.

I get home and hurry into the house. And even here, from my desk, I can still hear the faint whisper of a frog with its frog legs trying to get out and jump on my face. The thumping against the floorboard seems to syncopate in time with the flicker of candlelight near the windowsill. A dog howls in the distance and I realize I will forever be haunted by the events of this autumnal afternoon. I shiver and wrap my shawl tightly around my shoulders, then blow the candle out. A second before the room goes dark, I see the reflection of a frog’s—this frog’s—haunting gaze. I jump back, startled, and when I light the candle again all I see is the frosted windowpane.

(Not really, but that seemed like an appropriate way to wrap this story up. But seriously, let’s hope he finds out how to vacate the vehicle tonight. Or sadly, just dies.)