A week in the life

As much as I was enjoying studying those photos from Martha's (I MUST find that woman and ask where she got her matching beret/tank top ensemble), I just wanted to stop by and fill you in quickly on the haps, since I've been MIA for so long. It's just that the haps are sort of boring:

1. Am now only 9,996 from my goal of 50,000 words for NaNoWriMo, although I'm now pretty sure that this book won't be wrapped up in 10,000 words or less, so I will need some cajoling to get the rest done after the contest is over. Please place all threats in the comment box.

2. I have decided that this guy will play John Boston in the inevitable movie adaptation of my sure-to-be-a-bestselling blockbuster:


Apparently his name is Jon Hamm, and he is in the show Mad Men, which I have never seen because I don't know what channel AMC is on my cable and am too lazy to find out. But he will be pleased to know that he has been added to the short list of past JB candidates, which included George Clooney, Colin Firth, and of course, the infamous Mark Harmon. Who can now cry his bitter tears of defeat on the set of his stupid Navy SEAL show, or whatever it is they're carrying on about over there.

3. A big, giant, hairy spider has taken up residence in the drain in my basement, and sometimes he comes lunging out at me when I come down to feed the cat. I would squash him, but he's so big that he would both crunch and explode with some sort of goo, which I am not willing to clean up, so for now, I let him live.

4. I am extremely unhappy with the outcome of America's Next Top Model. I feel that the model who won (I won't give names, for those of you who are still waiting to catch this on TiVo) is extremely weird-looking, and I don't care for the quasi-British accent she decided to adopt upon arriving in Holland.

5. On the other hand, I am most pleased with the proceedings on The Office, and am happy to have Jim and Pam once again reunited.

6. Ben went hunting last weekend? Which was weird? And now there are three dead pheasants in my freezer. Which is even weirder.

Sadly, you are now completely caught up with everything that has happened to me during the last week. Oh, and I ate some stuff, and used the bathroom several times. Now you literally know EVERYTHING that happened.

Name this tune:

Okay. So there's this song that I hear maybe once a year-- always somewhere totally unacceptable to jump up and down in, let alone to start quizzing people about their musical knowledge. Like the grocery store, or a bar in Canada once (they frown on jumping in Canada). I have no idea what this song is, or who sings it, but I love it so much. But every time I try to get to the bottom of the situation, the same scenario plays out:

Me: Oh, my God! It's the Cut the Bone to Me song! Do you hear it?

Whoever I'm With: The what to what song?

Me: "Cut the bone to me! Cut the bone to me!" That's what he's saying in the chorus. I think?

WIW: That doesn't even make any sense. How do you cut a bone to someone?

Me: I guess I don't know.

WIW: That sounds dirty.

Me: For real, it's going to be over soon, just listen.

WIW: I don't even hear anything.

Me: It's on the PA system! Just listen! Shut your gob and listen for five seconds and then you will tell me who sings this song!

WIW: This song sucks.

Me: No, it does not! It is awesome and elusive, like a monarch butterfly or El Chupacabra!

WIW: Isn't this just "Collide" by Howie Day?

Me: NO, IT ISN'T EFFING "COLLIDE" BY HOWIE DAY! I WILL KILL YOU IF YOU DON'T TELL ME WHO SINGS THIS SONG RIGHT NOW! KILL YOU WHERE YOU STAND!

WIW: I think it's over.

Me: Mother effer.

I had this exact conversation with Ben in the Chesterland Giant Eagle on Sunday, when the song emerged for its annual peek-a-boo while we were in the checkout line. I was actually on my way back to produce to buy some pepitas (which is apparently what you call pumpkin seeds when they are naked and shell-less), and I came careening back up to the front of the store when I heard it, only to be shut down again (but to be fair, Ben doesn't recognize any songs, including many beloved children's rhymes and also "Proud to Be an American" by Lee Greenwood).

So I beseech you, if you are aware of this song, please put me out of my misery and tell me what it is, so I can buy it, listen to it seven hundred times, and then never have to be driven half-mad by it again. Here's what I know about it:

1. The chorus at least sounds like the phrase "cut the bone to me, cut the bone to me," although that admittedly does sound really dirty

2. It does sound like Howie Day singing, but it's definitely not "Collide". Who else sings like Howie Day?

3. It came out no later than July 2005, because the first time I officially remember hearing it was at the aforementioned very calm bar in Canada, and that's the last time I ventured up north

Please help me! The "cut the bone to me" part will be in my head for at least the next six weeks if no one can come up with the name...

Sick puppy

Ben has had the worst cold for about a week now-- probably the worst cold he's had in years. Which is interesting, because whenever I get a really bad cold, he gets one that seems way less intense, but which he firmly believes is just as bad as mine. Bad enough, in fact, that he should be allowed to watch copious amounts of golf all day, even though I'm the one that just hacked up a small but probably necessary portion of my lung.

This always used to make me kind of mad, because I am the type of person who once had bronchitis for over a month and still managed to live a totally normal life, despite the fact that my voice inexplicably went up two octaves and that I was expelling custardy-looking globulets of phlegm from various holes in my head, so I don't like it when other people try to steal my sickness thunder.

But now that he is so sick, I find myself waiting for even the slightest onset of a sore throat, or an errant sneeze, and with every passing moment that it doesn't come, I'm just a little disappointed. I still don't know what it means, but I'm starting to see where he's coming from-- it's kind of no fun being healthy when your husband and best friend is sick. And, you have to give up your rights to the couch for an indefinite period of time, which is enough to make anyone wish for a tickly throat.

