As a Freshman in college I formed a series of friendships and by the end of my first two semesters these friendships melded into one group with whom I spent enormous amounts of time together between class and socialization. It became somewhat humorous to me to pretend we were a gang. Slow moments in class would be filled with doodles of the "Hotelie Ballas" wearing the popular ghetto runway boots "Timbs", picking fights in bars with Grill (rapper fabulous diamond studded teeth caps) bedazzled smiles, and scuffed up features. To relieve stress during study breaks we would often host free style battles during which we would huddle outside laying down beats and coming up with humorous rhymes and insults. I found these sessions especially humorous when wearing pink sundresses with ribbon decorated hair to clearly illustrate the disparity. To this day the “Ballas” are enormously close, but our free styling sessions have dwindled due to the fact that we have spread ourselves thinly across this fine country. Since I am feeling particularly inspired and I like to find new and interesting mediums to poke some good-natured fun at my surroundings, I feel quite strongly it is time for my “Hotelie Blogger Free Style Debut.”
"Deep fry me something now before I wrestle you like I did that there gator"
-by Marissa
Yo Yo Yo I got the ill flow,
I live down South, I don’t like Techno.
I miss my ballas throwing down beats
To find good hip-hop, gotta search the streets
These Ladeeda peeps got the sun in their head
Listen to Reggaetone to up their street cred.
Despite my distaste for their musical style,
There are some things that make me smile
The beach is hot, the gators wild
I ate em deep-fried, got my buds all riled
Up so much I had to take a deep breath
And cool em down with a chilled bev
All this good food to my ribs they stick
I spend most of my time at the Publix .
The age is 71 but so is the temp
There are no hippies, the look is unkempt
But there are mullets, bullets, and silicone
I’m on vacay, this aint home
I voted blue, made the rednecks shout
When I’m gone y’all will miss me, but please don’t pout
You can visit me wherever I go
Where the age not temp is 30 or below.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Monday, February 26, 2007
Order in the Court!
"My name is Marissa Brady and my hobbies primarily center around buying and selling marijuana. I have strong distrust of the police and the judicial system as a whole." That should surely win me a ticket out of jury duty I thought to myself as juror after juror introduced himself and listed his hobbies to the court. It was my first time with jury duty and earlier in the day after the Pledge of Allegiance the Court Personnel had instilled within me a strong sense of pride and excitement to be on jury duty. I was contributing to the unique judicial system that makes us American! It was mere moments into the day before I was swinging the flag, singing Yankee Doodle, while simultaneously reciting the Gettysburg Address. But by 3 pm when I was seated in front of Mr. Dewey, on trial for possession of marijuana, I realized that the judicial system is not so much wonderful as it is boring. I had enjoyed my moments in the lunchroom eating my Lean Cuisine watching the Anna Nicole trial with my co-jurors, where we shared some petty conversation and commiseration. But at a certain point I realized I would much rather be outside enjoying the sunshine than locked up inside the Broward County Courthouse with the dredges of society. Unfortunately, it was as I was contemplating this that it was my turn to introduce myself and the following pitiful sentence projected from my lips, “ My name is Marissa Brady and I enjoy reading, writing, beach activities, and cycling”. As soon as my turn had passed I had turned from cool and confident to scarlet with shame. “Could I have come across as a little bit MORE law abiding??” I do not think so. I am sure everyone in the Court Room nicknamed me Suzy Suck Up within an instant. I am fairly certain I even saw a raised eyebrow from the Honorable Judge. After my turn to speak I was sick with worry that I would have to endure another day of order and procedure. Why couldn’t I have just mentioned the fact that I hate cops and think marijuana should flow through the streets like beads at Mardi Gras??? It would have been a small task that could have easily ousted me from my juror seat. Perhaps I could have simulated a Turret’s attack or perhaps initiated a drug deal from within the walls of the courtroom. But instead I had to practically come skipping out in my habit and rosary with a picnic basket housing a puppy in arms. Perhaps it was this behavior that encouraged GOD to look out for me because as it turned out I was not selected. I have never felt a joy as pure as the moment the last juror was selected and I was not selected to serve on the case. I was free and am now untouchable for at least 12 more months. As promised by the Court Personnel I did drive away from the experience with a good feeling, but it was not so much warm and fuzzy as enormously relieved to not have to return the following day. I may not have truly contributed to the outcome of the trial, but at least I got home before sunset and in time to watch the first of many episodes of Law and Order.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Remember when I dissolved the duck?
My mom recently alerted me to the fact that she would rather I be dating a little blue doll than being a single independent woman. Meet Pierre! This endeavor was much more successful than the grow my own rubber ducky as I learned the dolls' preference for tepid rather than boiling water. Note Pierre's well defined abs and his flexible nature!
Saturday, February 10, 2007
I'm Lovin' it
Late yesterday evening I found myself hungry and on the run. A typical meeting that, under normal circumstances, should end after an hour and a half came to a creeping, sputtering halt after about 4. This was mostly attributable to the fact that the client with whom we met harbors an obsessive dependency on crack cocaine, which caused him to speak at the speed of light for about 95% of our demonstration turned one-man circus. As we left the meeting in a hurry, to get my boss to the airport for his flight and my co-worker and me back to a civilization based on less speaking and more boozing, we realized we were all extraordinarily hungry.
