Happy Birthday, Angel!

It's my imaginary friend Angelique's birthday today!

According to Susan Miller, July will be a strong, powerful month for Cancers. Though, from what I know of you, dearest Angel, I would bet that EVERY month is strong and powerful for you.

Happy birthday, you fun, funny, fabulous, fantastic, fascinating, phenomenal, fine, first-class French flirt!

Have a wonderful day and may this year be better than the last!

Your husband is a very lucky man.

Dead sexy, too.

;p

Twelve

Twelve seems to be the number of the day. It’s the number of weeks until my birthday. It’s the number of personal training sessions I’ve had with Sharon and the number of upcoming sessions I just purchased.

It’s also the number of pounds I’ve lost.

I was very discouraged about my weight loss last week. I’d met my goal to lose ten pounds in time for my vacation and was floundering a bit without another goal mapped out.

I know that I’m doing everything right. I’m making healthy food choices and I’ve been dedicated to working out nearly every day. And I’m getting results. But it’s slooooooowwwww.

I don’t want to wait. I want to be all tight and firm NOW.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m much tighter and firmer than I was three months ago. I’m a size smaller than I was and I know that eventually I CAN make it down to my ultimate goal. But I don’t want “eventually.” I want it all and I want it now.

The funny thing is that the weight I’ve gained wasn’t a sudden thing. It was slow, too. A few extra pounds a year that could be shrugged off as “age.” So I never really addressed them. Sure, I’d hit the gym for a month or two prior to a vacation or a family function or a bridesmaid’s dress fitting. But mostly I just accepted it as part of life.

I mean, what did I care? I wasn’t dating. I didn’t have to worry about anyone actually seeing me naked.

And since I wasn’t really interested in opening my life and my heart to another person, my weight became a pretty good excuse not to date. “I can’t start dating until I look my best. I’ll get back out there once I’ve dropped a couple sizes.” Only I never actually DID anything to drop those couple sizes.

So. Now I’ve lost twelve pounds and I’ve committed to twelve more sessions with Sharon. I’ve still got a long way to go before I’d be 100% comfortable exposing my bits to the opposite sex, but I’m wondering if that really matters…

“Bless me”

I was in the ladies’ room at work the other day, washing my hands, when the woman in the second stall sneezed.

I didn’t say anything. Usually, when someone sneezes, I say “Gesundheit” which I prefer to “Bless you” because A) Four years of high school German and B) It wishes the sneezer good health which makes more sense to me than issuing God’s indulgence and C) I’m agnostic.

But I didn’t say anything. I really don’t like talking through stall doors. I make an exception when the Director and I are both in there at the same time, but as a rule, I don’t like to chat in the bathroom.

A moment later, the sneezer said, “Bless me.”

Huh.

Now, this could be a habit of hers. I don’t really know the woman. I’ve seen her around the office but we’ve never talked. But somehow, I doubt it. To me it seemed like a passive-aggressive little dig at me for not acknowledging her nasal excretions.

Whatever.

When I sneeze, I say, “Excuse me.” Even when I’m alone. Habit.

But “Bless me” ???

That’s fud up.

Nova....?

My imaginary friend Nova has a blog.

http://grumpyoldmanchicago.blogspot.com/

He hasn't updated it in like 2 weeks and being the obnoxious little brat that I am, I thought I'd use my own blog to call him out on it.

Hi, Nova!

;D

I can't speak for everyone else, but I check your blog every day. I look forward to hearing you crab-ass about a new topic each morning. I always get a chuckle or a smile or a frown of righteous indignation on your behalf.

UPDATE YOUR FRELLING BLOG, MAN!!!!

That is all.

Sweat

Men sweat.
Women perspire.
Ladies glisten.

Uh huh.

When I work out, I sweat. A lot. I sweat like an over-stuffed pig facing the Spanish Inquisition under a heat lamp.

It may not seem like a big revelation, exertion = sweat, right? But I know a lot of women who don’t. My mom is one of them. To be fair, I’ve rarely seen her really exert herself (except when I first moved to Chicago ten years ago and she and Dad helped cart my crap up to that third-floor apartment in Oak Park on the hottest day of the year – Thanks, you guys!!!! I love you!!!!)

