Due to popular protest, I have added a #11 to the list. I don't like to admit when I'm wrong, but seriously, you would not believe the hate mail I have been getting since Sunday's post...
And, no, RKsoPitted—I am not moving you from your mention at #10. First of all, there wasn't any significance to the numerical order of the list. Do you think I value flowers more than our mother and grandmother...? Second, you said it would be okay to keep you at #10 if I shopped for some joint Christmas gifts that we could give to others "from us." Seeing as you still owe me money from the last time we gave a "joint" gift, I think you're just fine at #10. Don't you?
Without any further ado, here it is, #11:
11. I am thankful for Austin. I am thankful that he cooks me whole wheat pasta—do you think he actually wants to eat "that shit"? I am thankful that he is taller than me in all the heels that I can walk in (and any shoe that I cannot walk in). I am thankful that he likes to wander around, like me. I am thankful that he can talk to anyone so that I don't have to talk to everyone. I am thankful that he doesn't play video games or like watching TV, except for sports. I am thankful that he can always explain why a flag is thrown in a football game. I am thankful that he can almost always answer the question, "What's his deal?" with the following stats for the particular athlete in question: height, weight, college/high school, number of years in respective league, relevant records; and usually a story or two from the athlete's personal life. I am thankful for his friends, who I happily call my friends, too; and who, to quote one of them, "made [my] senior year memorable and at times forgettable." I am thankful that Austin, like me, isn't a pet person. And I am thankful that he will read this.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Sunday, November 27, 2011
ten things I am thankful for
- My best friend Carrie is coming to visit this month.
- I feel relaxed and rested right now because I spent the past five days being pampered by my family.
- My super got a new refrigerator for my apartment. The old one was a combined refrigerator and freezer with just one door. The freezer was an ice box that needed to be defrosted once a month. Milk went sour after two days in the refrigerator. And chunky after a few.
- The Christmas tree lights in my apartment —that my parents bought and my boyfriend put up. I only wanted white lights, but I figured I was making out pretty good with the deal so I gave in to one string of color lights, which my (color blind) boyfriend really wanted.
- Living in NYC.
- Family parties that are fun. Family members who are fun. (You know who you are.)
- Fresh flowers on the kitchen table right now.
- Being a part of a (too) close knit group of girls in college, who: made me more understanding of the cliques of girls who seemed strangely obsessed with themselves in high school; made me laugh; made upstate NY weather bearable; made Poland spring bottles filled with Vodka an accessory; made the best quote book ever.
- A mother who supports my shoe addiction. And a grammy who doesn't mind being dragged along on shopping excursions.
- Writing materials, like the never-ending adventures of @RKsoPitted, and reading materials, like the book I just started, The Tiger's Wife.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
new title, first judgment
Titles are not my strong suit. But I guess you already knew that. I did name my blog, "things i think about." However, in my defense, I never intended to keep this title. Kind of like the time I named a Facebook photo album, "I can name this later." Except whereas I never did actually get around to changing that Facebook album name, I have given my blog a new title. Inspired by one of my bosses laughing out loud when I told her the name of my blog, I decided it was time. And now, if I change the title again, you know why.
My first weekend judgment is a resounding positive one—and yes, it merits the use of the word, "resounding." I normally try to be spare with adjectives and adverbs, but I don't believe I can do without them here:
Gretchen Holt Witt is a lovely woman. She is generous, determined, smart. She is a mother for whom there are no limits when it comes to her children. She is a woman for whom there are no limits. 96,000 cookies. She organized a team to bake them. Cancer kills more children than any other disease, primarily because of lack of funding. Gretchen founded an organization, Cookies for Kids' Cancer, which donates millions of dollars to doctors at leading cancer research centers.
About one out every four children who is diagnosed with cancer dies, and Gretchen's handsome son Liam was one of them. But here Gretchen is, still (and always) fighting for Liam and so that children like him will have a better chance to live to see their seventh, eight, ninth, tenth, and someday twenty-first birthdays. And if that isn't reason enough for you to click on the link below and vote for Gretchen for a Loreal Women of Worth and help Cookies for Kids' Cancer win $25,000...well, there is no real way to end that sentence, so just click on the link and vote. And, thank you.