On any typical day my diet consists mostly of vegetables, lean meats, legumes, and whole grains in a strong and purposeful effort to avoid a literal meld into the couch. This becomes increasingly more difficult when you are in Key Largo and apparently the only dining option for those quick to escape is a McDonald's "Express". I use quotes here to signify the humorous use of the word express, as I am fairly certain the employees of this establishment drove to Miami and back in rush hour in order to provide us our meal. However, it was after this feat was accomplished on this fine day I found myself enjoying the American treat known as the Big Mac. Initially I was only going to eat half, but with every Lucifer inspired bite I became more infatuated with this succulent chaotic assemblage and huffed it down in its entirety faster than you can say Kokomo.
It is not that I truly believe this sandwich to be a good one. Clearly the bread is soggy, the lettuce wilted, the meat most likely not meat at all. However, I have to admit, it was the most delicious thing to grace my tongue in a long while. I don't know if it is due to the recent caloric restrictions, the four hours spent in Satan's sand box, or that I was contributing to the ultimate symbol of a questionably moral American Capitalist society, but it just felt so good to be so bad. It was like sneaking out past curfew and getting caught. I knew it was wrong and I would have to pay for it later, but even as I spent 2 hours on the elliptical to repent for the detour off my path of nutrition nirvana I could still taste that special sauce on my lips and it tasted just as sweet.
On any typical day my diet consists mostly of vegetables, lean meats, legumes, and whole grains in a strong and purposeful effort to avoid a literal meld into the couch. This becomes increasingly more difficult when you are in Key Largo and apparently the only dining option for those quick to escape is a McDonald's "Express". I use quotes here to signify the humorous use of the word express, as I am fairly certain the employees of this establishment drove to Miami and back in rush hour in order to provide us our meal. However, it was after this feat was accomplished on this fine day I found myself enjoying the American treat known as the Big Mac. Initially I was only going to eat half, but with every Lucifer inspired bite I became more infatuated with this succulent chaotic assemblage and huffed it down in its entirety faster than you can say Kokomo.
It is not that I truly believe this sandwich to be a good one. Clearly the bread is soggy, the lettuce wilted, the meat most likely not meat at all. However, I have to admit, it was the most delicious thing to grace my tongue in a long while. I don't know if it is due to the recent caloric restrictions, the four hours spent in Satan's sand box, or that I was contributing to the ultimate symbol of a questionably moral American Capitalist society, but it just felt so good to be so bad. It was like sneaking out past curfew and getting caught. I knew it was wrong and I would have to pay for it later, but even as I spent 2 hours on the elliptical to repent for the detour off my path of nutrition nirvana I could still taste that special sauce on my lips and it tasted just as sweet.
Monday, February 05, 2007
Just when you thought I couldn't get any more lame
As I was recently reprimanded for a lack of present blogging I have been thinking about on which subject I can blog. What infinite possibilities. The new and enthralling changes in my life are too plentiful to count. The new people I've been meeting, the swank parties I've been attending, the revelations I've been making.... while meditating on these gems of progress, it hit me like a bad dream that in fact nothing is new in my life at all. Not only are none of the aforementioned examples of good fortune my own, but I am also scraping closer to the bottom than ever before.
In my previous life, when I actually had one, whenever I was sad or lonely all it took was a little baby or a puppy to walk by and all of my previous embittered emotions would dissolve instantly. These tiny, illiterate creatures were somewhat of a prescription painkiller for me, with fewer side-effects (other than temporary memory loss they were minimal). Anyway back to the point. As of late, the sight of these little cherubs doesn’t even fight to improve my contentment. For a few days I even considered not having children! It is as if nothing can lift my mood, not even the innocence of the ignorant and infantile. That’s when the real revelation occurred (actually right this instant).
The reason babies haven’t been making me happy lately is because… THERE ARE NO BABIES! I used to love walking around downtown Ithaca and watching all the hippie families with their patchwork pants and pom-pom hats, with tiny clones in toe. Laughing babies on shoulders, in strollers, swinging from swings. Some families doubled my pleasure by hanging tight to a Grateful dead leash which happened to be keeping a scruffy little mutt at bay. I love watching families at the beach playing Frisbee, twirling on tire swings, or engaged a round of Marco Polo. How uncomplicated and beautiful life is. No thought of tomorrow or the future unless an impending trip to Disney is in the works.
In truth, the average age of Broward County is 71 (yes this is the same age as the only man to approach me in a bar in a flirtatious manner. I know he was 71 because he told me). I am not embellishing this fact, this is no fillip, but a solid statistic provided to me by the car insurance company in explanation of the fact that my car insurance is astronomically high. Due to the elderly population there are no babies for me to ogle over. Therefore, I am pretty bummed on a consistent basis. This morning I woke up singing my special Birthday song thinking it was late June. Upon the realization that it is in fact still February and that I have somehow entered some sort of time vacuum from which there is no escape I began to silently weep.**
**Now that WAS overstatement, and there is no cause for concern, just bring me a baby or toddler and I will be as good as new. If you bring me that freak of nature from the Volvo commercial however, run for your life. If you still have yet to view this haunting advertisement consider yourself lucky and avoid TV at all costs in case of its appearance.
In my previous life, when I actually had one, whenever I was sad or lonely all it took was a little baby or a puppy to walk by and all of my previous embittered emotions would dissolve instantly. These tiny, illiterate creatures were somewhat of a prescription painkiller for me, with fewer side-effects (other than temporary memory loss they were minimal). Anyway back to the point. As of late, the sight of these little cherubs doesn’t even fight to improve my contentment. For a few days I even considered not having children! It is as if nothing can lift my mood, not even the innocence of the ignorant and infantile. That’s when the real revelation occurred (actually right this instant).