There are a number of women in my office who go to the gym on their lunch breaks. I don’t know how they do it. There’s simply no possible way I could work out in my piddly little hour lunch break. If I didn’t sweat so much and didn’t need to shower and dry my hair and reapply makeup afterward, it might work, but that’s just never going to happen.

My dad sweats too. From his head, mostly. After working in the yard for an hour or so, he used to love to whip off his head band and hand it to one of us and say “Hold this,” and without realizing what it was, we’d take it. EWWW!!!! It was seriously gross.

The funny thing is that he mostly sweats from his head. I don’t know if he has more sweat glands in his scalp than normal people or if it’s just a German thing. And lucky me, I do it too. I’m not sure which obscure deity I pissed off to inherit that particular trait. I’m on the treadmill for less than five minutes before my scalp starts to itch. I’ve learned to appreciate the value of a good headband…

Luckily, my sweat smells like sun-kissed strawberries. (That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!)

Did You Still Want This....

My dad called me on Friday. He and Mom are having a garage sale. Again.

Dad: Hey! Did you want us to keep this glass for you?
Me: What?
Dad: We're having a garage sale.
Me: I know. What are you talking about?
Dad: This glass.
Me: (gritting my teeth) Which glass, Dad?
Dad: I found this glass in a box. It looks sort of like a beer mug and it has your intials on it. I think it's yours.
Me: If it has my initials on it, yes, it's probably mine. So?
Dad: Do you want it?
Me: (heaving a big sigh) I've told you before, Dad, anything left of mine that you find in your house you can feel free to get rid of. I'm not missing it, I'll never know. Except my clocks, don't sell my clocks.
Dad: What am I supposed to do with this glass?
Me: I don't care. Sell it.
Dad: Who's going to buy a glass that says "EEE" on it. Only you.
Me: (rolling my eyes) Then give it away to good will!
Dad: They're not going to want it either.
Me: Then throw it out, Dad. I really don't care.
Dad: You don't want it?
Me: No, Dad, I really don't. Can I talk to Mom now, please?

Geek Moment

I'm moderately geeky.

I've been known to quote Buffy and stay up late to watch Dr. Who and who doesn't love a nicely laid-out spreadsheet?

But not too long ago, during a meeting with a vendor, my colleagues and I were discussing a bizarre file-naming convention used by a previous vendor (all part of the previous vendor's plan to lock us into a proprietary system and force us to hire THEM again when the system needed updating)

Anyway, we were talking about the fact that there seems to be no rhyme nor reason to the naming convention (there are alpha-numeric file names for purely numeric records????) when someone says "I wonder if it's just hex?"

My first thought is "The game?" (There's a game similar to "Go" except that it's 11x11 instead of 14x14... gak! Geek!)

But they were talking about hexidecimal numbers - a base-16 system (0 to 9 plus A to F)

Immediately, half the room (all the old-school programmers) bent over their notebooks and started to scratch out the conversion, while a couple of others flipped on the conf room PC and opened the windows calculator.

Unfortunately, they couldn't get the calculator to take the first file name (001A43B0C) They couldn't even enter the numbers in.

My geek moment happened when I thought: "Can you have leading zeros in hex?"

Nope. You can't.

Map Envy

Ooooh....!

There's a fantastic map on the Des Moines Register's website. It's an aerial image (captured pre-flood) of the city overlayed with polygons for both the 100yr and 500yr flood plains.

It's an outstanding graphic and I'm a little jealous of it. SO cool.

The flooding, however, is so NOT cool.

Most scientists seem to agree that the damage done by these infrequent, periodic, massive floods is less than if there were more moderate and more frequent flooding.

I don't quite get it (not my area of study) but it kind of makes sense.

Breakdown

It was more than my heart that broke that day. Everything broke.

After driving non-stop for two days with a fellow grad student and knowing that I had only a couple hours left to call home to talk to my long-term Boyfriend before I got on a boat and would be incommunicado for nearly a week. I was thrilled when he answered the phone on the second ring.

Boy: Hey!
Me: (melting at the sound of his voice) Hi! How are you?
Boy: I'm all right. Where are you?
several minutes of inane conversation and then:
Me: Where have you been? I've been trying to reach you for two days!
Boy: Um… yeah… I decided to take the new car for a road trip
Me: Where'd you go?
Boy: (long pause) Kansas City

At this point, my heart started to pound painfully. It wasn't what he said, it was what he meant.