Vote for Gretchen
My first weekend judgment is a resounding positive one—and yes, it merits the use of the word, "resounding." I normally try to be spare with adjectives and adverbs, but I don't believe I can do without them here:
Gretchen Holt Witt is a lovely woman. She is generous, determined, smart. She is a mother for whom there are no limits when it comes to her children. She is a woman for whom there are no limits. 96,000 cookies. She organized a team to bake them. Cancer kills more children than any other disease, primarily because of lack of funding. Gretchen founded an organization, Cookies for Kids' Cancer, which donates millions of dollars to doctors at leading cancer research centers.
About one out every four children who is diagnosed with cancer dies, and Gretchen's handsome son Liam was one of them. But here Gretchen is, still (and always) fighting for Liam and so that children like him will have a better chance to live to see their seventh, eight, ninth, tenth, and someday twenty-first birthdays. And if that isn't reason enough for you to click on the link below and vote for Gretchen for a Loreal Women of Worth and help Cookies for Kids' Cancer win $25,000...well, there is no real way to end that sentence, so just click on the link and vote. And, thank you.
Vote for Gretchen
Friday, November 11, 2011
Located: RKsoPitted
The last time I saw my brother, Rob he was sitting at a table, at a bar, on the lower east side of Manhattan, with his friends, a lot of Irish beer, and plans to catch a 5:45 a.m. train back to D.C. where he lives. It was midnight. His train was leaving in less than six hours. He was supposedly due money upon his safe arrival to D.C. that morning. This was Friday, a week ago. I left the bar with three questions: would he make his train, would he convince anyone to go with him, and would he win this bet money.
I thought it was a little strange when Rob didn't comment on last week's blog post about him, respond to my Twitter shout out, call, or text on Saturday. Then Sunday went by. And then Monday. Feeling a bit like my mom, I called her.
"Has anyone actually heard from Rob? I mean, he did get back to D.C. Right?"
Mom hadn't heard from him.
So on Tuesday she sent Rob an are you alive? e-mail, and not for the first time. He was alive.
And here's what happened:
He did get on the train on time. Of course, I knew he would all along...
Two of his friends went with him.
All three of them got off at the D.C. station. But Rob's phone did not.
He didn't get paid the bet money. But his friends did support the party. And if I could bet my money on something, I'd say it was probably a pretty good party.
Rob will back in NYC next weekend.
I thought it was a little strange when Rob didn't comment on last week's blog post about him, respond to my Twitter shout out, call, or text on Saturday. Then Sunday went by. And then Monday. Feeling a bit like my mom, I called her.
"Has anyone actually heard from Rob? I mean, he did get back to D.C. Right?"
Mom hadn't heard from him.
So on Tuesday she sent Rob an are you alive? e-mail, and not for the first time. He was alive.
And here's what happened:
He did get on the train on time. Of course, I knew he would all along...
Two of his friends went with him.
All three of them got off at the D.C. station. But Rob's phone did not.
He didn't get paid the bet money. But his friends did support the party. And if I could bet my money on something, I'd say it was probably a pretty good party.
Rob will back in NYC next weekend.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
My brother, RKsoPitted
My twenty-six-year-old brother's Twitter name is "RKsoPitted." I am not sure what that means, but I do know that it says a lot about him.
Rob called me at 6 p.m. last night. I was still at work. It was Friday, so I assumed he was an hour into a happy hour, on his way to a "sick" concert, had just discovered some "crazy" article online, aced a big test ("ballin'"), or was stopping at his D.C. home to get ready for a book party that someone he knew just happened to be throwing.
But he was actually on a train to NYC and would be pulling into Penn Station at 8:30 p.m. Of course he was. One of his best friends (from kindergarten) was celebrating his birthday. I don't know anyone who has more friends than Rob, or more friends in more places. If Rob were to take a map and stick pins into all the cities where he currently has friends living, the world would be littered. But, I digress...the interesting part wasn't that Rob was coming to NYC for his friend's birthday or that he was calling me when he was a couple of hours away to see if I wanted to meet up. The interesting part was that his return ticket to D.C. had him leaving NYC at 5:45 a.m. on Saturday.
"Are you kidding, Rob. Why are you leaving at 5:45 in the morning?"
