My Little Corner of the World

2011-02-01T07:54:00.000-08:00

I've been pretty lazy with my blogging, so I thought I'd use this sick day (and my complete lack of motivation to get up and move) to my advantage and post something!

I don't have much to report in the way of changes in my life, which I guess is a good thing for now. I'm taking two classes this semester, which is less than I had planned to take, but my tuition remission only covers 7 hours until the summer. Although I enjoy my classes, I've been reconsidering the certification route. Because of the limitations attached to my job and the amount of credit hours I can take in an academic year (18), certification will take me almost another two years. When I realized this, I made an appointment with an advisor in Career Services at SLU in an effort to sort out if teaching is really what I want to do.

The woman I met with (who is actually close friends with one of my favorite OT faculty members) was extremely helpful. She asked the right questions, let me do a lot of talking (which I guess I needed!), and had some good suggestions. After speaking with her, I realized that I have passion for literature, not for teaching. I always kind of knew this, but because a MA in English isn't doable with my schedule, I felt that certification was practical. I think I struggle a lot with what's "practical"; the more I think about it, most of my choices in life center around this concept. I don't know if this is because I feel like I'm not often rewarded for taking risks, or just because I'm older and my goals have changed.

Regardless, I think my goals are changing again. I've been looking into a MA in Higher Education at SLU, and depending on what I learn when I speak to the department of Higher Ed, I might do this instead of certification. I'm having a hard time throwing out the hours I've earned this past year, but in reality, few of the classes held my interest. Additionally, working on a paper after a 10-hour day isn't great, either. Work has been terrible lately, as we have a huge regional conference this weekend that I pretty much organized independently (and is in no way related to my job), and this is definitely affecting my view of school. After a long day, you want to do something you love, not just something you tolerate.

However, on a positive note, Andy and I have planned a relaxing, SLU-free trip to Seattle in July! I'm pretty psyched about Seattle, as it's somewhere we could potentially live, but it also seems to be a great city; the music venues, vintage shops, and restaurants I've researched are adorable, and I can't wait to eat fresh seafood! I'm using this Seattle trip as a major motivation to get through the rest of Spring, so you can expect more annoying posts about the west coast to come soon.

And now, because this post has sort of rambled on, here are some random observations and updates:

1. I always thought I had a great sense of rhythm, and then I went to a Zumba class. It was a tough workout, but I will never feel as awkward as I did while "dropping my booty" during a song that consisted of a guy yelling, "YOU GO GIRL!" over a dance beat. Basically imagine Elaine Benes doing this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qwVdBH4vjLU&feature=relmfu and you'll have a picture of what I looked like on Saturday morning.

2. The Oscars were pretty disappointing this year. Anne Hathaway's tailored tuxedo aside, there were no great surprises, and James Franco was painful to watch. I was obviously happy to see my British boyfriend, Colin Firth, win, but not even his handsome face could distract me from the hot mess that was the rest of the show.

3. I'm listening to "Bizarre Love Triangle" and it's making me hardcore nostalgic for 80's Night at Shattered.

4. I finally saw The Social Network, and although I thought Jesse Eisenberg's "mean nerd" impression was spot-on, I was underwhelmed. The story wasn't particularly strong, and I felt like the conflict was inflated with dark colors, moody music, and lots of scowling.

5. I will be 27 in a little over a month and I'm not sure how I feel about that.

2010-12-31T08:32:00.001-08:00

Whenever I drive from Chicago to Missouri, I always score my drive using the same pattern. I begin with a handful of cds I like (this trip it was Mark Ronson's Record Collection, Arcade Fire's The Suburbs, and random Girl Talk mixes), then peruse the radio for hidden gems (a college radio station, an 80's hour, etc.) and usually finish my trip with NPR. I think this method is effective for many reasons (the radio keeps me awake, Wait Wait Don't Tell Me keeps me laughing), but I had a small epiphany during my last trip home, and it was directly related to this formula.

It seems that if you listen to more than an hour of any classic rock station, you're bound to hear Bryan Adams or Bruce Springsteen at least once. Bryan Adams is probably less likely, as he has less commercial hits and more ballads, but "Summer of '69" is a frequent presence on southern Illinois radio. In addition to "Born to Run", "Born in the USA", "Dancing in the Dark", "I'm on Fire" (this isn't played that often, but I really love this song), and a lengthy list of other hits, "Glory Days" is also seemingly in constant rotation. Both of these songs have a wonderful karaoke bar quality to them, but more importantly, they represent the power of retrospection and regret.

As a carefree college student, I would listen to these songs as I drove up highway 70 and think about what crybabies these two working class tough guys were. So your high school band collapsed after one of your friends decided to get hitched. BFD. (You said so yourself that the band would never get far!) Your girlfriend split up with you because you left her standing on a porch forever. That's on you, Bryan. Although Springsteen had a little more credibility in my eyes (I have a soft spot for people from New Jersey...well, some people from New Jersey), I still didn't understand what there was to miss about high school. As a man in your thirties, shouldn't you be looking forward to the rewarding aspects of life that come with marriage and having a family? I know the song is comprised mostly of vignettes about other people, and that "Summer of 69" is really just an extended memory, but it was hard for me to empathize with these songs. As someone in their late teens/early 20's, I felt that the best times were ahead of me. Drinking at the VFW while reminiscing about things I can't change was pathetic, cliched, and light years away from the success college promised.