Me: Kansas City. You went to see Robin?
Boy: Um… Yeah.
I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the side of the phone booth.
Me: And…?
Boy: And… (was he crying?) God, I'm sorry!
Me: (silence)
Boy: Are you still there?
Me: (silence)
Boy: (desperately) Baby???
Me: I'm here
Several minutes of explanations, apologies, remorse
Me: I have to go (I never thought my own voice could be so cold)
Boy: We need to talk
Me: I have to go. The boat is loading.
Boy: I love you.
Me: (silence)
Boy: I love you. Do you still love me??? (he's crying freely now, but I am cold. Cold through every cell and sinew. Cold to the deepest depths of my soul)
Me: I love you too (oh, how I wish I could have lied and hung up then and there!)
Boy: Thank you! We'll fix this!
Me: I have to go.
Boy: Call me when you get there.
Me: Bye.

And if only that were the worst of it. I sat on that boat for nearly a week, trying to put on an unconcerned face for my colleagues, trying to feign interest in the remarkable seascape we were traversing. But something in me broke. And then, when I got to our destination, it broke some more.

I called the Boy, as promised, his roommate answered, the Boy wasn't home.

RM: Hey! How's your trip?
Me: It's OK. It's pretty here and there's a lot of work to do.
RM: How are you?
Me: Been better. I suppose you heard?
RM: Yeah.
Me: Maybe we can work through this. He swears it will never happen again.
RM: Um… There's something you need to know.
Me: What?
RM: It wasn't the first time.

I'd thought there was nothing left to break. But to discover that it had happened before, that he'd hidden it from me… It was one thing to have him make a mistake and own up to it immediately, but he'd kept this secret from me for months.

And if only it had ended there.

I took him back. We got engaged. We started to plan a wedding.

But that thing in me was still broken. I'd slapped some duct tape on it, painted over it with sunshine and flowers, smiled so hard my jaw nearly cracked. But the trust was gone. My brazen, joyous confidence was gone.

I never brought up his transgression, never held it over his head, read book after book about infidelity and self fulfillment, took up yoga and studied my ass off in school and worked my ass off some more at work.

But we were never quite the same. I was never quite the same.

It took years of off and on and back and forth before things finally ended.

He's married now with a child on the way. I'm happy for him. We're friends. I'm friendly with his wife.

And I've grown. I'm happy. I don't blame all men for the mistakes made by this one Boy years ago. I believe that most people are good and honest and kind. (Naïve, sure, but I can't bring myself to expect the worst of people)

But every once in while, something comes up that reminds me of that horrible, half-alive time in my life and my heart breaks all over again. Not for me or even the Boy, but for the carefree, sweet girl I once was and the pain she went through.


Sorry for the downer post. Things got dredged up today and I needed some keyboard-therapy.

See you on the flipside.

To Vespa Or Not To Vespa

I want a Vespa.

Actually, I want a Sky Blue Vespa LX.

I have a car. It's a 1995 Honda POS. I rarely drive it. I put 3000 miles a year on it – tops.

I drive to DM a few times a year and last time I used a rental because my car was STILL at the body shop recovering from the $1800 hit and run it suffered when I parked it near the El.

So, my next big idea is: Vespa!

Have you seen them??? They are TOO cute.

There are pros and cons, of course.

Pros:
Cheap. Though a new one is a wash with the price of my POS.
Fuel efficient: 70mpg
Did I mention they're cute???

Cons:
Weather. Hot in the summer. Cold in the winter. Rain ain't fun.
No long trips (even if it is legal on the expressway – I don't think it is – NO WAY!)
I won't be able to be the designated driver unless we're using someone else's car (This could be a pro)
Parking in the City is problematic. And winter?
Speed: it maxes out at about 35mph (which is fine in the city)

But did I mention it's CUTE!!!!

Anyway, it's just an idea..

In Case of Emergencies

The day my parents dropped me off at college, we got the car unloaded and my loft constructed in under 30 minutes. As we were leaving my room, we ran into a man in a suit, obviously taking an official tour.

Suit: Hi there. What do you do here?
Dad: (shaking hands) I’m getting rid of a freshman. What do you do here?
Suit: I’m Joe Blow, the new President of This University.
Dad: Well, I guess she’s your problem now, then.

After my parents left, I found a card in with my books. I opened it to find a condom and 35¢ taped inside with a note: “In case of emergencies. Love, Dad.”

