What's a girl to do?

Earlier this week, I woke up in the middle of the night to find my blanket wrapped around my throat. Yes, my baby blanket tried to strangle me. After 25 years of love and devotion, it tried to kill me.

As it is now practically nothing but the binding, the day I have been dreading for years is fast approaching: what to do when my blanket disintegrates into nothing. Obviously I will have to take the day off work, lie in bad with the curtains drawn, with a warm compress applied to my forehead while sobbing.

Right now I am Googling "1983 sesame street baby blanket," but so far nothing that resembles mine. Of course, I don't know exactly what mine is supposed to look like so I will have to consult some pictures, but I think I'll know it when I see it. (I'm not sure I would though since mine was reconstructed by my Mamaw circa 1989 and had the binding replaced an infinite amount of times by my mother.)

I've had it since the day I was born. I lost it the week before I left for college, an already trying time, and thought I was going to have a breakdown. Aside from my first trip to Europe, it has been with me through every phase of my life. I sleep with/sit with/walk around with my favorite corner over my mouth, so that now, if I'm at work or anywhere else and need comfort, I'll put my sleeve over my mouth to replicate the feeling. It is the first thing I grab when I'm sad or mad or have the mean reds.

There was an episode of Oprah I saw years ago where they discussed people's comfort objects. One woman in the audience stood up to say that every night she kissed her husband goodnight, and then her blanket. No husband on the horizon to kiss goodnight, but at least for a little while longer I'll have the blanket. I hope.

Friday Soapbox

All this week, media coverage has been saturated by the two things about 2008 that I despised the most: Twilight and Sarah Palin.

Please, please, please go away, both of you. Put a stake in them, they're done.

I'm in love...

...with argyle. It's a serious obsession. Even though I have about a dozen pairs of argyle socks, every time I see a pair in a store, I have tunnel vision and I can't think of anything else until I have a pair in my basket. I also have sweaters, a scarf, and now tights!

(I would say ignore the slippers, except, they clearly up my cool factor.)


I told my mom I kind of love them like one would a child. And I do.

On growing up

"We're adults...when did that happen?
And how do we make it stop?"
-Meredith, Grey's Anatomy

The second frame pretty much sums up my philosophy as an adult:

"Because we're grown-ups now,
and it's our turn to decide what that means."
-XKCD

I've made it my mission as a grown-up-type person to do everything I can to not ever actually be a full-fledged grown-up. It doesn't mean being immature or stupid, it just means reminding myself to not take everything so seriously. It means embracing the possibility that one day I could fill a room with playpen balls. (Dare to dream, Bonnie, dare to dream!)

I want to be the type of person who never forgets how freeing it is to have popcorn for dinner and M&Ms for breakfast. Who finds Disney TV shows a guilty pleasure. Who can be mature and driven, but buys a Barbie doll every now and then to help relieve stress. I want to be the type of grown-up who plays on a slip and slide, dances in a fountain, plays hopscotch, and jumps rope. I don't ever want to forget the beauty of imagination and creativity. I want my heart to always skip a beat when it hears that unmistakable sound of an ice cream truck. If a kid shows me a boa constrictor consuming an elephant I want to recognize it! I will never call my father anything but Daddy. I can travel all over the world, I can watch the news every night and cry at the state of affairs, but then I can put on a song I loved in high school and un-rhythmically dance around my room. I will grin every time I look at the Paddington Bear my Mom bought me in London...when I was 22. I'll vacuum around the piles on my floor instead of picking them up. I'll have piles of stuff on my floor! I'll set aside money each month for savings, I'll pay my bills (reasonably) on time, but I can have a Magna Doodle on my wall and a tiara on my desk.

I can be a grown-up who doesn't forget that a grown-up was once a child, too. And that life is entirely too short and too hard to never jump on a trampoline or skip in public after the age of 10.

"All grown-ups were children first.
(But few of them remember.)"
-Antoine De Saint-Exupery

According to Chanel

Oy, NaBloPoMo, you're killing me. Writing a post a day is hard when you feel like you have nothing to say. (Which in itself is probably post-worthy—insomuch as anything I write here is—since I'm not sure that has ever happened before.)