The reason babies haven’t been making me happy lately is because… THERE ARE NO BABIES! I used to love walking around downtown Ithaca and watching all the hippie families with their patchwork pants and pom-pom hats, with tiny clones in toe. Laughing babies on shoulders, in strollers, swinging from swings. Some families doubled my pleasure by hanging tight to a Grateful dead leash which happened to be keeping a scruffy little mutt at bay. I love watching families at the beach playing Frisbee, twirling on tire swings, or engaged a round of Marco Polo. How uncomplicated and beautiful life is. No thought of tomorrow or the future unless an impending trip to Disney is in the works.
In truth, the average age of Broward County is 71 (yes this is the same age as the only man to approach me in a bar in a flirtatious manner. I know he was 71 because he told me). I am not embellishing this fact, this is no fillip, but a solid statistic provided to me by the car insurance company in explanation of the fact that my car insurance is astronomically high. Due to the elderly population there are no babies for me to ogle over. Therefore, I am pretty bummed on a consistent basis. This morning I woke up singing my special Birthday song thinking it was late June. Upon the realization that it is in fact still February and that I have somehow entered some sort of time vacuum from which there is no escape I began to silently weep.**
**Now that WAS overstatement, and there is no cause for concern, just bring me a baby or toddler and I will be as good as new. If you bring me that freak of nature from the Volvo commercial however, run for your life. If you still have yet to view this haunting advertisement consider yourself lucky and avoid TV at all costs in case of its appearance.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
I think I have a problem
A few days ago I was speaking with a friend and she mentioned how she never makes time to go to the grocery store. She said she barely goes once a week as evidenced by the nil contents of her fridge. In addition to having little time to spend at the store she finds it an overwhelming task and thus typically avoids it at all costs. I laughed and was about to offer as a consolation that I too never have time to purchase my groceries. That’s when I realized it. Not only do I have the time to go food shopping, I go ALL the time. I am there nearly every single day.
I didn’t share this realization with my friend for fear of being singled out as an obsessive food shopping freak, but I realized at that moment that I might very well have a problem. It’s just that every time I feel sad, stressed, or upset walking through the food aisles soothes me. Everything is so organized and neatly displayed. I love walking through the produce section, smelling the tomatoes, squeezing the avocados to check for ripeness. I love peeling a small section of the corn on the cob to look for impurities. I love reading the nutrition information on packaged goods, the smell of freshly baked bread. I love seeing the elderly couples and wondering what they are making for dinner or if they are having Edna and Arnie over for cribbage. Its bizarre, but sometimes I will be driving home from the gym or an appointment and I will suddenly find myself not home, but rather once again at my local Publix.
Though I make nearly the same thing for dinner nightly, I love to walk around the store seeking inspiration from new and exciting ingredients. If the tomatoes are looking particularly good, it could be time to make a fresh pasta sauce or if ground turkey on sale perhaps a pot of chili fit for an army. If I didn’t go daily I could possibly miss these shipments and specials. Although it may be a rather odd hangout for a young single gal, I would say it’s a safer addiction than say heroin…
** As I am writing this post I literally am fighting the urge to go back to Publix as I was there earlier this morning and forbidden to buy wine prior to 12 pm.
I didn’t share this realization with my friend for fear of being singled out as an obsessive food shopping freak, but I realized at that moment that I might very well have a problem. It’s just that every time I feel sad, stressed, or upset walking through the food aisles soothes me. Everything is so organized and neatly displayed. I love walking through the produce section, smelling the tomatoes, squeezing the avocados to check for ripeness. I love peeling a small section of the corn on the cob to look for impurities. I love reading the nutrition information on packaged goods, the smell of freshly baked bread. I love seeing the elderly couples and wondering what they are making for dinner or if they are having Edna and Arnie over for cribbage. Its bizarre, but sometimes I will be driving home from the gym or an appointment and I will suddenly find myself not home, but rather once again at my local Publix.
Though I make nearly the same thing for dinner nightly, I love to walk around the store seeking inspiration from new and exciting ingredients. If the tomatoes are looking particularly good, it could be time to make a fresh pasta sauce or if ground turkey on sale perhaps a pot of chili fit for an army. If I didn’t go daily I could possibly miss these shipments and specials. Although it may be a rather odd hangout for a young single gal, I would say it’s a safer addiction than say heroin…
** As I am writing this post I literally am fighting the urge to go back to Publix as I was there earlier this morning and forbidden to buy wine prior to 12 pm.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
What have I done to deserve this?
I may be biased but I feel like I am a pretty decent human being. I recycle, I eat whole grains, I volunteer, and I exercise my right to vote. I have never been incarcerated and I think there are a few cardinal sins I have yet to commit. I lend an eager ear and a shoulder to cry on to co-workers and friends in need. In the scheme of things I think the karma scale should be tipped to my benefit right? I guess the whole sin thing is weighed a bit more heavily because it seems that every time I visit my little mailbox I get served.
Yesterday I ventured out to the Post Office arms filled with fabulous goodies. Valentine's with little pink hearts, glittery treats, and heart felt wishes overflowed from my giving arms. And as I returned home to check my own mail, only with hopes of the replacement ATM card I had requested, what do I find? Jury Duty and my car bill. I am sick of this adulthood bull. At college when I would check the mail there would only be cards or packages or nothing at all. Now every time I look its one more bill, fine, or duty to be served. And you know how they found me? They found me because I took the time and consideration to vote. I get no thank you, or "good for you", no pat on the back. All I get is jury duty. It also most likely does not help that most Fort Lauderdale residents achieve exemption due to the 70-year-old age limit. So in essence I get slammed for being a young voter. I wonder what would happen if I stop being lazy and envious, as well as stop voting and recylcing...