That being said, after this past Christmas, I listen to these songs differently. I don't consider myself to be more nostalgic than the average person, but my sense of tradition is freakishly potent during the holidays. For me, Christmas and Thanksgiving have always been the constants during an otherwise unpredictable year. With the exception of last Christmas, I have spent both holidays with my family almost every year. Something about eating the same food, with the same people, is a comfort that, for those few days, makes the rest of life melt away. Homemade Christmas cookies, the opening of a single gift on Christmas Eve, and presents tucked into stockings (yes, I am 26 and still have a stocking at my parents' house) are things I look forward to during the entire year. I know this is weird for someone my age, but I fucking love Christmas.

Well, I used to fucking love Christmas.

I knew that going home had the potential to be awkward; my parents are seriously considering getting a divorce and their ability to get along is directly proportional to how much stress surrounds a particular situation. In other words, I should've seen my visit as an emotional landmine months ago, but assuming that my parents' marital problems would be brushed aside in the name of Christmas, I went ahead and stepped on it anyway. Bad move. I came home on the 20th to find a tree only half decorated with lights, no plans to make cookies, and a house that was mostly empty. Between my dad's work, my mom's job, and my sister's internship, hardly anyone was ever there. (Nick was home occasionally, but spent most of his time with Sharon or at bars.) When people did get home, they ate in separate rooms, tvs blaring, and hardly spoke.

As the oldest child, I took it upon myself to bring my family together for the holiday, so I made dinner, decorated the tree while everyone was at work, and wrapped presents. I turned on White Christmas, went shopping with my dad for cookie supplies, and waited for the magic to happen. However, my plans backfired horribly, almost hilariously, when the tree fell over the morning of Christmas Eve. I woke up to find a massacre of ornaments (seriously--I found one Santa's arm about a foot from his body) and a pile of wet presents. I woke up my dad and spent half an hour cleaning up pine needles, picking up glass, drying presents, and trying to glue together a broken Baby's First Christmas. My mom made a brief appearance to complain about who put up the tree (my dad) and declare that this was "the shittiest Christmas ever" before going back to sleep.

Her tantrum reminded my dad that the family hadn't bought my mom her "big" gift yet, so we headed to Coach to buy her a wallet and purse and ran a few other errands. I met a friend for lunch, and when I got home, my mom was pissed. She wanted to know where we'd been, why my dad wasn't buying groceries for the Christmas meal, and why we didn't answer our phones. (I had called her and left her a message letting her know we were out, but I guess that was overlooked.) She yelled, swore, declared that she was leaving, and cried for about an hour. I tried to comfort her, but it was difficult because I was 1. pissed off and 2. really confused. According to my sister, my mom had made these outbursts a pretty standard occurrence in the Powers house, but this was my first exposure to them. (I've been receiving "he said/she said" phone calls for months, but nothing this crazy.)

After everyone ate Chinese food for dinner in front of their respective tvs again, I tried to generate some excitement about the Christmas Eve gift opening. My brother left after my mom's freak out, so I texted him our plans to open the customary one gift around 9. I didn't hear from him until 11, and the weight of overall unenthusiam crushed me. I know that reading this, missing out on the Christmas Eve tradition doesn't seem like a big deal, but it was to me.

Somehow I managed to get through Christmas and the rest of my visit. I found myself using any excuse to get out of the house ("I think we're out of milk!") and absorbing as much satellite tv as possible. Without knowing it, I had adopted the coping mechanisms of my entire family, and I didn't realize this until my drive back to St. Louis. As I was pulling out of a Culver's in Springfield, "Glory Days" came on. While I initially wondered why more songs don't use harmonicas, I found myself looking back on all of the wonderful Christmases past. I thought about spending a day making frying pan cookies and seven layer delights, laughing at Grandma's creepy singing Mrs. Claus (long story), and waking up to my sister's incessant knocking and yelling on Christmas morning. Then I thought about this Christmas, and how I woke up before everyone else, quietly placed the presents in piles, and had a cup of tea. There was no yelling, no breakfast, and no stockings. Just polite thank yous and lots of tv.

2010-09-20T07:32:00.000-07:00

This weekend, I saw The Flaming Lips for the second time. The first time I saw them was a couple years ago at the Pageant, and it was easily the best show I've ever been to. Not only was their set full of my favorite songs, but it's impossible not to sing along as confetti is shot out of cannons and aliens dance on stage. Basically, I imagine it's like the best trip anyone on acid has ever had.

