Too Cool for School

So, here’s the deal: I didn't forget about you. I know it seems like I did, but I didn’t. Several people have been asking me about the blog and I ramble excuses but the bottom line is: I've been busy. 

I started graduate school at night and have been busy writing papers instead of blog posts and reading (gasp!) textbooks instead of Marie Claire. (Hopefully my BFF-ness with Nina Garcia isn't threatened). 

Any excuse to name-drop this glorious tweet. 

It's true; I'm studying to be a Master in Public Relations and Corporate Communications. Until then, I’m doing things like studying, writing case studies, and taking quizzes. QUIZZES. I think the last time I had a quiz was sophomore year at Davidson. (Buzzfeed quizzes aside, of course. I took three of those bad boys this morning.)

Now, I’m not here to complain. A lot of people are in grad school. Probably half of D.C. fits that bill. But, going back to school has been an adjustment. Instead of just sitting home on a Friday night in my sweatpants watching Netflix, I have to sit at home on a Friday night in my sweatpants watching Netflix while writing a paper.

Time Traveling to the Future (Or Rather, China)

Remember when you were little and you'd be digging a hole (yeah, like you had more sophisticated hobbies), and a grown-up would say, "You're going to dig your way to China!"?

Ha, good one, grown-up!

I think that "hole phenomenon" was why China always seemed like a mythical, unattainable place. But, guess what? A couple weeks ago, I went there! To China!

I found out with about 3 weeks notice that I would be traveling to Shanghai for work. You know I don't talk about work on this blog, so I'll spare you all those details. However, I can't have a blog, go to China, and then not share the experiences I had during the couple days we got to play tourists. So, here's what we did when we weren't working. (By "we," I mean my friend/co-worker Sarah and I.)

It turns out you don't actually have to dig a hole to get there. You have to take a super, long-ass plane ride.

(And it's not just any plane...it's a plane to the future. I've experienced time changes before, but I'd never experienced a 12 hour difference. I could never quite wrap my head around the idea that, when I'd text with my family, they'd send my messages from yesterday. Mind. Blown.)

We also learned that sometimes (all the time) in China, they just cancel your flights whenever they want. So, after 14 hours on a plane from DC to Beijing, we arrived to learn that our flight to Shanghai was cancelled due to "weather." Yeah, who the hell wants to fly when the skies are clear and blue? So, what was supposed to be about 18 hours of total travel time turned into around 25 hours of travel time when they re-booked us on another airline for a flight six hours after our original flight time. That flight was then delayed 1.5 hours. So, since I'd already time-warped to be Future Lindsay I was then extremely confused as to what time it was, what day it was, and when we'd actually arrive to our final destination. The only thing I did know was that in the eight hours I spent in the Beijing airport, I was the only blonde person I saw. The only time I've felt that much like a minority was when my sister and I visited an upscale NYC bar and I was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of Clarks.

Thankfully, we made it safe and sound to Shanghai around 1 a.m. their time, which in EST time was about 1997 or something.

From Baby Leggings to Gold Bodysuits - Happy 4th!

Prepare yourselves, this post is going to start with a toddler in a wagon and end with a sequined jumpsuit in Baltimore. You'll have to bear with me, that's just how my holiday weekend played out. It began celebrating our independence from one Queen and ended with my friends and I pledging allegiance to another Queen...Queen Beyonce, that is.

West Coast Best Coast?

Remember when I set a New Year's Resolution to write a post twice per month? Yeah, I guess we can all agree that was a big ol' load of bull-honky. Oh well, what would a new year's resolution be if it not broken? I'm simply keeping with tradition.

But, fear not, I'm back. And I want to tell you about this amazing place I discovered called CALIFORNIA. It's on this bizarro place called the "West Coast," where the people are beautiful and the live TV shows come on at earlier times.

What is this heaven in which we find ourselves?!

That's what I kept repeating last weekend as I took in the beauty that is Southern California -- Montecito and Santa Barbara, specifically.

I knew California was pretty and beachy and blonde, but no one told me how lovely it is this time of year -- and every time of year, I learned. There is a lack of humidity and the seemingly nonexistent presence of mosquitos. THOSE ARE GAME CHANGERS, my friends.

This is where I live now. In California. On a beach rock. 

Why don't I live there? Why don't we all live there? WHAT IS WRONG WITH US? I thought I was an East Coast girl down to the bone, but this past weekend got me questioning everything I knew to be true.

My friend from college, Jenn, was getting married at her family's home in Montecito. My desire to see this wonderfully funny and smart friend of mine marry another wonderful person, coupled with my interest in a mini-vacay to CA, led me to cash in some miles and book a flight.

Actually, it led me to say "Mom, here are my credit card number and frequent flyer number. Do what you do, please." She is a whiz at booking mileage flights. In fact, she and my dad just landed in Ireland after a perfectly-booked business class flight.

My friend Emily was flying from Charlotte so we quickly decided to be travel buddies, a decision we later learned would be a stellar one due to the fact that we both travel like old ladies punctual, risk-averse adventurers.