Yep. That’s my dad.

He’s very smart, impatient, active, funny and fun. He has no patience with laziness, messiness, whining, or waiting.

He’s sweet, romantic, devoted, hard-working, argumentative, and INFURIATING. My mother is so lucky to have found such a wonderful husband, she’s also a SAINT for having put up with him for so many years.

It’s Father’s Day and while I spoke to him on the phone, I really wish I were there with him today and I hope he knows that I love him SO MUCH. We’ve definitely had our moments in the past but I’ll never be able to repay him for all the love and support, the laughter and the tears, and – yes – the money that he’s given me over the years.

I love you, Daddy! You’re the BEST! Happy Father’s Day!!!

A Flood of Support

Fifteen years ago we had the Great Flood of 1993.

I had spent the first part of the summer in Northern Minnesota where it rained constantly and the thermometer never quite made it over 73º. I made it home to Des Moines in mid-July, just in time to experience the worst flooding the midwest had seen in 150 years.

Many parts of Des Moines lost both water and electricity for nearly two weeks during this time. To make matters worse, it was a typical Iowa summer: hot and humid.

Ten years prior to this, my parents had built the home that they still live in now. At the time, my dad was adamant that we choose the highest lot in the subdivision and that no landscaping be done to level-off our property. The result is the world's worst driveway. The damn thing's got a 12% grade but is only as long as every other driveway in the world of suburbia. I once managed to get TWO cars stuck in snow drifts at the bottom of that driveway in the course of an hour, but that's a whole other story.

Anyway, for the first time since we'd moved there, my mother, siblings, and I had to acknowledge that our father may have been onto something in choosing that lot. While every other basement in a two mile radius suffered some degree of flooding, ours stayed high and dry.

We were also very lucky that our neighborhood never lost water or electricity. There was, of course, a conservation ban in place ("If it's brown, flush it down; If it's yellow, let it mellow!") but all in all, our family suffered very little.

My cousin Tom's wife Jane was about 20 months pregnant at this point and they lived in an area that had lost both water and electricity. My parents invited them to move in with us until the crisis was over.

But the thing I remember most about the Floods of '93 was July 12. The levee at the Water Works facility which supplied water to several western suburbs, was in danger of failing. So, my family and I drove over to the local mall and climbed into a big yellow school bus which shuttled us over to the Water Works, where we joined THOUSANDS (I tend to exaggerate, but I'm not now, some estimates put the numbers of volunteers that day over 30K) of others to sandbag.

I still get teary thinking about all those people coming together. People came from all over. It was truly a remarkable experience.

And now the midwest is flooding again. Cedar Rapids, Iowa City, and Ames are all under water. And just this morning I heard that the Riverwalk levee in Des Moines, near North High School, was breached.

My heart goes out to those who are suffering through this disaster and I wish them all the best during this tragedy.

Characters Behaving Badly

It drives me nuts when my characters get away from me. Half-way through my very first novel (during NaNoWriMo several years ago) my two main characters up and left the country before I knew what was going on.

People look at me funny when I tell them that I have no control over my own characters. I’m the one behind the keyboard, after all. But I get into a groove when I’m writing. Something almost trance-like happens when I really get going and the characters sometimes get away from me.

And it’s happened again. The main character of my urban fantasy story just up and did exactly what I didn’t want her to do. She had s-e-x. It’s totally PG-13, but still!!!! I didn’t want her to have sex. Not yet. Not in this story.

I blame Rational. He got me all worked up on the boards a couple days ago and on my commute home, I whipped out the laptop. One thing led to another and now my MC is a raging slutbag. Thanks, lover.

So now I have to decide if I’m going to bin the entire 600-word scene or run with it.

Hard Core

And you’re not hard core
Unless you live hard core

I am officially hard core.

Today I had a filling replaced without novocaine!!!

I was really *really* worried about getting this filling replaced today. (Thank you Angelique, Eneyer, Nova, Rational, Garth and everyone else who sent nice thoughts and fart-prayers my way!!!!)

The thing is, it wasn’t the drill or the evil little pokey bit (umm… it’s called a “probe” EEE) that had me all worked up.

It was the novocaine.

I was terrified of getting that shot. (I’ve never relished getting shots, but I like to think that I’m not a TOTAL baby!)