**And just so everyone knows my TV channel changer broke mid post and I somehow ended up on some cartoon show with singing and dancing vegetables, where the main message is that friends last longer than donuts. Just to emphasize the point that someone is indeed out to get me. If you are reading this please send help.
Yesterday I ventured out to the Post Office arms filled with fabulous goodies. Valentine's with little pink hearts, glittery treats, and heart felt wishes overflowed from my giving arms. And as I returned home to check my own mail, only with hopes of the replacement ATM card I had requested, what do I find? Jury Duty and my car bill. I am sick of this adulthood bull. At college when I would check the mail there would only be cards or packages or nothing at all. Now every time I look its one more bill, fine, or duty to be served. And you know how they found me? They found me because I took the time and consideration to vote. I get no thank you, or "good for you", no pat on the back. All I get is jury duty. It also most likely does not help that most Fort Lauderdale residents achieve exemption due to the 70-year-old age limit. So in essence I get slammed for being a young voter. I wonder what would happen if I stop being lazy and envious, as well as stop voting and recylcing...
**And just so everyone knows my TV channel changer broke mid post and I somehow ended up on some cartoon show with singing and dancing vegetables, where the main message is that friends last longer than donuts. Just to emphasize the point that someone is indeed out to get me. If you are reading this please send help.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
A Mighty Fine Life
This morning was a typical morning. I woke up at around 9 am and began to browse the hospitality as well as world news headlines. As I read of upcoming development and industry progression as well as a painstakingly detailed and monotonous reiteration of last night's State of the Union address, I realized something. "This is boring,” I thought. "Why am I reading this?" I wish I cared that at 8:07 Nancy Pelosi raised an eyebrow or pursed her lips, but shockingly I could not care less. Not only were most articles boring and meatless, but they were poorly written. "With this level of urbanity, I could write for the New York Times". I was so bored with today's news that I almost had half a mind to begin scripting a letter to the editor! That’s when I saw it.
In a chimerical moment the sun gently shimmered around my computer screen as a favonian breeze lightly blew a stray hair out my eyes. “The Food and Wine” section shone like a majestic watering hole for a hungry reader. As I read on Frank Bruni made the rest of the Times' staff look like the everyday ignoramus. "Finally someone that can actually string a sentence together with a bit of finesse,” I exhaled with relief. I would urge you to read the attached article and perhaps continue to read Mr. Bruni’s article every Wednesday! I mean why not? A man with a reasonable IQ and a penchant for food, what could be better?
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/01/24/dining/24note.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1&th&emc=th
In a chimerical moment the sun gently shimmered around my computer screen as a favonian breeze lightly blew a stray hair out my eyes. “The Food and Wine” section shone like a majestic watering hole for a hungry reader. As I read on Frank Bruni made the rest of the Times' staff look like the everyday ignoramus. "Finally someone that can actually string a sentence together with a bit of finesse,” I exhaled with relief. I would urge you to read the attached article and perhaps continue to read Mr. Bruni’s article every Wednesday! I mean why not? A man with a reasonable IQ and a penchant for food, what could be better?
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/01/24/dining/24note.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1&th&emc=th
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
yes that is an adorable pooch sharing his bed with a fawn
I will eventually stop posting animal pics... maybe once my life stops being so lame. Who am I kidding? As long as they keep being cute I will keep posting them. Deal with it.
Monday, January 22, 2007
Its about time I found a retchid soul at the gym
I was getting a little bit freaked out by all of the friendly faces at the gym so I was more than relieved today when I found myself experiencing strong feelings of contempt towards another individual early this evening. I was innocently awaiting the start of my spinning class and soothing my pre-class jitters by browsing through an athletic magazine. As I was waiting this miniature motor mouth (whom I shall refer to as MMM from here on out) comes out of nowhere and starts babbling on to an equally miniature, but less obnoxious friend. This girl has more volume in her hair than volumes on her book shelf and she looks like is she is a children's size extra small, but I don't start to hate her until she begins recounting a recent excursion down to South Beach. Apparently MMM attended a party where the "hired help" had the nerve to hit on her.
First of all, who actually says "hired help" anymore? Is it 1930 and no one told me? Second of all, since we are dishing out judgments, the poor guy probably thought she was the hired help too and I don't think he thought she was there to serve pigs in a blanket. She continues to loudly describe the absurdity of these advances to her friend whom I have now realized appears to be a miniature mute, but I miss out on the sordid details as I decide to move away from this classist overvolumized fool. As I snicker in disgust and huff off by myself, I also secretly harbor a tiny joy. "Oh feelings of hatred and pity towards those less evolved and fabulous than me", I think to myself, "Welcome to the gym".
**You may be thinking that my feelings of superiority are equally distasteful as the feelings MMM has towards the hired help, however they are not. I use my feelings of superiority as a way to humor myself and cope with the lackluster status of my life. I also openly admit having these feelings and that they are in fact unreasonable. I feel that this admittance rids me of the incorrect nature of my initial feelings. Therefore, I shall hate on and continue my path of anger-fueled humor.
First of all, who actually says "hired help" anymore? Is it 1930 and no one told me? Second of all, since we are dishing out judgments, the poor guy probably thought she was the hired help too and I don't think he thought she was there to serve pigs in a blanket. She continues to loudly describe the absurdity of these advances to her friend whom I have now realized appears to be a miniature mute, but I miss out on the sordid details as I decide to move away from this classist overvolumized fool. As I snicker in disgust and huff off by myself, I also secretly harbor a tiny joy. "Oh feelings of hatred and pity towards those less evolved and fabulous than me", I think to myself, "Welcome to the gym".
