St. Augustine wrote his "Confessions" in 398 AD. A few years later, so did Usher. Today I'm joining the club. Yup, it's about to get real up in here.
1.) What I say: I try to eat healthy foods and exercise regularly.
Confession:
I only buy rice cakes so I can cover them in Nutella. I started jogging because I like buying colorful shorts in Target. And I can eat more Reese's peanut butter cups in one sitting than anybody I know. Try me.
2.) What I say: I have a funky, varied taste in music - all different eras, languages, styles. I enjoy the fact that a lot of bands on my iPod aren't very well known and that most have not graced the cover of Tiger Beat.
Confession:
I cannot get enough of Sean Kingston. And while we're on the topic, I have Frankie J's entire debut album in Spanish, a dance mix of a Justin Bieber song and a track by Jazzy Jeff. Basically, my greatest fear is that I will misplace my iPod and someone will actually return it, and I will have to face them. I'm also beginning to understand the need for the Witness Protection program.
3.) What I say: I am a mature, professional young woman.
Confession:
My finest professional skills include:
- Breaking it down and rocking out to Phil Collins while I'm on hold
- Accurately tossing peppermint patties over the cubicle wall at Maria
- Bending the dress code to include my chucks
4.) What I say: I'm a sociable gal who loves the spontaneity of a random encounter with all sorts of acquaintances from my past.
Confession:
I avoid running into people because most of the time when I do, they fall in to one of these categories:
(a) Someone from high school that doesn't remember my name. Alternatively, they may recall that I am "one of the twins."
(b) My ex-boyfriend's parents. Score.
(c) Someone I actually do want to speak to. In these cases, I am usually coming from the gym and covered in sweat. Or I'm running out to grab a loaf of bread and wearing my glasses and a t-shirt from 1991 with a Troll on it.
5.) What I say: I am a really responsible car owner. I own lots of Armor All products and vacuum the carpets during my lunch break. And I always schedule regular maintenance when needed.
Confession:
I am a horribly negligent mother to Frank the Ford Focus. Poor Frank has not been vacuumed more than two times in two years. His cup holders contain a horrifying array of Dunkin' straw wrappers, loose change, bobby pins, and even a can of aerosol hairspray. (What? I'm from Cranston.) I have more pairs of shoes in the back seat than I do in my closet. And I have situation-specific amnesia when it comes to oil changes. Despite the fact that I spend 2+ hours every day staring right at the little sticker that indicates the mileage for my next oil change, I routinely forget to bring it to the mechanic until it's 200* miles over the mark.
*200 miles is a total lie. If I put the real mileage in here, I would lose friends.
Confessions concluded for tonight. Damn, I feel better.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Sometimes, talking to yourself just gets old...
...which is why I thought it might be fun to revive my old blog-o-nonsense from yesteryear. In addition to this lingering blog from college, that hasn't been updated since I was legitimately using my student ID (and not scamming cheap deals as a young looking 20-something), I have another more recent (and now abandoned) blog dedicated to keeping tabs on my progress (or lack thereof) of making pastry in my free time. So, much like Octomom, I have no business bringing new blog posts into this crazy cyber-universe. But I'm doing it anyway, mostly so you can all witness me crash and burn on the cover of US Weekly. (Seriously, can somebody get me on US Weekly? That would be pretty sweet if I could make that happen without having to be a guest on MTV's Teen Mom).
My last post (dated June 9, 2006), was written days before I started my first full-time job as a college grad. This first big job was at a worker's compensation insurance firm in downtown Boston where I basically did two things: I used a letter opener to open about 300 envelopes per day and I spoke to injured Spanish-speaking claimants on the phone. I learned lots of special Spanish words and phrases during my three-month stint at this job, including:
1.) I have shot myself in the leg with a pneumatic nail gun.
2.) Where the f*@% is my money?
3.) Do you have a private investigator checking in on me? Because there's been a guy in a black 1980 Buick parked outside my house for three days with a big camera. And I'm pretty sure he's not a wedding photographer.
4.) I hate you.
With some luck (and a lot of monster.com searches on my laptop during lunch breaks), I was able to find a fantastic job working as a European travel coordinator. And, contrary to the generally sarcastic tone of this entire blog, I will say honestly and sincerely that it was a wonderful experience. In three short years, I collected a heck of a lot of passport stamps, learned more than I could ever have imagined about parts of the world I adore, and (most importantly) met some of the most terrific people around, many of whom I consider very dear friends to this day.
And, best of all, I did learn a lot about how to professionally handle some pretty ridiculous situations. Some of the highlights include:
1.) Answering the "emergency" cell phone on the weekend, and speaking to a hysterical honeymooning bride complain about the "offensive" shade of purple in her seaside hotel room.
2.) Painfully planning, but never actually selling, the intricate and ever-changing 5* vacation of a has-been 80's star. Yes, I'm talking about Rick Springfield. And yes, I still have a very adverse physical reaction when I hear "Jessie's Girl". I have an EPI pen.