The show this weekend was in Columbia, outside of the Blue Note. I had the option to buy tickets to the STL show, but since Saturday was Andy's birthday, I wanted to go all out! I'm really glad I did. It was also the first outdoor concert experience for both of us, and it couldn't have been better.

Although the show was incredible (they closed with "Do You Realize?", Wayne rolled around in his infamous plastic bubble, and a topless chick spent half of the concert hanging out of her window), I still managed to do some people-watching.

Here are a few of the archetypes I noticed on Saturday:

1. The Bouncer. The Bouncer has an inherit sense of concert justice that will not be compromised. He (or she) maintains order by ushering drunk people away, ensuring that everyone can see the stage, and intimidating people who are acting like assholes. The Bouncer by us looked exactly like Comic Book Guy from The Simpsons and successfully guided loud, drunk girls away from us, lectured some frat boy on the logistics of crowd surfing, and politely but firmly chastised anyone blocking our view.

2. The Know It All. The Know It All has an overwhelming, yet pretentious love for the band. He (or she) feels compelled to predict the set list, reflect on how this experience is different than "the time I saw them at ____," and balk at anyone having an unproportionate amount of fun. The Know It All will sing along, fist pump furiously, and use any down time to spew useless facts. The Know It All on Saturday was a Michael Cera-ish hipster. Maybe this is why I had the urge to fight him, Mortal Combat-style.

3. The Ignorant Slut. The Ignorant Slut is dolled up, drunk, and has no idea why she (or he) is there. They doesn't know anything about the band, but spent hours getting ready and has consumed enough Miller Lite to have a good time. He/she doesn't care if half of their beer ends up on your shoes, or that they has no idea what the fuck is going on. The Ignorant Slut by us was wearing fake feather eye lashes (which were frankly kind of fabulous), and kept asking "What is TFL?" as her friends gushed about the show.

I'm sure there are others I'm leaving out of this list, but these were definitely the most prominent concert-goers in the 3x3 space where we spent most of the show. Overall, I had a great time. Not only did I get to see possibly my favorite live band ever, but I hung out with friends from college, and had a much needed slice of Shakespeare's pizza (with wheat crust, of course).

As Comic Book Guy would say, best. weekend. ever.

2010-09-05T15:48:00.000-07:00

In lieu of the blog I planned to write about The Remains of the Day and my three-day stint as a juror, I decided to post about something even more boring: goals.

I'm not sure if this inspiration is a result of the start of the school year, a time when beginning new and sharpening your pencils for success seems contagious, or if I just need to have something in print to make sure I follow through with my plans. (I think it's a little of column A, a little of column B.) I don't have any outrageous aspirations, but there are a few things I would like to accomplish in the next year:

1. Get an "A" in all of my certification classes. I don't think this will be challenging, but I'm only taking 200 level classes right now. For me, the issue isn't the material, but rather having the time to read, study, and find the energy after work to do anything but watch tv. I'm enthused now that I'm finally working on the education component of my teaching certification, so hopefully this excitement will translate into good grades. Also, if you know me at all, you know that I enjoy bragging rights, and being on the Dean's List would be pretty amazing.

2. Learn to sew. I'm not looking to turn into Betsy Ross, but I would like to be able to hem pants, take in a dress, sew on a button, etc. Being freakishly frugal, I hate taking things to tailors, and it would be nice to be able to buy something and know that I can take it up an inch or two, or make a thrift store find fit me.

3. Make my room into a Kelly-friendly, unique space. I've started this process, now that I have a desk in my room, but eventually I'd like to paint the walls, hang all of my records, and get a twin bed into my room/our guest bedroom. I'm sick of staring at the Anthropologie website and coveting their bright quilts and vintage-inspired drapes. I'm determined to make my room the adorable place I know it has the potential to be!

4. Write more. This is a goal that comes up annually, but I'm really going to try. I need to be less focused on a finished product and put more emphasis on writing something, anything, when I want to.

5. Keep growing out my hair. Did you notice that I saved the easiest goal for last? I feel like I'm six months away from the Bridget Bardot bed-head hair I've always wanted, and no amount of pictures of Michelle Williams' cute pixie cut is going to change that!

Overall, these aren't huge goals, but maybe that's because I'm saving those for later. Buying a house, starting a teaching career, and moving still seem far away, regardless of how much I prepare for them. Let's see how successful I am with these baby steps. :)

2010-08-03T06:57:00.000-07:00

This post is more than a little overdue, but I have excuses. During July, I rushed Bollo to an emergency animal clinic, finished my first certification class, dealt with numerous family visits, and discovered that summers are unfortunately just as busy as the rest of the school year. Needless to say, I'm glad that it's August.

