1. What song they’ll play when I come up to bat when I become a professional baseball player.
Seriously, so many things to work out on this one: classic rock or something trendy? what genre? with vocals or just something with a good beat? And even once I find the right song, I then have to find the right 7-second splice… seriously, this has been a quandary that has lasted for years. My answer has bounced around but never settled on anything permanently. I’m open to suggestions.

2. How there’s a distinct possibility that I will share the same profile as my 5-months pregnant sister when we go to the beach this summer.
I’ve directed a great deal of emotional and mental energy towards this one. Strangely, none of this has really translated into physical action… (:

3. Whether or not I’d be able to escape through the roof of the elevator if the cab ever gets stuck.
I’m pretty sure I ponder this every time I’m riding up to work in the morning. That movie that floated around the internet a couple months ago of the guy who got stuck for more than 2 days didn’t help. Also, I have a tendency to get a little concerned on the days I wear skirts and heels because it would seriously suck to have my escape impeded by attire.

4. How they are going to need to ramp up the production of yield signs when I am in charge of the world.
Seriously, I hope the incumbent sign making companies have created a scalable process, because I fully intend to replace at least 80% of the world’s stop signs with yield signs. I have determined that the requirement to come to a complete stop (especially in suburbia) is unnecessary. Really, you just need to make sure you’re not about to collide with anything and you’re good to go. Stopping: it wastes gas, it wastes time, and it drives me crazy. Get ready to start seeing more yellow in your local landscapes.

5. How it’s possible that a certain somebody taking a trip to Colombia today (FOR FUN…) might be kidnapped by FARC rebels and never make it back to the United States.
Seriously, come back alive or I’ll kill you myself…

I haven’t been very engaging lately. Sincerest apologies. If it makes you feel any better, all of the people I interact with in real life would say the same thing. The past six weeks have almost been completely consumed by some major work projects. The kind of projects that cause you to end up in the office on Memorial Day and eat both lunch and dinner at your desk most days of the week. For the most part, any time not at work has been spent sleeping, except in the case of this past week where I spent most of my time *not* sleeping because my dreams about having to start all over four days before the end of the project stressed me out more than work did.

But guess what? I hit my deadline.

I don’t think text could possibly convey the excitement and relief that fill that last sentence. No amount of all caps-ing or bolding or multiple exclamation marks could possibly cover the depth of the sheer joy that fills me when I type that. It’s like taking your first bite of cheesecake while sitting barefoot under the shade of a tree on a warm day while your favorite song plays in the background and the person you love most gives you a scalp massage. Seriously, it’s that good. So guess what: I hit my deadline, I hit my deadline, I hit my deadline.

I’ve made it! Even more so, I’ve made it with most of my lucidity and emotional stability intact. And like male pattern baldness, the upfront loss of sanity is minimal. When I eventually lose all my marbles somewhere down the line, you can look back to May 2008 and say, “And that’s when her proverbial bald spot started. I should have seen this bad toupee coming. Good thing the cheesecake was worth it.”

I was listening to Simon and Garfunkel on the way home from work last night. When Mrs. Robinson came on, one of my old childhood questions came flooding back. Namely, if you want to hide something in a hiding place where no one ever goes, why on earth would you put it near the cupcakes? In my mind, involving cupcakes has never helped keep a secret. Wouldn’t you expect everyone to go to where the cupcakes are? I know you can at least expect me to be there; however, you can also be sure that I would try to keep the location of the cupcakes quiet in hopes of not having to share. Really, my logic says that at least one person is bound to find your hiding place in search of a good dessert. What am I missing?

I was going to mark my college graduation anniversary with a post celebrating the major changes that have occurred the past year. However, work has once again gotten the best of me and so far I’ve only written about 1/12 of my year. But I think it’s okay because you’d probably kill me if I crammed the other 11/12 into one post anyway. So without further ado, here’s part 1 of my reminiscent series documenting my first year out of school.

May 2007:

Elation and and overpowering sense of loss dominate the days.  You turn 22 on the day of your last college final.  You laugh and cry and celebrate all at once because you have never been very good at change.  You are especially bad at leaving things behind.

And that’s what graduating is.  It’s leaving behind friends and roommates and those random kids from class that you don’t actually talk to but you’ve heard them ask enough dumb questions to feel like you know them.  It’s parting ways with droning professors that taught you to love crosswords and with amazing professors that taught you to love so many different subjects simply because of the passion that comes from learning interesting new things.  It’s saying goodbye to long days on campus, moving from class to class, job to job, building to building.  You used to dread these long days, but nostalgia at the end makes you realize that there are fewer places more beautiful to spend an endless day.  Graduation also marks the end of your three day weekends, you late morning classes and even later nights, and the last time until 65 that you can legitimately consider going on The Price Is Right.  It’s the end of the way of life you’ve known for the past 16 years: school.  And as the big day approaches, you think that maybe you should get a second major and start all over because you’re really not ready to graduate.

It’s scary, but it’s exciting.  Because you are also saying goodbye to tests and textbooks and all-night cram sessions and procrastinated papers.  Your family comes in from around the country to celebrate with you.  There are dinners and awards banquets and more pictures than you could imagine.  And you realize that maybe this dreaded graduation is actually a big accomplishment.  And you smile though you fear the unknown. It starts to feel like the world is at your fingertips, and you hope that perhaps someone out in that waiting world wants to give you a job.

Since sharing my ‘idiosyncracy’ yesterday, I’ve been thinking about offering a more complete selection of the things in life that irritate me. Here’s a quick list - please keep in mind that I’m particular, stubborn, and somewhat judgmental usually quite nice and agreeable.

In no particular order:

1. Visibly dirty ears. (I Q-Tip compulsively, which I know is not normal or even particularly healthy, but man! ear wax grosses me out. I blame this on being forced to sit alphabetically at lunch in elementary school. The specimens I imagined to be growing in John T.’s ears still make me shudder.)
2. 24-hour news networks. If I wanted to hear the same irritating babble played over and over in a endless loop, I would listen to techno.
3. When your cell phone screen gets all smudgy from touching your face.
4. People who use the panic button to remember where they parked. There’s a saying that if you can’t take the heat, stay out of the kitchen. Similarly, if you can’t find your nondescript SUV, stay out of the mall parking lot.
5. When the toilet paper rolls from under - it feeds from over the top or it’s wrong.
6. Having to pay in cash for parking. Or ever, really.
7. Sharing the elevator with one person. alone = great. group = expected. one other person = pretending that being in a confined space equates to wanting to engage in polite small talk = no good.
8. When my iPod shuffles to a song that really must be heard as part of an album. For example, I actually didn’t even know that Golden Slumbers and Carry That Weight were separate songs until my iPod shuffled through just one of them and left me wondering what happened to the rest. There are just some cases when One and Done just isn’t going to cut it.
9. Use of the words ‘crotchety,’ ‘weep,’ and ‘gay’ as an insult. Also, the pronunciation of mature as “muh-tyoor.” Every time I hear that it takes me back to 7th grade keyboarding class. First, I cringe. Then, I laugh when remembering the lecture we got when some less-than-’muh-tyoor’ person kept putting condoms over the door knob. Even funnier now that I know they weren’t balloons…