Rather than give you a play-by-play of the whole glorious weekend, here are the basics. Consider it your own personal guide to attending a wedding in Southern California. You're welcome.

Yeah, Mom, I Know...

This post is for my Mom. 

When I was home last weekend, she kindly reminded me on multiple occasions that I hadn't written a post in a while. "Yeah, mom, I know." That's often my response. What she doesn't know is that I usually follow, "Yeah, mom, I know" with a silent "Oh crap, she's right" in my head. Or maybe she does know. MOMS KNOW EVERYTHING.

But this post is for my Mom, not because she "politely reminded me," but because it is Mother's Day. So, if she wants a post, then it's going to be about her.

It's no secret that as you get older - or perhaps become a mother yourself (which I am not. Let's not start the rumor mill here, folks) - you come to better appreciate all that your mom did for you growing up, and continues to do today. 

I can't get over how much my Mom would cart me across town for school, practice, shopping, meeting friends, etc. etc. etc. And she'd even let me control the radio. Geez, if someone asks me to meet them in a different quadrant of DC which requires me to switch trains, I get bent of shape. My mom used to make the 30+ minute drive to my elementary school every time I forgot my lunch, didn't have a paper signed (before I learned to forge, obviously) or had a headache. 

Every time I get sick I really appreciate my Mom. When I had the stomach flu last year, she was able to talk me off of the bathroom floor, back into bed, and even forced me to drink my Gatorade...all via phone. How does she do that? Although, I do miss sick days from when I was little and she would go to the library to rent VHS copies of Ramona & Beezus and The Babysitters Club for me to watch in bed. (I would totally still watch those. Ann M. Martin stands the test of time and you know it's true.)

So, in honor of my Mom, I have a few things I'd like to say to her. I'm sure many of you can relate. (Well, maybe not with #5)

Laundry and Other Things I'm Not Doing

It's Friday night and I'm doing laundry. 

Well, I'm thinking of doing laundry. I've been thinking about doing laundry for the past four days. Now I'm mostly thinking about going to buy new underwear and jeans so I don't have to do the laundry. 

This is the packing shenanigans all over again. I put the "o crap" in procrastination (you have to rearrange the letters, but it works.)

I was supposed to do laundry on Wednesday but I had to go workout and then make tea and sit on the couch looking at the boxes I still have to unpack. 

Then I couldn't do it Thursday because I had to go see The Railers at Hill Country.  I had to. They needed me to sway in the audience and do that thing where I awkwardly silent clap while holding my beer and my phone. Plus, they're awesome and you don't pass up awesome for, well, laundry. (More on the Railers later.)

Honestly, I don't think I can do laundry tonight either because I just started an episode of Parenthood which means there is a 80% chance I'll be a weepy mess in about 38 minutes. No one wants to be the weepy girl doing laundry on a Friday night. That's how you get a reputation in the building (as opposed to the reputation of being the girl who never has clean clothes...)

Moving On Up (er, Down)

I'm supposed to be packing. I have less than a week to finish packing up my apartment and so I really should be packing. 

But, you know how that goes. 

Instead I'm making playlists on Spotify (you know, to motivate me) and watching a Friends rerun. I'm about as good at staying on task as I am at staying on topic. Speaking of which, can you believe it's been 20 years since season one of Friends?  TWENTY. There is a whole cohort of people walking around with the ability to vote and buy cigarettes who were not alive when Friends started. I had to look up the year to make sure because I refused to believe that was true. That also led to me watching hilarious bloopers videos. It's not like I have anything better to do. Oh wait, yes, yes, I do...

Packing.

Current state of packing. 

Here's the problem, I'm only moving within my building which means I'm highly unmotivated to get packed and organized. Thanks to the beauty that is "rent control," there is a less expensive unit available so I'm loading up the absurd amount of stuff I've been able to collect in my studio apartment and moving it five floors down to a new (to me) studio apartment. 

Although I didn't realize it at that time, packing to move states was a lot easier than packing to move floors. Then, I knew I had to wrap everything, put it in a box, label it, tape it up, and make it moving-truck-ready. Now, I look around and think, How many bowls can I successfully carry to-and-from the elevator without dropping them? I'm pretty awesome at balancing stuff. I probably don't need a box, right?

While I haven't been good at packing, per se;  I have been pretty good about throwing things out that I don't need. You may remember that I had to decide last time whether or not to pack important things like a CT scan of my own head. At the time, I kept that scan. But, surprisingly, in the last two years, no one has asked to see my sinus cavities. Go figure. So, I think that gem doesn't need to make the ride down the elevator with me. I'm also donating bags of clothes and getting rid of a stupid amount of Tupperware. Every night for the past couple weeks I've spent an hour or so looking through my stuff, throwing some of it out, and then collecting it on the floor to--you know--eventually pack. As you'll note from the photo above, I successfully packed the wine into a wine tote and moved a jar of q-tips from the bathroom to the coffee table to put into some sort of bathroom accessories box. That box is yet to be created.

I should probably get some boxes. 