I somehow managed to convince myself that the moment the needle went in, I would rocket painfully off to La-La Land only to wake up weeks later on the Island of Lost Toys in some horrible persistent vegetative state with a wicked case of Bell’s Palsy. (I watch WAY too much “House”…)

Turns out my dentist was worried about the novocaine, too. He’d gotten some that didn’t have adrenalin in it, but he still didn’t want to use it if he didn’t have to. So he suggested doing the filling au naturale.

And I willingly agreed. Does it count as hard core if you do something out of sheer, mind-numbing terror of the alternative???

Chickensh!t

I have to go back to the dentist this afternoon. No big deal, just having a filling replaced.

So why am I scared sh!tless???

I've never had a problem with the dentist before. I actually LIKE having my teeth cleaned. But right now my tummy is doing somersaults. And not the happy kind.

Part of it, I know, is fear over my reaction to novocaine. Last time I nearly passed out when I got the shot. My heart started racing and I broke out in a cold sweat. I would have fainted if my doctor hadn't quickly tipped my seat back.

I know that it was just a reaction to the 2% adrenalin in the novocaine and I know that the doctor is getting me epi-free novocaine this time…. But I'm still scared and that's not like me.

I just keep picturing myself dying ignobly in the dentist's chair, a paper bib around my neck and drool trickling down my chin…

Back to Work

Ah, back to the daily grind.

I spent Monday doing laundry, unpacking, catching up on Topix, and digging my apartment out from under the three metric tons of cat hair that blew in over the past week. Yikes.

Yesterday I set foot in the gym for the first time in over a week. Granted, we did a lot (a LOT) of walking in California, but I ate like I was on vacation. So it was with no small amount of trepidation that I stepped onto the scale.

The verdict: I gained one pound. Not bad.

But it’s back to the “training” schedule for me.

I was a good little girl yesterday. Ate my yogurt and fruit for breakfast and my turkey and spinach on whole wheat with a pound and a half of veggies for lunch, took the stairs to use the restroom two floors up… all that.

And work.

Work was surprisingly bearable. There were, of course, the few minor fires to put out and the looming deadline, but I was pretty proactive this time around and left my lackeys with pretty detailed instructions.

Back to normal.

Home...

I'm happy to be home. I had fun on my trip and I love traveling, but I'm always happy to come home.

.

The trip home was... interesting. I parted ways with my family at the airport in California - they were going back to Des Moines via Dallas and I had a direct flight to Chicago.

.

Had.

.

It was cancelled due to weather.

.

When we found out, my mother got all nervous. "What are you going to do???" she asked, clearly concerned. "I'm going to have them rebook me and take the next available flight."

.

Despite all the trials of the day, I didn't let it bother me. Even when the only flight I could get routed me through Memphis (hey, I'd never been there!) and even when I got the full pat-down-bag-search (I must look shifty) and even when (after sitting in the Memphis airport for two hours) I finally boarded my flight to Chicago and the pilot came on the intercom to say "Welcome to Flight 123 with service to Kansas City..." I kept my spirits up and tried to laugh about it all.

.

And it really was all pretty amusing.

.

And the Gin tonics didn't hurt...

.

;p

Channeling Rational

OK. So I am not a neat freak. I live alone and I'm not accountable to anyone but me. I’m a decent enough housekeeper, but I don’t get my panties in a twist over a little clutter.

However.

I have been living in a hotel room with the female half of my family for nearly a week now and I’m close to losing my nut. We have a sort of pseudo-suite with two sleeping areas and a small sitting area, a kitchen bar, a patio, and one bathroom. In theory, there’s plenty of room for all of us to cohabitate comfortably.

My mother is fine. She’s lived with my father for 30+ years and has adapted her habits for living with a neatnik.

My sister and her spawn, however…. They drop their clothes on the floor and toss their shopping bags on the chairs and leave empty water bottles and soda cans all over. Argh!!!!

I’m trying to ignore it because, Hey! We’re on vacation!

And there are better things to think about. The 6yo has gotten on my nerves at times, but there's something magical about the look on a little kid's face when she sees a dolphin up close or watches a duck eat her leftover hotdog bun...

:)

Auntie EEE needs a cocktail

I’m on vacation. Yea!!!!

Um.

I’m on vacation with my mother, my sister and my six year old niece.

Um. Yea???

Leg 1: Chicago to Cali

The Cubs are playing in SoCal this week. I learned this when coworkers asked where I was going on vacation and they replied to my answer with “Oh! Are you going to a Cubs game?”