**You may be thinking that my feelings of superiority are equally distasteful as the feelings MMM has towards the hired help, however they are not. I use my feelings of superiority as a way to humor myself and cope with the lackluster status of my life. I also openly admit having these feelings and that they are in fact unreasonable. I feel that this admittance rids me of the incorrect nature of my initial feelings. Therefore, I shall hate on and continue my path of anger-fueled humor.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Virtual Matchmaker
Girl meets boy in a bar. Girl flirts shamelessly with boy and leaves number coyly written on napkin in lipstick. It may be the PG-13 version, but that is how the story goes right? Well times are changing my friends. Try this one on for size. Family meets waiter in a restaurant determines he is a wonderful individual. Girl determines he could potentially be the soul mate of a dear friend of the homosexual persuasion. Girl's Mother returns to restaurant and introduces this possibility to waiter. Waiter is receptive and welcomes the idea of meeting the dear friend at a later date.
This is what I like to call virtual matchmaking. After meeting someone at a restaurant whom I believed to be a great match for a friend my whole family pitched in (as I am currently hundreds of miles away) to facilitate a romantic encounter for the two we wished to match. And though they may not be engaged at this present time they have at least enjoyed a beverage and a good chat together! I am pretty sure there is some fact somewhere that a friend introduced most couples to each other. If there is not a statistic to prove it then lets just go ahead and take my word for it because it makes sense. Follow my logic. I like you, you like me (just go with it), so if I like someone else, you just might too!
People are very busy and also often times quite humble so I think I have determined my life's goal is to become a professional matchmaker! I have already made one successful match! After being an atmosphere at school where there is a large base of people with similar interests and goals as you and entering a city as large as New York for example it is hard to focus and find love matches. So it is important to take a risk and if you meet someone, even briefly, who could be a new friend for you or another, talk to him! I think I may be on to something here. See someone nice, talk to him... hmmm what a concept. It is sad that this doesn’t happen more often in daylight and sobriety. If this concept leaves you feeling queasy, leave the hard stuff to me!
**Mom I know you are reading this and probably thinking that I am taking all the credit for your hard work. This is true, but I just acknowledged it so we're cool right? I am willing to write you into the business plan, as we could probably make a pretty good team.
This is what I like to call virtual matchmaking. After meeting someone at a restaurant whom I believed to be a great match for a friend my whole family pitched in (as I am currently hundreds of miles away) to facilitate a romantic encounter for the two we wished to match. And though they may not be engaged at this present time they have at least enjoyed a beverage and a good chat together! I am pretty sure there is some fact somewhere that a friend introduced most couples to each other. If there is not a statistic to prove it then lets just go ahead and take my word for it because it makes sense. Follow my logic. I like you, you like me (just go with it), so if I like someone else, you just might too!
People are very busy and also often times quite humble so I think I have determined my life's goal is to become a professional matchmaker! I have already made one successful match! After being an atmosphere at school where there is a large base of people with similar interests and goals as you and entering a city as large as New York for example it is hard to focus and find love matches. So it is important to take a risk and if you meet someone, even briefly, who could be a new friend for you or another, talk to him! I think I may be on to something here. See someone nice, talk to him... hmmm what a concept. It is sad that this doesn’t happen more often in daylight and sobriety. If this concept leaves you feeling queasy, leave the hard stuff to me!
**Mom I know you are reading this and probably thinking that I am taking all the credit for your hard work. This is true, but I just acknowledged it so we're cool right? I am willing to write you into the business plan, as we could probably make a pretty good team.
Friday, January 19, 2007
HOT Flashes
I am what would be considered a medical anomaly. At the age of 22 I suffer hot flashes so intense they make menopause seem like a vacation to the North Pole. I like to tell people this at our first meeting so that they are not alarmed when I inevitably turn maroon at some point and need to start rapidly fanning myself. Typically people respond with laughter. I am not offended. It does seem to be rather unbelievable that a young lady in her early 20s would fall prey to the evils of later womanhood. Or since I often exaggerate people feel that when I say hot flash I mean I will periodically feel warmer than most. Let me clarify for you. Although it is fine to laugh, as I will often bring about my medical condition in a humorous manner as a coping mechanism I am in no way making it up. When I say hot flash I mean that it feels as if lava is running through my veins. Hot flash as in every inch of my body burns as it would if I were in the middle of the Sahara. Sometimes I get so hot I fear that I will never cool down. Every situation warrants a contingency plan of ice packs and spritzer bottles. In fact in the middle of this post I had to break to up the fan and do a quick ice down. I have sought out medical attention but, due to my former physician’s incompetence, found no relief. I have tried to train my body’s cooling system through an intensive series of Bikram yoga. I am telling you this, loyal readers, not to seek out pity, but to gain your understanding. Perhaps I will tell you one day that I am having a hot flash and perhaps you will laugh. This is fine so long as while you are laughing you are prepared to hand me an ice pack and spritz me with chilled water.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Who's your dealer?
I have recently embarked on somewhat of a health kick. I have read I am not supposed to call it a diet or it will be deemed a failure. This change in lifestyle has required a significant amount of dedication to the gym. And it is here I have discovered a new breed of people to which I am rather unaccustomed. I enjoy a wide variety of personality characteristics with the exception of arrogance and stupidity, however especially since moving to SoFla I have grown used to a general air of indifference and often times blatant disregard for gratitude or humility. In other words I am used to being surrounded by a general public that is either mute, or just plain rude. Whenever I meet a particularly interesting or friendly individual it always catches me off guard. For the remainder of the day I linger on the kind words exchanged or actions performed. With that being said I have recently discovered the aforementioned new breed of people. And they were discovered at the gym.