3.) Figuring out Daylight Savings Time for the United States, Italy, Spain, Greece and Turkey, all of whom decided to choose different days during the fall to turn their clocks back. This proved especially entertaining when clients missed their flights and called the fabled emergency cell phone in the middle of the night.
Alas, as they say, "all good things come to an end" - for many reasons, it was time to part with my position as Rick Springfield's personal vacation bitch. And, to continue the "dolce vita" of a recently graduated Italian major, I accepted my current position at an Italian food importing company.
There are lots of things I can say about working with tomatoes instead of travelers. Perhaps most interestingly, I have learned a slew of new Italian words: citric acid, palletization, label adhesive. And several phrases as well, such as: "Antonio, why would you increase the sodium in this soup by 300% and fail to mention this to me, you conniving little so-and-so?" It really has been a linguistic adventure.
At this point, I spend a lot of time alone - mostly in my car during my commute (which is bordering on ridiculous), or at my desk (when the phone is quiet and I can't focus on the tomatoes). And since it's not 100% acceptable to carry a portable tape recorder to catch my passing thoughts (think Michael Keaton in Night Shift - I'm serious, YouTube that), I think a blog is a very 2010 way to record these disjointed and non-academic musings. Perhaps some entries will have specific topics, and others will not. Some will be so epically long you'll never finish reading them; others will have as much text as a coupon. The only thing I'm being especially careful about is not making any promises - because going all "Julie and Julia" is what is currently causing the dessert blog to go...sour. Pun (as always) intended.
And with that, I wish all my readers* a wonderful start to the week ahead!
*Footnote: by "all my readers" I really mean my mom and a few internet hackers who will post comments on this blog posing as Nigerian princes in need of my bank account number.
My last post (dated June 9, 2006), was written days before I started my first full-time job as a college grad. This first big job was at a worker's compensation insurance firm in downtown Boston where I basically did two things: I used a letter opener to open about 300 envelopes per day and I spoke to injured Spanish-speaking claimants on the phone. I learned lots of special Spanish words and phrases during my three-month stint at this job, including:
1.) I have shot myself in the leg with a pneumatic nail gun.
2.) Where the f*@% is my money?
3.) Do you have a private investigator checking in on me? Because there's been a guy in a black 1980 Buick parked outside my house for three days with a big camera. And I'm pretty sure he's not a wedding photographer.
4.) I hate you.
With some luck (and a lot of monster.com searches on my laptop during lunch breaks), I was able to find a fantastic job working as a European travel coordinator. And, contrary to the generally sarcastic tone of this entire blog, I will say honestly and sincerely that it was a wonderful experience. In three short years, I collected a heck of a lot of passport stamps, learned more than I could ever have imagined about parts of the world I adore, and (most importantly) met some of the most terrific people around, many of whom I consider very dear friends to this day.
And, best of all, I did learn a lot about how to professionally handle some pretty ridiculous situations. Some of the highlights include:
1.) Answering the "emergency" cell phone on the weekend, and speaking to a hysterical honeymooning bride complain about the "offensive" shade of purple in her seaside hotel room.
2.) Painfully planning, but never actually selling, the intricate and ever-changing 5* vacation of a has-been 80's star. Yes, I'm talking about Rick Springfield. And yes, I still have a very adverse physical reaction when I hear "Jessie's Girl". I have an EPI pen.
3.) Figuring out Daylight Savings Time for the United States, Italy, Spain, Greece and Turkey, all of whom decided to choose different days during the fall to turn their clocks back. This proved especially entertaining when clients missed their flights and called the fabled emergency cell phone in the middle of the night.
Alas, as they say, "all good things come to an end" - for many reasons, it was time to part with my position as Rick Springfield's personal vacation bitch. And, to continue the "dolce vita" of a recently graduated Italian major, I accepted my current position at an Italian food importing company.
There are lots of things I can say about working with tomatoes instead of travelers. Perhaps most interestingly, I have learned a slew of new Italian words: citric acid, palletization, label adhesive. And several phrases as well, such as: "Antonio, why would you increase the sodium in this soup by 300% and fail to mention this to me, you conniving little so-and-so?" It really has been a linguistic adventure.
At this point, I spend a lot of time alone - mostly in my car during my commute (which is bordering on ridiculous), or at my desk (when the phone is quiet and I can't focus on the tomatoes). And since it's not 100% acceptable to carry a portable tape recorder to catch my passing thoughts (think Michael Keaton in Night Shift - I'm serious, YouTube that), I think a blog is a very 2010 way to record these disjointed and non-academic musings. Perhaps some entries will have specific topics, and others will not. Some will be so epically long you'll never finish reading them; others will have as much text as a coupon. The only thing I'm being especially careful about is not making any promises - because going all "Julie and Julia" is what is currently causing the dessert blog to go...sour. Pun (as always) intended.
And with that, I wish all my readers* a wonderful start to the week ahead!
*Footnote: by "all my readers" I really mean my mom and a few internet hackers who will post comments on this blog posing as Nigerian princes in need of my bank account number.
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