Anyway, because of the aforementioned craziness in my life last month, I did little to no reading or writing. Actually, the most creative thing I've done recently is rearrange my office, which, although productive, is kind of depressing. I did read Sloane Crosley's second collection of essays, How Did You Get This Number, which was as funny and wonderful as her first book, but it also had the same eerie flavor of familiarity. She writes about spending time in Paris (I was just there in March), the death of family pets (this was particularly poignant when I thought I had almost killed Bollo), and the discovery that a perfect relationship was, well, not perfect at all. The title comes from this last essay, which chronicles the start and end of her relationship with a great guy...who already had a girlfriend. I'm sure that most women of a certain age, who fall prey to charming yet aloof men, have experienced this (as I did in college), but the fact that Sloane Crosley, a cute, smart, and hilarious woman is a victim of such douchebaggery made me feel pretty good about my spotty dating history.

Although I sometimes suspect that Crosley is putting up a front of humility or normalcy, How Did You Get This Number was genuinely funny. Plus, she can really turn a phrase. I was impressed with her writing before, but her descriptions of Paris, love, and even apartment-hunting were sharp and unique.

Despite my recent penchant for creative non-fiction, this week I'm reading The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro. I plan to write a proper review, since I finished Never Let Me Go (also by Ishiguro), loved it, and promptly forgot to gush about it on my blog. Until I nail down a schedule for posting, I'm sure these entries will continue to be sporadic, but I'm trying. August brings the start of school, two more classes for me, and hopefully another trip to the lake, so I'm not making any promises, but I can guarantee more excuses.

2010-06-28T11:11:00.001-07:00

This past weekend, during a long, much-needed excursion to the lake, I finished I Was Told There'd Be Cake by Sloane Crosley. Although I was initially skeptical about the reviews for this book (can anyone be "as funny as David Sedaris" or have the endearing nerd humor of Sarah Vowell?), I couldn't put it down. A large part of my attraction to these essays was how familiar they seemed. A disastrous maid of honor escapade? Been there. A terrible job in a small office that made you question your college degree and self worth? Done that. Being an awkward, too-skinny, frizzy-haired mess of a kid? Take a look at my 3rd grade class photo.

That being said, I kind of hate Sloane Crosley. I don't genuinely hate her, but I dislike her in the way that women abhor Christina Hendricks for being naturally gorgeous or Tina Fey for making binge eating seem cute and normal. I hate her because she's managed to take all of the unfortunate, albiet funny, things that have happened to her and make them entertaining. Basically she's lived my life and produced a wonderful piece of creative non-fiction, whereas I've struggled to keep up a blog and wonder when I'll get the inspiration to write something worth reading.

When I write, I'm always frustrated that I don't have some great experience to chronicle, and yet, Crosley wrote a whole book about losing her wallet, getting locked out of her apartment, and other mishaps and minutiae. This book was inspirational in that it made me realize how much essay fodder I've acquired in 26 years. I don't have to wait to backpack across Europe or have kids or change the world; I just need to elaborate on my own life.

Sure, I'm a little surprised that this realization came from a book that used the word "Turdgate" more than once (I guess you'll have to read it for this reference to make sense), but I'm glad I was able to get more than a laugh from I Was Told There'd Be Cake. I recommend this collection to anyone who enjoys the hilarity of everyday events, baking (specifically chocolate and pear tarts or sugar cookies), and witty prose.

2010-06-17T07:44:00.001-07:00

After almost two and half years of neglecting to post to this blog, I've decided to start contributing again. A lot has changed in my life since 2007, and I think new news warrants new posts. Unfortunately, it's not the same "I'm married!" or "I'm pregnant!" news that's congesting my Facebook feed, but it's exciting for me.

The biggest change is my life right now is that I'm "back in school," a la Jerri Blank. Although I didn't exchange sex for money or steal televisions in the interim, I did miss going to class. When I was hired at SLU, I planned to take advantage of the amazing tuition remission benefit and work towards my teacher certification. My first class started last week, and I'm already on my way to becoming the overachiever everyone hates. (I kid, of course!) Actually, most of the people I've talked to seem really nice and mature, unlike the juniors from last semester. No one tries to text during lecture or complains about reading a 1-page short story (seriously, how can you be so lazy that you can't even read flash fiction?), and they all wear the tired look of someone who's been at work all day. I love it.

Another significant change is that I'm no longer the selfish, dog-less girl I once was! Andy and I have Bollo, a 10 month old bloodhound, and he's a slobbery, affectionate, and all around awesome dog. The puppy phase was terrible (besides the inherent cuteness of a small dog with huge ears), but now that Bollo's almost a year old, our house is in better shape and the smell of Febreeze is mostly absent.

We also moved from the shady loft apartment in Tower Grove to a cute gingerbread-style house in St. Louis Hills. Thanks to my craigslist stalking, we found an adorable place with a cool landlord and we can walk to Ted Drewes! I love having a yard, and more importantly, being able to walk through my neighborhood without the fear of getting mugged.

Some less significant things have changed (my hair color, the amount of money I owe on my car), but overall I'm really happy with my life in St. Louis. I never thought I would say (or type) that, but in the words of Liz Lemon, "things are looking up for ol' Kelly Powers!" As a result, I'm hoping that this blog will include less lengthy complaints and more funny stories, observations, baking successes (or failures), and book reviews. Here's to the new blog, (sort of) the same as the old blog!