I'm reading a book about Coco Chanel right now, so I'll just let her have a word.

"A woman should always be two things:
classy and fabulous."

"I'm the Doctor. Doctor...Fun."

Today was not a good day. Just awful. But instead of listing all the reasons why, from way over-sleeping to spilled soda on my clothes, I'm focusing on the happy. I'm putting it behind me and moving on. Besides, it got infinitely better when Jan reminded me that there was a new Doctor Who special out, at last!
So that's what I'm doing. Curling up in bed with my laptop and YouTube and the Doctor and Mars.

Diamonds are forever

I love overhearing conversations. I don't know why, other than the fact that I can be really nosy and gossipy. It also may be related to my being a news addict -- I just NEED to know things. Or because I'm a writer, and I'm always on the lookout for a good line or character I can use in a novel. (Sidebar: When a friend says something interesting or has something funny happen to them, I claim it and tell them I'm going to use it in a novel. If I ever do get published one day, I am going to be SUED beyond belief.)

I also like to people watch, in a casual way. I can't just sit somewhere and watch people -- I need a book, my iPod, and a plan -- but I do notice people. Like today, at the Barnes and Noble in Georgetown. A mid-20s woman reading a magazine caught my eye because I liked her shirt, so I did a double take. She had the magazine on her lap, and her left hand ready to turn the page, engagement ring sparkling away, and she wiggled her finger a few times to watch it catch the light. It lasted probably only three seconds and then she was right back to reading her magazine and I turned so she wouldn't know I "caught" her. She didn't know anyone was watching, or didn't care. She wasn't grinning or being googly-eyed at it, just admiring the sparkle. Maybe it's because I like shiny things, I don't know, it just made me smile.

Danger, danger

I got to work yesterday, turned on my computer, only to have it start showing weird error messages, including one that read, "This computer is corrupt and unreadable."

Corrupt and unreadable. Insert joke here.

All I know is nine a.m. is entirely too early in the day to already be corrupt and unreadable.

And it's never a good sign when the tech guy looks at the error and says, "Hmm, never seen that before."

Also, my second monitor at work is melting, no joke. There's about a one inch section on top that is clearly melted.

I wish I could make up the technological mishaps that happen to me, really. If I was truly that inventive and creative I could be making a fortune instead of spending a fortune replacing various electronic necessities.

Friday Soapbox

"Some of the happiest memories of my life are from those early, impossibly sunlit days."

-Sen. Ted Kennedy, True Compass

Davie Poplar, McCorkle Place, UNC Chapel Hill, May 12, 2006

News is history in the making

As prefaced in yesterday's post—sorry this post-a-day thing is hard—I finally made it to the Newseum on Saturday. As a news junkie of the highest order, this was kind of like my Everest. I stayed for nearly three hours and walked around all six floors at least twice, even prompting one employee to say, "Hey, haven't I already seen you today?" But it was a wonderful place and I hope to go back many, many times. (Like in December when the mom and sis come up.)

The inside. All open space and light.

Part of the outside, taken from the sixth floor patio.Bottom line reads: "News is history in the making. Journalists write the first draft of history."

They have the day's front pages from all the states and many countries on display outside and inside. This is the Raleigh N&O on the inside display.

From the five freedoms exhibit. (Section on blog freedom.)

Communications tower from one of the World Trade Center towers.

Front pages from September 11.

Quote at entrance of journalists memorial from Hillary Rodham Clinton.

Journalists memorial.

View of the Capitol from the sixth floor patio.

Building on Pennsylvania. (FTC? Can't remember.)

Me and the Capitol.

The best part: the THIS WEEK STUDIO! After taking this picture, I waited until the next tour and then got to stand INSIDE. Yes, I'm a dork and I don't care. No pictures inside because no one else was taking them, but it is really small. And the round table and his chair are quite small, too. I DVR the show every week and I stood there and just grinned like a fool.