After walking through the double doors leading to heavenly muscle building and calorie burning people become almost psychotically happy. I don't know whether people save up all of their joy to be used during their designated gym time or if all happy people are hoarded at the gym, but it is actually fairly frightening. I spend most of my day wanting to punch people or at the very least shut them up in some non violent way and then I get to the gym and I am supposed to morph into some hyped up speed freak?? I attended a spinning class last night and when I closed my eyes I honestly did not know if I would wake up soaked in sweat from a nightmare or if I would be soaked in sweat on my stationary bicycle. Legs were spinning so fast I swear I could see smoke rising from 90% of the knee joints in the room. There was whooping and laughing, screaming and chanting. People were high fiving and back slapping. I have never seen anything like it. I have never in my life witnessed so much energy in one room in my life.
Although I was a wee bit scared, there was part of me that felt left out. There was a part of me that wanted to join their secret happy club. I wanted to jump up out of my seat with determination rather than feeling like I may just have to tip off my bike instead. And there was a part of me that wondered is this a natural endorphin induced high or are these people a result of a chemically induced state of mind? And if it is the latter, I may just have to ask one of these days, “Who’s your dealer??”
After walking through the double doors leading to heavenly muscle building and calorie burning people become almost psychotically happy. I don't know whether people save up all of their joy to be used during their designated gym time or if all happy people are hoarded at the gym, but it is actually fairly frightening. I spend most of my day wanting to punch people or at the very least shut them up in some non violent way and then I get to the gym and I am supposed to morph into some hyped up speed freak?? I attended a spinning class last night and when I closed my eyes I honestly did not know if I would wake up soaked in sweat from a nightmare or if I would be soaked in sweat on my stationary bicycle. Legs were spinning so fast I swear I could see smoke rising from 90% of the knee joints in the room. There was whooping and laughing, screaming and chanting. People were high fiving and back slapping. I have never seen anything like it. I have never in my life witnessed so much energy in one room in my life.
Although I was a wee bit scared, there was part of me that felt left out. There was a part of me that wanted to join their secret happy club. I wanted to jump up out of my seat with determination rather than feeling like I may just have to tip off my bike instead. And there was a part of me that wondered is this a natural endorphin induced high or are these people a result of a chemically induced state of mind? And if it is the latter, I may just have to ask one of these days, “Who’s your dealer??”
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Everyone's a little bit racist
This past weekend I took a little trip to Coconut Grove to see a friend visiting from out of town. It was here I had a rather enlightening self-discovering moment. We went out on the town to get a few drinks and catch up. After being approached by a rather persuasive Austrian and after the bar tender alerted us to the fact that we were being anti -social, we embarked upon a journey of what I have termed “awkward bar conversation” with three gentleman. While my poor friend was being fawned over by a now very inebriated Austrian, I began an in depth conversation about racial tension in South Florida.
Perhaps it is due to my extreme whiteness, but I am utterly fascinated by issues of race in the US. I have recently become especially spellbound by what I like to call interior racism. This is when people of a particular race discriminate against others of the same background. One Black person telling another he is white washed. Another Latina telling another she doesn’t dance like a true Latina. Or that he or she should speak a certain way. Brian, one of our newfound friends is of Cuban origin. Two white parents adopted him and due to this fact he says he speaks no Spanish and claims he will never visit Cuba.
I could not believe this. What I would give to have such a culturally rich background. The food, the people, to have a native tongue different from English! I could not hide my disdain that he did not so much as speak Spanish. I tried to recover, but he interrupted to assuage my guilt by telling me he received this reaction frequently. When ordering in restaurants he has constantly had to stop waiters when they address him in Spanish. Each time he claimed, the waiter would be filled with disgust telling him he should speak the language of his ancestors. I had to also ask him why he would not want to see where he was from. Why wouldn’t he want to speak the language of his culture? But apart from his darker skin tone why would his culture be anything other than that of the couple that raised him? That became his family? And furthermore who am I to determine that any person should be any particular way? I am somewhat Scottish and a little bit Canadian. Should I dine only on Haggis? Or wear only a kilt? Should I say aboot instead of about? I do enjoy “O Canada”, but it’s not the only song I sing!
We all have stereotypes we impose upon different cultures and races other than our own, but I am interested to learn that similar and more potent stereotypes exist within the same cultures and races. Although I would love it if race weren’t an issue, I wonder if that will ever be the case. There will always be a black mother devastated when her son brings home a white fiancé and unfortunately a father that will not be able to hide his discomfort wtih a daughter’s black boyfriend. I will never be able to dance and I will blame this on my whiteness. Similarly there will always be the groups of Cubans that will shame the Cuban American that doesn’t make an effort to identify with a culture he feels should only be the past. I feel that interior racism is just as prevalent as exterior racism, if not more so. I guess the puppets from Avenue Q are correct everyone is a little bit racist and I think on some level this will most certainly be the case for a long long while.
Perhaps it is due to my extreme whiteness, but I am utterly fascinated by issues of race in the US. I have recently become especially spellbound by what I like to call interior racism. This is when people of a particular race discriminate against others of the same background. One Black person telling another he is white washed. Another Latina telling another she doesn’t dance like a true Latina. Or that he or she should speak a certain way. Brian, one of our newfound friends is of Cuban origin. Two white parents adopted him and due to this fact he says he speaks no Spanish and claims he will never visit Cuba.