"Well, we're having a party at my house tomorrow night. And I need to be there."
Of course, his house (think frat guys, but the charming, hilarious kind who cook gourmet lunches to accompany beer pong games, name the raccoon living in their background, and who cannot really relax unless everyone in their sight is having a good time) was having a party tomorrow. And of course he needed to be there in the morning. There were probably ribs to be slow cooked.
I did meet up with Rob at McSorley's, an Irish bar where they serve "light" or "dark" and there is no room to move and no music but it's so loud you can barely hear anyone, anyway. Rob and a crew of his friends—one of whom I had never met, but who told me several times throughout the night that he was Rob's best friend—were posted up/squashed into a small table in the corner. I (barely) made my way over to the corner table, with my tight, puffy jacket pushed up against the back of the bar. (My brother reminded me that I was not Gloria Estefan. Thanks, Rob.) My friend, Steve, sans puffy jacket, also made it into this small space by the bar with me. There was little hope for my 6'4" (his one redeeming quality—just kidding, babe) boyfriend.
But soon Rob and one of the server's—an Irish man with a thick accent and white hair, who I swear can hold more than 20 mugs in his hands at a time—are cursing back and forth at each other like they are old, Irish friends.
Server: "You f*ng said you were going to have 5 friends. Now, look at all of you."
Rob: "Well get us a f*ng bigger table."
Server: "It's not my fault you're so f*ng popular."
And a few minutes later, the server was clearing off a big, round table for us, and holding his arms out against the hungry drunks trying to sit down at it. Rob hugged one of the women, who looked to be in her mid fifties, as she left the table that we were now being given. From the bits of their conversation (yes, they had a conversation) that I overheard, it sounded like they knew each other. But maybe Rob was just thankful she was giving up her table. So thankful that he ordered 20 lights and 20 darks for the eight of us.
Then Rob got to work trying to convince everyone to take the 5:45 a.m. train to D.C. with him. By the way Steve's face lit up, I was a little worried that he was going to be convinced. Steve did buy a plane ticket to Seattle last Friday night while in a bar, via his iPhone. Mostly I was worried, though, because I didn't want Rob convincing anyone to buy a 5:45 a.m. ticket to D.C. because I was worried that Rob wouldn't actually be getting on that train.
Rob: "No, I'm going. If I get on that train, I get $1,500."
Me: "And how does that work?"
Rob: "Three of my friends are betting against it. They each owe me $500 if I make it."
Me: "And they're really going to pay you?"
Rob: "Hell yeah."
I left McSorley's a little after midnight. As curious as I was to see if Rob would make his train and if his friends would give him $1500, I decided that I was a little too tired to spend the next five hours in a bar, and definitely too tired (and sane) to get on that train with him.
Sometimes, with Rob, you just have to wait and see what happens.
Rob called me at 6 p.m. last night. I was still at work. It was Friday, so I assumed he was an hour into a happy hour, on his way to a "sick" concert, had just discovered some "crazy" article online, aced a big test ("ballin'"), or was stopping at his D.C. home to get ready for a book party that someone he knew just happened to be throwing.
But he was actually on a train to NYC and would be pulling into Penn Station at 8:30 p.m. Of course he was. One of his best friends (from kindergarten) was celebrating his birthday. I don't know anyone who has more friends than Rob, or more friends in more places. If Rob were to take a map and stick pins into all the cities where he currently has friends living, the world would be littered. But, I digress...the interesting part wasn't that Rob was coming to NYC for his friend's birthday or that he was calling me when he was a couple of hours away to see if I wanted to meet up. The interesting part was that his return ticket to D.C. had him leaving NYC at 5:45 a.m. on Saturday.
"Are you kidding, Rob. Why are you leaving at 5:45 in the morning?"
"Well, we're having a party at my house tomorrow night. And I need to be there."
Of course, his house (think frat guys, but the charming, hilarious kind who cook gourmet lunches to accompany beer pong games, name the raccoon living in their background, and who cannot really relax unless everyone in their sight is having a good time) was having a party tomorrow. And of course he needed to be there in the morning. There were probably ribs to be slow cooked.