I Thought You'd Be In Plaid: Jason Aldean in Baltimore

I thought this would be the perfect night to catch up on the blog since it's Snow Day Eve. At least, I think it's Snow Day Eve. They haven't actually called a Snow Day yet. They are probably waiting until I'm deep in REM sleep at 4AM to wake me up with a text alert letting me know that I can sleep in. 

But you know what I wouldn't want to sleep in and miss? A Jason Aldean concert. 

Jason Aldean

See what I did there? What you may have missed is that I skillfully and subtly guided the conversation to a topic I want to cover. 

This story started many months ago when those Hickman sisters informed me that Jason Aldean and Florida Georgia Line were coming to the area and that we should go. 

And, by "the area," I mean, "Baltimore." Technically in another state. However, when it's the middle of winter, sometimes you need to drive to fill your heart with the warmth of country music. 

Tractors and whiskey > Polar Vortex. 

I volunteered to buy the tickets for everyone. Like anyone who makes sound financial decisions, my credit card was pre-saved in Ticketmaster to make quick purchases (but not quick enough for some people, BEYONCE.) We had six people total as Baltimore ladies Sarah and Jessica were joining us and one of my partners-in-crime Maggie was also game for the trip. 

I got the tickets, guys. I'll buy them. I have the pre-sale code. No big deal, I'm on it. 

Here's the catch. I wasn't so on it. 

You could only buy a maximum of four tickets. Say whaaaat? What's that malarky about?  

I quickly rushed my laptop over to Maggie's computer so we could split 3 and 3 and try to buy tickets simultaneously and be in the same section. Then I got confused or stressed or dyslexic or something. We thought we bought seats one row in front of the other -- we hit submit and thought, NAILED IT. Then we got our confirmation and realized we'd bought the same row in different sections. Is "geographic dyslexia" a thing? Because I think I have that. It would also explain my inability to ever take the correct Metro exit. 

Oh well. What can you do? (Learn the difference between rows and sections, I suppose?)

And the Golden Sweatpants Goes To...

In celebration of my third favorite season -- Award Season -- my sister had the brilliant idea that we should create our own awards. What honors would we bestow upon our favorite TV and movie actors if they asked? They wouldn't, of course. But, what if they did? What are the categories that the people really care about? 

Tina and Amy doing their thing, being hilarious at The Golden Globes

You know how the most famous and talented actors, actresses, directors, producers, writers, seat warmers, etc. etc. etc. spend January thru March flocking to large venues in gorgeous gowns and tuxedos to recognize and celebrate one another as well as their craft overall? 

These awards are nothing like that. 

These are The Golden Sweatpants. 

The award name derives from the attire we are usually wearing when watching television, movies, or miniseries. (I'm not convinced I've ever actually watched a miniseries though.) We were originally going to call it The Golden Fleece, but apparently that's already a thing. And, well, we really feel these awards are going to take-off, so we must make sure it is trademarkable. (Totally a word, despite auto-correct insisting otherwise.)

Me too, girl. Me too.

Because we made up these awards ourselves and it is hard to settle a tie between two people, many categories have multiple winners.There are also a lot of explanations. That's allowed because we are the bosses. It should also be known that we did not enlist the help of an official accounting firm like they do for the Globes or the Oscars. In fact, our nominating and voting process took place entirely over text messages in the span of an hour. 

Official Ballot of The Golden Sweatpants.

DRUM ROLL, PLEASE.....

New Year, New Me...Well, Maybe.

It's January 15. Also known as, the beginning of the end for many new year's resolutions. You've made it through half of the first month -- good for you. I hope you continue with whatever it is you've promised to do. But, let's face it, new year's resolutions are hard. 

That's why I never make them. 

However, I've learned that people don't like it when you don't make resolutions. I was asked multiple times over the holidays what my resolutions would be and received glares of disdain when I said I didn't really plan on making any. Their mouths said, "Oh. ok, that's cool." But their eyes said, "Do you think you're perfect or something?"

Um, obviously.

Actually, I'm so imperfect that I don't want to set myself up for failure. My whole life is one big resolution to get better, make good decisions, and not be a total waste of space. It's an ongoing battle. In that sense, I suppose I make new resolutions all the time. Like, at the end of the month when I check my bank statement and decree, I'm never dining out again! Or, when I'm tired in the morning and decide, From now on, I will go to bed early! 9:30 is my new bedtime! Call it a resolution if you want to, but in the words of Kirsten Wiig, sometimes you just need to "get your shit together." If that happens in January, well then, good for you.

I don't mean to be so cynical about your New Year's resolutions, I suppose I see the value of putting it out there. Last year, I approached resolutions with the same ambivalent attitude but made a few for the sake of the blog. Lo and behold, I actually kept a few of them! I found a place to volunteer (shout out to Children's National and Lucky Dog Animal Rescue), visited several DC sites, and even vacuumed more regularly. Certainly I'm not candidate for the cover of a "New Year, New You!" issue of a magazine, but not too shabby, if you ask me  

Since I wasn't a complete failure in my half-assed 2013 resolutions, and want to appease the glare-giving resolutions enthusiasts, I compiled the following list of things I might possibly try to do. Here goes nothing.