I could not believe this. What I would give to have such a culturally rich background. The food, the people, to have a native tongue different from English! I could not hide my disdain that he did not so much as speak Spanish. I tried to recover, but he interrupted to assuage my guilt by telling me he received this reaction frequently. When ordering in restaurants he has constantly had to stop waiters when they address him in Spanish. Each time he claimed, the waiter would be filled with disgust telling him he should speak the language of his ancestors. I had to also ask him why he would not want to see where he was from. Why wouldn’t he want to speak the language of his culture? But apart from his darker skin tone why would his culture be anything other than that of the couple that raised him? That became his family? And furthermore who am I to determine that any person should be any particular way? I am somewhat Scottish and a little bit Canadian. Should I dine only on Haggis? Or wear only a kilt? Should I say aboot instead of about? I do enjoy “O Canada”, but it’s not the only song I sing!
We all have stereotypes we impose upon different cultures and races other than our own, but I am interested to learn that similar and more potent stereotypes exist within the same cultures and races. Although I would love it if race weren’t an issue, I wonder if that will ever be the case. There will always be a black mother devastated when her son brings home a white fiancé and unfortunately a father that will not be able to hide his discomfort wtih a daughter’s black boyfriend. I will never be able to dance and I will blame this on my whiteness. Similarly there will always be the groups of Cubans that will shame the Cuban American that doesn’t make an effort to identify with a culture he feels should only be the past. I feel that interior racism is just as prevalent as exterior racism, if not more so. I guess the puppets from Avenue Q are correct everyone is a little bit racist and I think on some level this will most certainly be the case for a long long while.
You fine me, you die
Upon moving to my retirement community I was issued a book of rules, which I was warned if I did not follow I would be fined. "How quaint", I thought, "it's like a mini city". I found it charming how seriously these residents take their committees and even the interview they forced me to endure prior to my move I found humorous. I found two rules in particular enormously amusing. These were the ones that the community chooses to highlight numerous times throughout the 16 page tome. The emphasized rules state that no resident is allowed to back their vehicle into a parking space and no pickup truck is allowed on premise during specified hours. After many hours of discussion and contemplation I came to the conclusion these rules must have something to do with the plentiful flaura within the community. I also determined these rules would have no effect on me as I have no truck, nor to I prefer to back into my parking spots. How very wrong I was. I been fined for violating not one, but both of these rules. As I am unable to present my case in front of the fining committee, I was told put together a formal document explaining my innocence. For your reading pleasure I have included it below.
Dear Sir or Madame:
The purpose of this document is to present why I was wrongfully issued two Notices of Violation on Saturday, 1/6/07. As I will be out of town during the week of February 13th, this document should be presented to the Fining Committee in my absence. The violations will first be outlined and then refuted below.
The first violation was issued due to the accusation that a Ford Pickup truck with tag # S31-0HR, which was allegedly registered to my unit, was parked on property at 1:30 am. The second violation was issued at 7:10 am of the same day. A Ford Pickup truck with tag T06XAD was backed into a parking space, endangering the shrubbery below its monstrous exhaust pipe.
I do recognize both counts as direct infringements of policies listed in both the Vehicle and Parking sections of the Bay Colony Club Handbook. These rules state that not only are vehicles not allowed to back into spaces due to the aforementioned endangerment of flora, but in addition no pickup truck is allowed on premise between the hours of 11pm and 8 am. However, as I had no guests on the date in question, these violations are the liability of another. Upon my return home on 1/6/07 at approximately 1:00 am, I noted a red pickup truck was backed into the parking spot registered to my unit. I contemplated calling Security, but due to the late nature of the incident I opted ultimately to wait until a more reasonable hour, as I am sure Security opted to do when they did not present the violations at the time incurred. Later in the morning on Saturday, the truck had been removed. Although, the vehicle in question was illegally parked in my spot, the guest was of no relation to me. Once the records are re-checked I am sure they will reveal that no guest was registered to my unit on this evening and furthermore, if license plate numbers were properly recorded, the actual resident in violation should be revealed.
As a new resident in Bay Colony Club I have found the experience to be extremely gratifying. The landscaping is well maintained; guards are courteous and helpful, the office prompt in offering their assistance, and the residents friendly and caring. However, this incident does raise a level of concern that guest records are not correctly assembled. The notice of violation that I was issued states that the vehicle incurring the violations was registered to my unit, which was in fact never the case. Furthermore, the guilty vehicle was permitted on premise approaching the aforementioned illegal times. Had this been highlighted upon their arrival, perhaps this incident could have been avoided. I am hoping that this is in fact a rare occurrence rather than the status quo. I do appreciate the time you have taken to issue my violations and process my rebuttal.
Warmest Regards and Happy New Year,
Marissa Brady
Dear Sir or Madame:
The purpose of this document is to present why I was wrongfully issued two Notices of Violation on Saturday, 1/6/07. As I will be out of town during the week of February 13th, this document should be presented to the Fining Committee in my absence. The violations will first be outlined and then refuted below.
The first violation was issued due to the accusation that a Ford Pickup truck with tag # S31-0HR, which was allegedly registered to my unit, was parked on property at 1:30 am. The second violation was issued at 7:10 am of the same day. A Ford Pickup truck with tag T06XAD was backed into a parking space, endangering the shrubbery below its monstrous exhaust pipe.