Have they not MET me?

The holding cell… er… the gate at O’Hare had a number of obvious Cubs fans waiting for our flight. Including one girl wearing that vile “Horry Kow” t-shirt.

When I arrived, my niece, who is cute as a button normally, was in the middle of a tantrum and managed, in fits and starts, to get steadily worse as the day wore on.

At one point, my sister told her “If you sit still and don’t say anything for five minutes, Aunt EEE will give you a dollar.”

I acted shocked, but in truth, I was perfectly comfortable with this. I’m more than willing to empty my wallet in the name of familial accord. I have been completely amenable to buying this child’s love since before she was born and let’s face it: she’s not MY kid. I can ruin her all I want.

That said, Auntie EEE has no patience for a child’s passive-aggressive games. If I’m going to bribe her into compliance, I’m going to hold her strictly to the rules and I’ll even add riders such as “each time you hit your mother/ mess with the window blind / kick the seat in front of you, I’m adding another minute to your time.”

Yeah. Unfortunately, she inherited the ornery gene from her mother. Needless to say that child is no richer than she was when she woke up this morning.

Which was obscenely early. They got up at 4:45am. This is normal for me and my saintly mother, but not for my sister and her adorable spawn.

By the time we got to our hotel (I’ll upload a pic from our patio when I get a chance) the child was ready to go over all Vesuvius. It all accumulated into the mother of all meltdowns and ended with all of us back in our hotel by 8 pm local time (10pm Chicago time), ready to crash.

I’m going to need more alcohol.

Accountability

So, you all know by now that I've been trying to lose weight. And succeeding, though at a glacial pace.

I honestly think I would have thrown in the towel by now if it weren't for my trainer, Sharon. She's not especially inspiring or perky (THANK GOD!!!!) and she hasn't told me much that I didn't already know. But she kicks my ass once a week and gives me something I don't have otherwise: accountability.

I think maybe it's a function of being a single, independent woman. Don't get me wrong, I love living alone. I love the peace and quiet. I love knowing that if there's a mess it's my own mess. I don't have to feel guilty about it and no one is going to harp on me to clean it up (oooh, I can just hear Rational gnashing his teeth!!!) Conversely, if I get the place sparkling clean (*snort*), there's no one to undo my hard work.

But the flipside of being independent and self-sufficient is that I'm not accountable to anyone else. Who am I hurting when I gain five pounds? Me. Not hurting anyone else. Just me. It's a victimless crime.

So, that's what I'm really paying Sharon for: a little accountability. She drags my ass onto the scale every friday, asks me what I've been eating, what sort of exercise I've done. She's not judgemental, but having to say it out loud is a good motivator for me.

And through her I've come to realize that the one person in the world that I SHOULD be accountable to is ME. And after I'm done working with Sharon, I'm the one who's going to have to hold myself accountable. I think it'll always be something I struggle with, but no one else is going to put me first. I have to do it.

So far, I've lost ten pounds in three months. Slow slow slow. And without Sharon, I probably would have quit weeks ago. But at my recent re-evaluation, I found I've GAINED six pounds of muscle. So I've actually lost SIXTEEN pounds of FAT.

Yea me!!! And an extra big YEA!!! to Sharon!

Christmas in F-ing July

I hate Hate HATE Christmas in July. Or June. Or March. Or September. Or any month that is not generally associated with the actual Christmas holiday.

Verizon has this obnoxious commercial that involves F-ing carolers. Carolers.

Every time it comes on, I dive for the remote, the "Mute!" ringing through my head. But by the time I manage to frantically, gropingly grab the clicker and hit the all-powerful "Mute" button, it's too late.

Far, far too late.

And for the rest of the night I have "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" bouncing around my brain.

Kill me. Kill me now.

Ten things I know but still need to learn

1. Adding a handful of spinach to a double Hungry-Man portion of shrimp fettuccini alfredo does not make it healthy.

2. Putting on my sweats and sports bra does not equate to “working out”

3. I am not always right

4. Orange is one of those colors that looks good on other people

5. Most people don’t like having their grammar corrected in conversation

6. Not everyone loves 80s music

7. Mustard stains

8. Cutting my own hair when I’m already late for work is never a good idea

9. I can not sing

10. I’m not cool, but I’m cool with that