Wish I was there

I'm back from vacation! I always feel awkward that first day back from vacation, when everyone asks about it, because I feel pressured to give a detailed blow-by-blow account of the trip, when people really only want to hear that it was "really fun."

So here, in a nutshell, were the highlights (and not-so-highlights) of my vacation.

1. It was very pirate-themed, as you can see from this picture-- which, by the way, if you show anyone this picture of me in a bathing suit and/or comment about the sad state of my thighs, I'll kill you. Most of our free time was spent scouring the boardwalk for pirate-themed souvenirs and accoutrements for our pirate outfits.

2. The sunset cruise, long a staple of the Shable family Rehoboth Beach vacation, was cancelled due to the escalating price of gasoline, thus only deepening my insane obsession the price of gas.

3. I got a killer tan, although it is not evident in this picture. But trust me, it's TOTALLY killer.

4. I got buried in the sand, which is much scarier and more claustrophobic than carefree parental nostalgia make it appear to be. However, once you get used to it, it's really quite cozy, to the point where I only eventually got up because I had to pee, and there was sand in my butt.

5. Ben and I got whistled at by the lifeguard, and-- here is a little known fact about me, I have an insane fear of lifeguards. I always have, ever since my dad started taking me to Geauga Lake when I was little and they would point ominously into the water in my general direction and blow their whistles in a threatening manner. Even though my best friend Megan and I were once actually rescued from certain death-by-smashing-into-a-jetty by a very nice lifeguard, I still totally fear them. So when this lifeguard whistled at us, I panicked, which caused a series of waves to break right on top of me, once again filling my swimsuit with sand and retiring me to the beach for a short while.

All in all, my vacation was "really fun," and I really wish it were still going on right now. But still, a vacation isn't a vacation if you never have to go back to work. But seriously? That's bullshit, I just want to be on vacation forever.

A few last random things

Obviously, I have done the triple lindy of blog badness and posted three times tonight (scroll down for more awesomeness). But since I get to post so sporadically anymore, due to my new tendency to drop into a torpor and watch much Celebreality, I figured I'd get them all out in one manic burst. So make them last!

Here are a few last things to ponder:

1. I'm coming to Wilmington over Labor Day weekend! Get your Wilmington on! There will be modge-podge and sunbathing and Arbor Mist wine. It will be glorious.

2. A few weeks ago, someone found my blog by Googling "Elizabeth Hasselbeck" and "Feet." Ew.

3. Ben and I celebrated our two-year anniversary in Pittsburgh, which we chose because it was nearby and, to quote a friend, "less of an armpit than Cleveland"*. Also, it has an Ikea, as evidenced here:

*Please note that as a resident of the Cleveland area, I do not believe it to be an armpit, so please don't write me angry comments to that effect. I didn't think Pittsburgh was an armpit, either. Having never been to Detroit, I will now designate that area an armpit.

The Journal Journal

I don't know about the rest of you bloggers, but I've been having some nostalgia for my journal lately. My plain old, pen and paper journal, which I relied so heavily on in college and, to a much greater extent, grad school, where I apparently journalled obsessively about everything from the bed side at hotels ("The bed in this Sleep Inn is freakishly large. Like, uncomfortably so. I don't know why you would need a bed this large, except for having an orgy") to my thoughts on Australia ("I fucking hate Australia").

This nostalgia mainly stems from one journal in particular, which I wrote in the period from March 2003 to August 2003 (when I abruptly stopped and began writing in a different journal; according to the last entry, I stopped because I was drunk and pissed off about something, but I can't figure out what, although there is a semi-legible rant about why it's so awesome to be single, which ends with the phrase "I FUCKING HATE BEING SINGLE"). Mainly, this journal was about the following things:

1. My undying love for a guy (not the guy most of you are thinking of), and the ill-fated Letter With My Feelings that was given to him and received with no response whatsoever.

2. Hundreds of pages analyzing why there was no response to the Letter of Feelings.

3. Further analysis of how one particular incident, in which he caught me talking out loud to myself, probably put the death knell to the whole thing.

4. How my boss was absolutely sure that I had single-handedly robbed the company of our entire stock of Lip Ink. (This came up surprisingly often, and was usually intermingled with the Letter of Feelings, for reasons I can't really understand)

All I know is, this journal was intensely awesome, and while I was apparently depressed and nearly insane the entire time, I was also really, really funny.

So it makes me wonder-- should I really be blogging? Or is journaling where it's at? Don't get me wrong, I love blogging, but it has its drawbacks (mainly, that I can't discuss my actual feelings about certain issues for fear of reprisal, as in Pen's PAM entry). While the journal really would afford me more freedom, it, too, has its drawbacks:

• No one else can read it, lest I die of embarrassment (seriously, if any of you ever find this journal that I'm talking about here-- it has a picture of Richard Nixon decoupaged onto the cover-- after my death, you need to destroy it immediately, lest my ghost come to you and eat your children), and blogging allows me the chance to bask in my need to be paid attention to
• Other than the decoupage cover, it's a little aesthetically hideous, and causes hand cramps
• Most importantly, thanks to Ben, I don't really need to write tortured, long entries about how no one will ever love me. Mostly, the new entries would be "July 2: Ben is sexy. All systems are go." And without No One Will Ever Love Me entries, my journal would be pretty skimpy indeed

But I still miss it. I may go back to it, although it would seem odd to do both a journal and a blog, and I fear that I would find myself scavenging my journal for blog material. So for now, I think I will dedicate myself to Journal Interpretation and Self Reflection. So far, I have learned that I really believed that secretly, all my male friends were in love with me, but too shy and tortured to show it. Which they probably were. Who wouldn't be?