I do recognize both counts as direct infringements of policies listed in both the Vehicle and Parking sections of the Bay Colony Club Handbook. These rules state that not only are vehicles not allowed to back into spaces due to the aforementioned endangerment of flora, but in addition no pickup truck is allowed on premise between the hours of 11pm and 8 am. However, as I had no guests on the date in question, these violations are the liability of another. Upon my return home on 1/6/07 at approximately 1:00 am, I noted a red pickup truck was backed into the parking spot registered to my unit. I contemplated calling Security, but due to the late nature of the incident I opted ultimately to wait until a more reasonable hour, as I am sure Security opted to do when they did not present the violations at the time incurred. Later in the morning on Saturday, the truck had been removed. Although, the vehicle in question was illegally parked in my spot, the guest was of no relation to me. Once the records are re-checked I am sure they will reveal that no guest was registered to my unit on this evening and furthermore, if license plate numbers were properly recorded, the actual resident in violation should be revealed.
As a new resident in Bay Colony Club I have found the experience to be extremely gratifying. The landscaping is well maintained; guards are courteous and helpful, the office prompt in offering their assistance, and the residents friendly and caring. However, this incident does raise a level of concern that guest records are not correctly assembled. The notice of violation that I was issued states that the vehicle incurring the violations was registered to my unit, which was in fact never the case. Furthermore, the guilty vehicle was permitted on premise approaching the aforementioned illegal times. Had this been highlighted upon their arrival, perhaps this incident could have been avoided. I am hoping that this is in fact a rare occurrence rather than the status quo. I do appreciate the time you have taken to issue my violations and process my rebuttal.
Warmest Regards and Happy New Year,
Marissa Brady
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
I can't stop
Okay, I know I recently posted about my fear of becoming a Cat Lady. Since my only readers already know me anyway, there is no hiding it, I can't get enough of these little fuzzy critters. Here is one more I just want to share. This week we got a small group of cats named after Rock and Roll legends. Of course they were my faves. Of Ringo, Zeppelin, and Marley, Marley was my favorite. He had that Rasta vibe going on I feel. He did smell a little smoky as another volunteer pointed out. Anyway, here is this little furball. Don't you just want to pinch his cheeks and snuggle?? Okay so he isn't so into me taking this picture of him, but keep in mind I have this blinding flash that I cannot figure out how to tame, poor guy...
Monday, January 08, 2007
Yeah I am that girl
Today I ventured out into the world in broad daylight to enjoy what is sometimes referred to as a lunch date. This was not a lunch date of the romantic persuasion, but more of a business endeavor. However, lunch dates are not the topic at hand, but more how I manage to turn every day-to-day situation into ones of the utmost awkwardness. It all began when I met up with a fellow alumnus for a brief lunch meeting to discuss an event we are planning to host. Upon entering the sandwich/smoothie establishment we had selected, I excused myself to use the restroom. As I found my way to the back of the restaurant I should have been alarmed by the numerous boxes and cleaning supplies piled precariously around the restroom door. I should have foreseen this as a flight obstruction. However, I did neither of these things and upon my decision to exit the restroom I realized that I was stuck. Perhaps I had slammed the door with such force that it lodged the boxes into a position that barricaded the door? Or maybe a rebellious sandwich maker opted to play a nervy joke on a young lass merely looking for a midday meal?
After considering these options and reaching no conclusion I began to panic. What if no one came back to use the restroom? What was my new acquaintance whom I had met moments prior thinking being that I had been missing for several minutes? As I pushed at the door and tried to wriggle my way out of this disaster I then began to wonder to myself why these situations happen only to me. Does fate think its funny to lock me in bathrooms and try to find my way out? To lock me out of movie theaters when on a romantic date? To spill my drink in lunchrooms? To trip on rugs at job interviews? Does someone think these embarrassments and inconveniences just roll off my back? I can assure you they do not. I may laugh and attempt to play these things off as revitalizing humor, but make no mistake I am keeping score. Fortunately, I was able to escape and though I am sure my lunch date was confused, at least she was polite. But let it be known I am expecting some sort of good karma to be coming my way in the near future. And I will not rest until it is received.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
When to Call it Quits
Since College I have become progressively more lame and although I am only 22 I am pretty sure I am on the express train to becoming a cat lady. Here are a few signs that I may soon call it a day and buy a few cats:
1. There are more floral designs in my apartment than an entire Laura Ashley catalogue
2. My affinity for sheep collectibles
3. The fact that there are more stuffed animals on my bed than people in my cell phone
4. I own more cardigans than tube tops
5. I now currently spend more time in my home office than the entire world combined spends indoors
6. I am starting to enjoy the Enya part of spinning because the other parts are just too loud
7. I am getting used to being alone
8. I feel that doilies would not seem out of place in my home
9. I don't flinch as much anymore when people ask if I am a "cat" person
10. Then of course there is my adoration for precious fuzzy kitties
If you happen to ring me up and you hear any sort of meowing or hissing in the background please immediately hang up and call 911. This could potentially get serious.
1. There are more floral designs in my apartment than an entire Laura Ashley catalogue
2. My affinity for sheep collectibles
3. The fact that there are more stuffed animals on my bed than people in my cell phone
4. I own more cardigans than tube tops
5. I now currently spend more time in my home office than the entire world combined spends indoors
6. I am starting to enjoy the Enya part of spinning because the other parts are just too loud
7. I am getting used to being alone
8. I feel that doilies would not seem out of place in my home
9. I don't flinch as much anymore when people ask if I am a "cat" person
10. Then of course there is my adoration for precious fuzzy kitties
If you happen to ring me up and you hear any sort of meowing or hissing in the background please immediately hang up and call 911. This could potentially get serious.
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