2007-11-15T07:45:00.000-08:00

An Open Letter to the Person who Broke Into My Car

Dear Thief,

Is it okay if I call you that, thief? I know the term is a little generous, considering that you skipped over the big ticket items in my car (namely the cd player), and opted for a portfolio, UMSL student planner, and a copy of Dave Egger's What is the What, (making you more of a punk or a hoodlum) but you did steal something, so I'm still going to use it. Sure, you may be a novice when it comes to sifting through the contents of my car, but you're also painfully unoriginal. Instead of using your doubtlessly catlike stealth and MacGyver-esque abilities to pick the lock, you utilized the strategy associated with most homeless people and broke my window. Now, I know that you couldn't possibly have known that I had another window repaired on my car just two months ago, or that the first time I went apartment-hunting in the city, someone broke into my car on Washington Ave. and tried to make off with my cds, but would it kill you to exercise a unique approach when it comes to burglarizing my vehicle?

However, despite my anger, I understand.

I understand that maybe this was a crime of passion. Perhaps you saw my black leather portfolio and fell in love with it's versatility and accent stitching. Perhaps you thought of a pair of shoes that you have at home, and imagined how polished and scholarly you would look carrying that portfolio while wearing said shoes. Perhaps you've just always wanted a ladies portfolio because you're gay. Are you gay, thief? I think you are.

I also understand that you were probably pressed for time, hurrying to an important appointment or scheduled engagement; surely a man of your talents had somewhere to be, and would not be roaming the streets searching for kittens to torture or old ladies to beat up. Or maybe you had the opposite dilemma and, finding that most coffee shops were closed for the evening, thought that the extra time on your hands would be best spent breaking into my car.

Regardless of your reasoning, I am still pissed that you took my book. I know that I was only 100 pages in, and that I lazily underlined instead of highlighting, but I was really enjoying What is the What. The novel received rave reviews from friends, and is even a New York Times Bestseller. I'm sure that you know this, being the literate gentleman I know you are, but I don't see why you couldn't just buy a copy. Perhaps you could try Borders, which offers a Rewards card, or Barnes and Noble, which carries Starbucks coffee instead of Seattle's Best. And don't worry thief, if you find that you don't have the $15 for a paperback, you can always just steal it.

Regards,

Kelly Powers

2007-11-01T06:13:00.000-07:00

My first college roommate was nothing like me.

When we met, she was a Texan who loved the Backstreet Boys, romantic comedies, and the guy with "piercing blue eyes" who lived in the dorm across from ours. She scheduled her classes around Days of Our Lives, was on the pom squad in high school, and sent Justin Timberlake a birthday card, despite the fact that he was obviously aligned with the enemy camp (N'Sync). Essentially, on paper, I should have really disliked this girl. We should've spent the first few weeks of school awkwardly avoiding each other and quietly complaining to the other girls in our hall, but to my surprise, we became fast friends.

We spent nights exchanging stories about our weird PA or comparing notes on the boys in our classes. We shared lecture notes, ate together, and gossiped to an almost obnoxious degree. Throughout all this, I felt myself changing. I gradually started to enjoy Justified (come on, "Cry Me a River" is a great pop song!) and even lingered during my lunch to catch up on Days. (Would Belle ever grow out of her chubby phase? Would Sammy ever stop being such a huge bitch?) Essentially, we became the perfect roommates--different enough to have our own friends, but similar enough to genuinely enjoy each other's company.

This friendship slowly expanded to include other girls in our hall, and before we knew it, there was always a steady group of six of us, usually camped out in someone's room or settled at a table in the dining hall. For the first time, I felt like I had "girls"--a group of female friends that were supportive, yet fun, i.e. *The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. (The idea of "girls" is commonly attached to things such as: Facebook photo captions (i.e., "Me and my girls!" or "A night with the girls!", etc.), a wedding and the events surrounding it, scheduled manicures and/or pedicures, and newfound singledom.)

Unfortunately, after Freshman year, our group had disbanded and we either coupled off, joined a sorority, or both. Sophomore year I met Brandon and had become full-on BFFs with LeeAnne, and my Junior year was spent with my boyfriend (mistake) at the time, Brandon, or Chip. My senior year, I met both Kristin and Megan, who essentially filled the female friend void, and made it fun to go out drinking or eat an entire pizza at Shakespeare's, but I still haven't recaptured the feeling of that first year of college. I can see it in other women, but it seems like something I'll never have, and I don't know why.

* Shut up, it was actually really funny.

