On Blogging

Blogging is a weird medium.  It's rather narcissistic, completely voyeuristic, and usually unrealistic.

I write for me.  To keep track of stories and to stand in place of a hard copy journal.  I write because I've got opinions and because some things are just too funny or strange not to share.  I'm not kidding myself about my audience (which I'm pretty sure consists almost entirely of my family and a few friends), but still I find it fun to post things to the digital void.

I'll say it again, though. Blogging is weird. 

When you have a bad day at work, you don't write about it because it would be unfair to publicly post negative things about co-workers.  Instead, you write about how you had a momentary lapse of judgement when you were cutting jalepenos, rubbed your eye, and spent the next hour squinting out alligator tears while you cooked dinner.

When you are feeling depressed or angry or annoyed, you don't write about it because it makes you sound morose and ungrateful.  Intead, you write about the shock of having that homeless guy mess his pants while you're sitting next to him on the metro. 

When you're excited about something it comes off as bragging.  When you're sporatically grammar-inept you seem dumb as a brick.  It's really hard to find a balance and still truthfully represent who you are.

But I've found that there are great things about blogging, too.

I met up with Jane for lunch yesterday at Shake Shack.  She was in town for a few days with her husband and mother in law and I practially coerced her into meeting up with me.  We met on study abroad in 2006 in Paris.  Our schedules didn't overlap much, so we sadly didn't get to know each other that well back then.  BUT, we've followed each others' blogs through the years and have had a great time commenting back and forth.  [She's a fantastic writer, by the way. Check out her blog.] 

It just kills me that we didn't hang out more in our carefree college days. It's definitely an incentive for me to be less shy - think of all the friendships I may have missed out on due to social anxiety and silence.

When her husband walked into Shake Shack yesterday I felt like a crazy stalker because I immediately knew who he was even though I'd never met him before (another slightly creepy aspect of blogging).  It was so fun to catch up after all this time and still feel like we'd never missed a beat.
 
Sometimes you just feel really connected to someone through their writing, you know?  Maybe it's their cadence, or off-kilter word choice, or their prolific use of parentheticals (I love me some parentheticals), but it just clicks. 

And, for now, here end my thoughts on blogging.

I'm off to write a persuasive email to Jane outlining (in detail) all the reason that she and Alex need to move to DC.  Wish me luck.

Easter

I never wrote about Easter this year.  Mostly because I was spending my time enjoying the moment, but also because I was lazy after the weekend and consumed with work and life.

Blake had to work all weekend (until midnight each day as he did for the whole month), so I got to tag along on Easter festivities with Blake's family and with friends. 

Saturday we had Easter #1 at Blake's parents' house.  We had a lovely meal, way too much dessert, and then played all sorts of games outside with hard boiled eggs.  We played the balance-an-egg-on-a-spoon-and-run game (which was especially entertaining when the three-year-olds got involved) and we also played Bocce Ball with the eggs.  You can see my extra classy egg below - decorated with a blue sharpie and smudged by yours truly. 

I'd like to blame my egg for my terrible Bocce skills, but the truth is that I have terrible depth perception in games like this and ended up giving my egg to my 3-year-old nephew so he could have an extra turn.  He successfully smashed the egg in one turn - but at least the yolk landed fairly close to its goal.  That's got to count for something.

Sunday I joined with some friends from church for a second Easter dinner.  Tiffany, Kristin and I had spent an evening earlier that week making "special" Easter eggs.  We blew out the insides, dyed and glittered the outsides, then cut small holes in them and filled most with fruity pebbles and two with glitter.  Then, after dinner, each person got two eggs to smash on the head of an unsuspecting victim.  If you got one with glitter broken over your head, you got a prize. 

I stole the photo below from Kristin.  She was the first one to break an egg over my head (with great force, I might add) and it was filled with fruity pebbles.  No prize.  Just extra dirty hair.  Yumm.  I am not sharing the photo of Tiffany smashing a glitter filled egg over my head (prize = yes. clean hair =a definite no) because I have approximately 4 chins in it.  Even after several shampooings, I was still digging glitter out of my hair for a week. 

Of Biblical Proportions

It has recently come to my attention that we're expecting the once-every-17-years plague of cicadas this summer.  And you know what?  Now that I know they're coming, it's like some sort of horrible waiting game.  Sort of like a slasher film when you know the guy with the mask will show up at any point, but you can't do anything to prevent it (because, after all, it IS a slasher film).  Yes. Like that. Except with these terrifying bugs: 

Look at those beady red eyes!  The horror, the horror!

My reading has confirmed that these suckers will show up as soon as the ground temperature reaches 64 degrees.  Then they'll crawl out of their subterranean bug villas and descend upon us like a plague straight out of the Bible.

How exactly does one test the ground temperature?  And is it worth doing, or should I just accept my fate? 

Blake said that in 1996 they were so plentiful that he had to scrape them off the car before getting in.  And that you can't help but step on them.  And that when they die (all at once, apparently) you have to rake their carcasses just like you would a pile of old leaves.

In conclusion, I'd advise all you unsuspecting interns planning to come to the DC area this summer to do one thing: turn and run back to where you came from.  Escape while you still can.

Freedom

April 10th - you glorious day - you've come not a moment too soon!  You brought with you warm (dare I say, hot?) weather, a large deadline accomplit, and the grand opening of the Costco near my house.  Yes, April 10th, you are heaven sent.

The only thing nice about having a four-month-long project is that the project consumes most of the drab winter and finishes up right when the weather turns glorious.  It's certainly a way to make the dreary months go by quickly each year.

I got off late yesterday, but not too late, so Blake and I went to scope out the Free Scoop situation at Ben &Jerry's.  When we arrived, the line snaked all the way down the street.  Usually I'm down to wait an hour for free ice cream, but this line was surrounded by fundraisers and small cheerleaders doing peppy cheers.  Maybe it was the eternal line, or maybe it was the fact that I'd already snagged a free scoop from the Union Station location on the way home, but I just couldn't take it.

So, we did the next best thing and treated ourselves to dinner at Chick-Fil-A.

And, if I know one thing, I know that one good fast food turn deserves another.  After inhaling our delicious nuggets, we walked right past the long line, the fundraisers, and the cheerleaders to Potbelly for Chocolate Malts.

Free scoop day may have turned into $2.50 malt day, but any day with ice cream is ok in my book.