Things I Hate

Sometimes I lose faith in humanity. Someone I think I know as, if not a good, at least a decent person proves themselves to be somehow less than human. It’s frustrating, but I guess, not entirely unexpected, right?

So what’s a girl to do to cheer herself up? How about EVERYTHING she loves packed into one evening?!? (Combined with a killer soundtrack courtesy of her iTunes Genius function!)

In this case, that means running, pilates-ing, cooking, photo uploading/editing, and, of course, writing. Here’s the visual evidence, beginning with last night:


Peter Bjorn & John concert. You should have seen this before I color-corrected it. I looked so tan!

The meal for the evening was actually quite delicious:


Step 1: Boil whole wheat pasta, sautee broccoli and yellow pepper with cooking spray.

Step 2: Add a bit of olive oil to the cooking vegetables. Set aside.

Step 2: Add more olive oil to cooking veggies; set aside.


Step 3: Drain pasta. Pause to enjoy the facial effect of the steam.


Step 4: Add more olive oil and thinly sliced colby cheese. (Also known as the best parts.)


Step 5: Mix in a dash of garlic powder and crushed red pepper. Enjoy.

I also recently bought my boyfriend (pronounced: boy-fraaaaan in my head) a present, and it arrived in the mail today! Photo below!

Oh come on, I know you read this! 😉

So anyway, color me cheered up.

What I’m trying to say is, I’m a girl of simple pleasures. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

So, you know how I can’t really nap on purpose? Well, GUESS. WHAT. I’ve figured out the secret.

It turns out all I really need to be able to fall asleep is to be covered up. A pillow? Nice, but not enough. A comfy couch? Nuh uh. A scrap of blanket? Lights out.

It’s a theory I’ve been testing for the past couple of months. But today, I decided to go ahead and call it. Especially after tried to nap uncovered for about 15 minutes, then added a blanket and conked out for a good hour.

The downside of discovering the secret to the nap? Naps are not conducive to good bedtimes. So my attempt to go to sleep at 10:30 (so responsible!) was an epic fail. Thus this post.

Guess my loss is your gain, right guys? …guys?

Well, I guess it was only a matter of time. Everyone around me has been sniffling or coughing for a while now, and now it seems I’ve come down with a cold of my own.

Fortunately, I have a ritual for dealing with these things:

1. Hit up a drug store.
2. Buy the following: TheraFlu hot drink mix, Zycam rapid melts, Emergen-C, and a box of tissues (the variety with lotion on them).
3. Use as directed.

The results have been remarkable. Since employing this ritual, I haven’t had a cold last more than a couple of days in quite a while. So here’s hoping the tradition holds true.

It’s become increasingly obvious that a lot of people at my Kingdom Hall don’t know what my name is. The weird part? I’m not even mad. It’s kind of entertaining to see what monikers they come up with…

For example, in a single day I was called Sara (repeatedly), Christine (once), and Jessica (or was it Jennifer? Something with a J that was not Justine).

I mean, I know I look like someone you know, but this is getting a little ridiculous.

During my recent trip back to Des Moines, my mother asked me if I was buying fruits and vegetables (presumably to, you know, fend off scurvy). I chuckled, told her it was cute how she thought I could afford LUXURIES like produce, and went back to feasting on the lovely meal she had just made me.

Which is why I’m so excited right now. I just went grocery shopping. But not my usual eggs-bread-peanut-butter-milk-cereal-out-the-door grocery shopping. I went grocery shopping like a person with a job.

I bought TWO kinds of peppers, people!! THINK of the B vitamins and folic acid I’m going to be consuming!!

Phew, sorry. Lost my head a bit for a second there. I apologize for all the exclamation points. It won’t happen again.

I’m also on this mission (in the spirit of October Improvement Month) to cook more, so I bought exotic foods like marinade and slivered almonds and chicken. Don’t act like you’re not impressed.

In a similar (sort of) food vein, my former (sort of) employers, Condé Nast announced that they’re folding Cookie, the magazine I interned for last summer. I have to say, I think it’s a terrible mistake. Cookie is one of the few totally original magazines in the market, not to mention at CN, and there are incredible people working there. I wish them all the best of luck in the next chapter of their lives.

Sorry to get all heavy there for a second, I promise not to do that too often.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a piece of chicken to marinate.

The Facebook relationship status is something that has always fascinated me. It’s such a loaded thing:

Did you see that Tiffany changed her relationship status?
Chad dumped Becky; she hasn’t changed her status yet! So embarrassing!
Carly took down her relationship status. Does that mean she’s single or what?

You can see how this could get complicated. (No pun intended.)

For example, my boyfriend and I went Facebook official a few months ago. (Girlie shriek!) This means my profile says I’m “in a relationship” with him, and his says he’s “in a relationship” with me. Presumably to stave off boyfriend/girlfriend poachers from the vast sea of Facebook users.

Of course, I should say that his profile said he was in a relationship with me. Don’t worry; we didn’t break up. (I’m sure you were devastated.) The problem is, his profile doesn’t say anything. Because his profile doesn’t exist anymore.

That’s right, he deleted his Facebook profile. (Long story.) Which is fine. Except for one thing: the relationship status.

You see, when two people do break up, there’s a sort of etiquette to the relationship ending. Namely, who first ends the relationship. Because the person who ends it suffers no shame. The person who is effectively dumped? They’re stuck hanging with a nameless “in a relationship” on their profile until they notice and remove it, head hanging in humiliation. If the breakup is amicable, both parties will be online at the same time, so no one has to suffer in this chasm of is-he-or-isn’t-he.

The point of that long-winded explanation (besides to clarify the situation for my dad) is this: My boyfriend doesn’t have a Facebook anymore, and my profile still says I’m in a relationship, effectively sticking me in the perpetual purgatory of the relationship status. In layman’s terms: It looks like I got dumped and haven’t noticed.

Fortunately, this isn’t the case. We’re quite happy. (Really! See:


Oh Facebook…you’re such a cad.