2007-10-15T08:40:00.000-07:00

Events of the past weekend:

1. I finally saw Across the Universe. What I expected to be a cohesive, Beatles-inspired musical was really more of a collage of music video-friendly images played over a love story set in the 60's. Actually, the director seemed to be more in love with the decade than the music, because the Beatles songs were mostly re-worked in ways that made me miss the originals. "Happiness is a Warm Gun" was a standout, as was "A Day in the Life", but the title track and most of the pre-Rubber Soul tunes were really boring. The leads were decent singers, but despite the tears and protests and longings, the songs didn't seem genuine at all. I suppose this happens with covers sometimes, but I already know two versions of "Across the Universe" that beat the hell out of the sappy subway soliloquy Jude belts out towards the end. (Fiona Apple and Rufus Wainwright, duh.) However, songs aside, there were some unexpected surprises, mostly a very welcome Eddie Izzard as Mr. Kite (you can probably guess what number he was in), and a pretty good cameo from Bono as a Ken Kesey-esque writer and drug prophet. Also, Salma Hayek shows up as a hot nurse.

2. I met Andy's extended family. Andy's grandpa's birthday party was on Saturday, so I baked a pie and we headed over to his aunt's house. It was a pretty interesting evening (his aunts remind me SO much of my mom's family--it's a little eerie), but there were a couple awkward moments that evened the score established when I dragged Andy to my mom's 50th birthday, so I really can't complain.

3. Andy and I went to a pumpkin patch. What initially seemed like a good, Halloween-oriented afternoon just further emphasized how much I don't want kids. You couldn't take a step in any direction without kicking a dog or a baby, and because of our lack of either of these tag-alongs, we has nothing to coo at and take pictures of. However, we did come away with two good looking pumpkins.

4. I went to my first book club meeting. Claire (the book club initiator) organized a meeting at Hartford Coffee Co., a super cute coffeeshop by Tower Grove Park, to talk about The Poisonwood Bible. I was a little worried at first, mostly because I read the book over a month ago, but the other two girls I met were friendly and talkative, and the discussion was great. I think the club is going to be a good outlet for me because frankly, no one cares about literature unless they have already read it/want to read it/enjoy books. Most of my English major or book-hungry friends dispersed when I graduated, so the club should fill that void. All in all, it was really fun. Also, I think our next book is going to be What is the What, which I've been wanting to read forever.

2007-09-27T12:40:00.000-07:00

Kelly's Plans for the Weekend:

1. See the Flaming Lips at the Pageant. It's totally going to be the shit, but I'm really disappointed that I won't be able to sneak in my camera.

2. Start Kafka on the Shore. It's about time I got around to some Murakami.

3. Celebrate my admittance to UMSL. That's right, I'm going to grad school, bitches! Now I just have to figure out how to pay for it.

4. Bake something. I have pumpkin cookies and creme de menthe cupcakes on the horizon.

5. Relax. After last weekend, full of partying and sight-seeing and near-accidents on I-70, I'm ready to sleep in and watch some Cold Case Files.

2007-09-21T13:26:00.000-07:00

New Additions to Lists That Already Exist in My Head:

List: Things About Women I Don't Understand, Despite the Fact that I Am One
New Addition: Bridal Showers

Until last weekend, I had a very generic understanding of weddings and the traditions that surround them. I understood, for example, that weddings include a willing bride and groom, an impressive number of inebriated guests, and a sizeable, yet delicious cake. I enjoyed these things from the safety of a banquet table, knowing that what I ate and drank would more than make up for what little I could afford to spend on a present. Essentially, as a wedding guest, a wedding is AWESOME. However, as I found out this past Saturday, as a Maid of Honor, a wedding SUCKS.

Although I ended up spending upwards of $750 to throw a shower for the bride and 34 guests of her choice, at the end of the evening, there wasn't much to show for it. Sure, several old ladies praised my venue of choice, or commented on how lovely the cake was, but the only physical aftermath was a pile of tacky gifts that I had to catalog during the present-opening portion of the evening. It pained me to look at dueling sets of tropical fish decor for their bathrooms, but it was more difficult to understand the bizarre folklore that surrounds brides and bridal showers. As the bride opened her gifts, the crowd jokingly warned her not to break a ribbon, an action that (allegedly) means a baby shower is in your future. When I asked one of the bridesmaids why people were discouraging her to rip open her gifts, she answered me as if I'd asked her what time it was. *"A broken ribbon means you'll get pregnant."

I nodded stupidly while another bridesmaid interrupted my follow-up question with "Does anyone have a paper plate?" I was about to point out that we didn't have the shower at Pizza Hut when another girl cut in. "Yeah! She needs a plate for the ribbon bouquet!" Again, I nodded stupidly, and again Bridesmaid Number 1 answered the question accompanying my confused expression. "You put all the ribbons in a paper plate and make a little bouquet that she throws at the rehearsal."

Both of these things made me feel like an idiot. Here I had done everything possible to make sure she had a nice shower, and I failed miserably as a woman.

It reminded me of something from grade school, a stupid question one of the more popular girls had asked me at the peak of my awkwardness. "Look at your nails," Stephanie Bell instructed, after randomly confronting me during lunch. Simultaneously worried and flattered, I curled my fingers into my palm, looking into a row of ugly, stubby nails. "That's not how girls look at their nails!" she giggled. "Do it like this." She spread her fingers widely, moving her hand far from her face, as if preparing to lower it to greet a royal suitor or lift the hem of a ballgown. Her nails were bright pink, painted sloppily, but stood out at the end of her long fingers, mocking me.