I did meet up with Rob at McSorley's, an Irish bar where they serve "light" or "dark" and there is no room to move and no music but it's so loud you can barely hear anyone, anyway. Rob and a crew of his friends—one of whom I had never met, but who told me several times throughout the night that he was Rob's best friend—were posted up/squashed into a small table in the corner. I (barely) made my way over to the corner table, with my tight, puffy jacket pushed up against the back of the bar. (My brother reminded me that I was not Gloria Estefan. Thanks, Rob.) My friend, Steve, sans puffy jacket, also made it into this small space by the bar with me. There was little hope for my 6'4" (his one redeeming quality—just kidding, babe) boyfriend.
But soon Rob and one of the server's—an Irish man with a thick accent and white hair, who I swear can hold more than 20 mugs in his hands at a time—are cursing back and forth at each other like they are old, Irish friends.
Server: "You f*ng said you were going to have 5 friends. Now, look at all of you."
Rob: "Well get us a f*ng bigger table."
Server: "It's not my fault you're so f*ng popular."
And a few minutes later, the server was clearing off a big, round table for us, and holding his arms out against the hungry drunks trying to sit down at it. Rob hugged one of the women, who looked to be in her mid fifties, as she left the table that we were now being given. From the bits of their conversation (yes, they had a conversation) that I overheard, it sounded like they knew each other. But maybe Rob was just thankful she was giving up her table. So thankful that he ordered 20 lights and 20 darks for the eight of us.
Then Rob got to work trying to convince everyone to take the 5:45 a.m. train to D.C. with him. By the way Steve's face lit up, I was a little worried that he was going to be convinced. Steve did buy a plane ticket to Seattle last Friday night while in a bar, via his iPhone. Mostly I was worried, though, because I didn't want Rob convincing anyone to buy a 5:45 a.m. ticket to D.C. because I was worried that Rob wouldn't actually be getting on that train.
Rob: "No, I'm going. If I get on that train, I get $1,500."
Me: "And how does that work?"
Rob: "Three of my friends are betting against it. They each owe me $500 if I make it."
Me: "And they're really going to pay you?"
Rob: "Hell yeah."
I left McSorley's a little after midnight. As curious as I was to see if Rob would make his train and if his friends would give him $1500, I decided that I was a little too tired to spend the next five hours in a bar, and definitely too tired (and sane) to get on that train with him.
Sometimes, with Rob, you just have to wait and see what happens.
Hi there
After a long hiatus, and many requests from my readers (i.e. Grammy), I am back. Readers—you are still there, right? Mrs. Arnault? Mom? Mom, can you please show Grammy how to get to my blog again? Mom, you do remember, right?
Just to catch everyone up to speed, I moved to April in Manhattan. I live on the fifth floor in a walk-up, so I have been pretty busy walking up and down the stairs. But the apartment is great because it has an exposed brick wall and a chocolate-colored wood floor. Sure, there are pieces of gum stuck to the brick wall that I cannot get off—yes, I tried a steak knife—and the wood floor is slanted, which makes you feel a little funny and crooked at times...but, these are minor details. The (small) cockroaches are what you might call, "character builders."
Besides walking up and down the stairs, I have been busy at work, which sounds grown-up (read: boring), but is usually pretty fun. The summer was an all too quick blur of trips to our family's bungalow in Breezy. And autumn has been dotted with some lovely trips and visitors to NYC. The latest visitor of which deserves a blog post all his own, so I'm signing off here...
Just to catch everyone up to speed, I moved to April in Manhattan. I live on the fifth floor in a walk-up, so I have been pretty busy walking up and down the stairs. But the apartment is great because it has an exposed brick wall and a chocolate-colored wood floor. Sure, there are pieces of gum stuck to the brick wall that I cannot get off—yes, I tried a steak knife—and the wood floor is slanted, which makes you feel a little funny and crooked at times...but, these are minor details. The (small) cockroaches are what you might call, "character builders."
Besides walking up and down the stairs, I have been busy at work, which sounds grown-up (read: boring), but is usually pretty fun. The summer was an all too quick blur of trips to our family's bungalow in Breezy. And autumn has been dotted with some lovely trips and visitors to NYC. The latest visitor of which deserves a blog post all his own, so I'm signing off here...
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