"How could you not know this?" they seemed to say, joining the growing collective of Things Kelly Should Know. I imagined the pink nails corralled with my other insecurities, namely a poor attempt at a french braid and a pair of my mother's high heels--two things that every sleepover guest seemed to know more about than I did. "That's how boys look at their nails," Stephanie snorted. Before I could ask why boys would want to look at their nails, she was gone, relaying her findings to another table.

Anyway, the moral of the story is that last weekend's bridal shower was an entire evening of "How could you not know this?" and it made me feel like a bad hostess and maid of honor, despite the fact that I didn't want to be either. **I know it's a long jump from "ew, that's an ugly duvet cover" to "I think marriage is a waste of time and money", but what I've always suspected to be true was magnified at the epicenter of the pre-wedding celebrations. Last Saturday made me feel like something in me was missing. I wasn't excited about the crockpots or interested in the details of her color scheme. All I could do was look at the clock and avoid my naked fingernails.

*For some reason, this kind of angered me. I felt like because she was already in the process of fulfilling one of the archaic goals still assigned to women (marriage), she was expected to get a head start on another (children). I imagined what expectations the groom was held to, and realized that all he really has to do is get it up during their honeymoon.

**I'm sure you're reading this and thinking, "Well, she's just bitter." Actually, I'm not. I would go so far as to say that I am the least bitter I've ever been on the relationship front.

2007-08-09T09:06:00.000-07:00

Today I realized that this blog is primarily inspired by two things:

1. Nick Hornby's "Stuff I've Been Reading" column in The Believer: Once a month, Mr. Hornby divides books into two categories: "Books Bought" and "Books Read". Sometimes his list of purchases overlaps with what he's actually completed, and sometimes it doesn't. However, it is generally thoughtful, funny, and usually includes at least one book about music or pop culture. I imagine that his column is very popular among people like myself who buy books and neglect to read/finish them.

2. Mindy Kaling's "Things I've Bought That I Love" blog: As it turns out, Mindy's character on The Office and I share more than just a name; in fact, we share a love of frivolous impulse buys. Sure, some women love to shop, but fortunately for her readers, Mindy can afford to buy things that exceed the budget of the ordinary twenty-something. Regardless of the amount of designer licorice she buys, her writing cracks me up. Also, because she punctuates entries with "like" and is overly excited about items like tv blankets, you can't help but imagine Kelly gushing about these things to Ryan. I imagine this blog is very popular among people like myself who miss The Office dearly and need a fix until the new season starts.

2007-08-03T07:08:00.001-07:00

Yesterday was the kind of well-rounded, post-work day that makes going into the office tolerable. After a hellish day at Cohesion that included numerous phone calls both on and off the clock, I was ready for the usual Thursday Office night, but my aunt called and wanted to do dinner instead. We went to this posh place called by Plaza Frontenac called Brio. Brio is essentially a haven for wealthy old people (the amount of capri pants I saw was appalling), but the food is delicious and it was nice to catch up with my Aunt Marilyn. (Our previous couple Office nights were canceled due to scheduling conflicts and since the new season starts in September, the usual urgency wasn't there.)

After dinner, I went home to find that Nick and Sharon (my brother and his girlfriend who needed a place in St. Louis to crash for a few nights) fixed a bunch of random things in my apartment! (My screen door, a broken toilet seat, other issues that are vaguely characteristic of a crack den, etc...) It was so considerate! I thanked them 10 times over, and then Andy came over. We decided to take a walk, but on the way out of my parking lot, he noticed a ton of books in the dumpster behind my apartment. After some successful dumpster diving, we found six perfectly good books, including: Best American Short Stories (2006 edition), Babylon Revisited and Other Stories, various Chekhov collections, and a new copy of For Esme--With Love and Squalor (by JD Salinger). When I ran back inside the apartment to express my excitement, my brother observed, "Well, 'One man's trash...'" So true, Nick. So true!

After our walk, Andy and I met a handful of his friends at Bar Louie for happy hour around 9. Of all the bars in CWE, I can't say that I would choose Bar Louie as a favorite (the epitome of the accessible martini bar, complete with guys who wear too much cologne and women who don't wear enough shirt), but it was an enjoyable evening, nonetheless. Their peartinis were delicious, and Andy's friends are really personable and great to talk to. (I actually enjoyed a conversation about politics!)

In short, it was a fun night, despite the fact that I capped out around three drinks. I needed a day to remind me that after five, I still have time to salvage my day, and I think yesterday was a perfect example of that. Sure, work is filling my weeks with mundane tasks and useless skills, but I still have plenty of hours to do what I want, and these hours will keep me sane.

Thank you, Thursday of random awesomeness.

2007-07-12T11:47:00.000-07:00

What I do now:

Although my business card reads "Administrative Assistant", I am essentially a receptionist. I answer the phones, wrestle with the copy machine, and thwart the efforts of numerous telemarketers on a daily basis. I know what kind of shipping labels we use (Avery 8164), how to operate the fax machine (a surprising amount of people have difficulty with this), and the passwords to all email and supply accounts. In short, my job exists to make other jobs easier. The plus side? Receptionists are hot. (See above.)

What I could do:

When I was in grade school, I tried to bend spoons.

I'd read the book Matilda and was convinced that if I concentrated enough, I too could move objects with my mind. Granted, I had no ogre-like headmistress to confront, or lazy, selfish parents to chastise, but I thought the desire alone would be enough. (It wasn't.) However, another quality I yearned to possess was a little more realistic, but still enviable: Matilda's ability to read and digest almost anything. This characteristic only emphasized a growing frustration for me--sure, I could read, but my selections were limited. I could breeze through young adult serial literature and devour Judy Blume novels with no trouble, but there were books I couldn't comprehend. These books (namely a first edition of Treasure Island and a book on the Russian alphabet that my dad had from college) hung over my head, full of words I didn't know and plot points I wouldn't understand.

This seemed unjust, but Matilda transcended this hurdle in the one place I have romanticized ever since--the library.

I know you're reading this and thinking, Are you honestly considering adding to your college debt because of a Roald Dahl book you read when you were 10?

Well, Yes and No.

Yes, in that the book represented the library as a place of solace, where Matilda could indulge in her love for literature, and, in a way, libraries are still places to escape. Even in college, I found myself more comfortable at the library than in my own apartment. True, this might have had something to do with the fact that I slept on a futon for the last year of school, or didn't have a printer, but I genuinely enjoyed the visits to Special Collections and renting microfiche.

No, in that I think I would be good at it. Books are one of the few topics I get excited about (the others probably being music and writing), and I think I could excel in an environment that allowed me to dork out a bit. Also, librarians are hot. (See above.)

What I could do and is also a more realistic option:

I can get my teaching certificate in two years. An MLS will take longer, cost more, and the only place in Missouri that seems to offer the program is Mizzou. I think I could teach high school English, and what I would most likely lack in enthusiasm, I could make up for in proficiency. (I love books, but hate most teenagers.) Also, teachers are hot. (See above.)

2007-07-06T06:11:00.000-07:00

When I meet an author I admire, I get incredibly nervous. This anxiety doesn't take the form of a charming, Woody Allen-esque brand of nervousness, but rather the girlish anxiety of someone like Annie Hall. When I'm confronted with one of my favorite writers, it's like an encounter with a penpal. I know this person because of what I've read, but my understanding of them is vague at best. They've been sending me letters for years, and yet, I'm unprepared. When I reach their table, it's like I've run into them at the airport. Sure, they are impatiently waiting for their luggage like everyone else, but I have construed our relationship as something more, so I will just stand there stupidly, letting my suitcase lap the belt while I think of what to say.

This happened with David Sedaris a couple years ago, and when I reached him after an afternoon spent in line outside of Left Bank Books, I was speechless. Inexplicably, my hands cramped up, and any articulate questions or comments were instantly traded for an embarrassing slew of incoherent noises. Fortunately, being the conversationalist he is, he asked about where we'd come from (Brandon, Chip, Alli, and I had ventured from Columbia) and found my sudden lack of speech entertaining, spinning my awkwardness into something cute that he could doodle in the front of my book.

Unfortunately, my stage fright made an appearance last night in front of another one of my top five favorites, the cultural essayist/stone fox Chuck Klosterman.

I'd like to say that his unexpected resemblance to John Lennon or love for Raymond Carver reduced me to a giddy fangirl, but these factors only exacerbated my starstruck state. Klosterman was pretty much exactly like he comes across in his books--articulate but humble, funny yet honest. He was surprisingly open about his dismissal from Spin, interviews with celebrities (Val Kilmer owns bison, did you know that?), and a novel to be released next year. He answered even the stupidest questions ("What's your favorite color?") with a colorful (*no pun intended) anecdote or thoughtful reply. He remained effortlessly cool, despite overly zealous audience members eager to compare him to Hunter S. Thompson or grill him for information about the next big thing. There also seemed to be a couple of people bent on tripping him up, confusing the Q&A session for a round of Trivial Pursuit, but alas, Klosterman knows his shit and his opinions on current music were unapologetic. When asked the unavoidable "What are you listening to?", his answer was predictable but earnest--Jim Croce and Battles, the Brooklyn math rock supergroup that has the staff at Pitchfork wetting their tight hipster pants.

In short, my expectations were sufficiently exceeded. However, I wish I would've been able to say something more than "Thanks for coming" and "Wow, I'm nervous". In a fit of regret, I'll probably risk being annoying and write him a letter to let him know that his writing means a lot more to me than the price of his new book and a couple hours on a Thursday night, but I'm not really one for writing letters--I just like reading them.

*Come on now, pun intended.