Today a thirty year old Indian man stuck his finger up my butt. You?
This was not quite how I thought my afternoon would be spent...but sometimes, life throws you a little curveball. After work today, I went to visit the doctor. I won't get too into details, (because I'm pretty sure ninety-eight percent of you reading this post want to vomit a little).To keep it brief: I'm having a little poo-poo problem, and decided to seek some medical attention. I thought the doctor and I would talk some medical talk. He'd throw out terms like "bowels, and stools," and I would continue to use the word, poop. He'd ask me my symptoms, I would share them, and he would give me a diagnosis. Good as new, and I would go my merry way! But, not so fast. The doctor (who looked like an Indian Doogie Howser) gave me a rectal exam instead. My very first one. My rectal exam cherry has been popped! Amen.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Lorna loves Luke
In honor of the almost one year anniversary of 9-02-10, I decided to post a larger picture that is near and dear to my heart. Here we are, the happy couple. Don't we look great?
Sunday, August 28, 2011
The End of Summa
Nothing like a small natural disaster to put things right into perspective. I woke up on Saturday morning, threw some things into a bag, and headed to New Jersey to take refuge with my parents for the impending storm. And, here I am....thirty-three hours later.
I spent last night in a way that I would probably never like to again. And, that is this: Sleeping in one room with my family. My roommate was away this weekend, and I was nervous about being alone in my apartment during the hurricane. Yes, I have friends that I could have stayed with. But, my mom's fridge is more stocked than yours. Priorities, you see.
As it grew later into the evening, my parents became increasingly more nervous that the large tree in the front yard would fall onto our house. If it did fall, it would fall onto my parent's room, or on to my sister's room. Their solution to the problem was this: We would put all of our mattresses together, in the living room, to avoid a potentially life threatening situation. (Although, a tree crashing through a house, regardless of whether or not you're sleeping in that particular room sounds concerning to me). But, what do I know?
Anyway, there we were. Mimi, Craig David, Heatzbabi, (Judy was at his own apartment), and me. Just in case you wondered, my bed was positioned directly beside the front door. (Just like a pet dog). I love my family, I really do. But, I'm mostly sure that as a twenty-seven year old woman, I am not meant to be spending my Saturday night tucked into a bed four feet from the sound of my parents snoring.
Being home, and marooned indoors gave me lots of time to think. I got to thinking about this summer, and what is next for me. As always, summer ending remains a very hard pill for me to swallow. And, it's not just because I'm not ready to begin working again. (Though, that is certainly part of it).
In short, it all comes down to this: I love summer. I love shorts, sundresses, and flip-flops. Tan lines, Rooftops, outdoor spaces, eating outside at a restaurant, and sitting on an East 9th street stoop, with some Sixteen Handles. I love the beach, the smell of suntan lotion, and going for an early morning run before it gets too hot outside. I truly believe that I am a happier person in the summer time, and am not ready to let go of my favorite time of year. (Surprise, surprise. I don't want something to end).
This past month (of not working) has been kind of magical for me. Without any form of work, I have literally been a free Willy! I have explored different NYC parks with my best friend, I went saddle boating, I visited mediocre East coast vacation spots (c. Derek), I've slept as long as my body let me, I watched one of my college roommates get married, I drank a lot of bacaaaardi, I did not endure the Sunday night blues, I visited Camp Schodack, and perhaps most importantly of all: I made out with a boy in a bunk bed.
In a couple of days, I begin work again. Only, I am not returning to familiar lands, but am beginning a new job, at a new school. I've known this was going to happen since May. It's only hitting me now, as August comes to a close, that this change is taking place whether I'm ready or not. And, let's just say...I'm not. Summer Vacation, I miss you already.
I spent last night in a way that I would probably never like to again. And, that is this: Sleeping in one room with my family. My roommate was away this weekend, and I was nervous about being alone in my apartment during the hurricane. Yes, I have friends that I could have stayed with. But, my mom's fridge is more stocked than yours. Priorities, you see.
As it grew later into the evening, my parents became increasingly more nervous that the large tree in the front yard would fall onto our house. If it did fall, it would fall onto my parent's room, or on to my sister's room. Their solution to the problem was this: We would put all of our mattresses together, in the living room, to avoid a potentially life threatening situation. (Although, a tree crashing through a house, regardless of whether or not you're sleeping in that particular room sounds concerning to me). But, what do I know?
Anyway, there we were. Mimi, Craig David, Heatzbabi, (Judy was at his own apartment), and me. Just in case you wondered, my bed was positioned directly beside the front door. (Just like a pet dog). I love my family, I really do. But, I'm mostly sure that as a twenty-seven year old woman, I am not meant to be spending my Saturday night tucked into a bed four feet from the sound of my parents snoring.
Being home, and marooned indoors gave me lots of time to think. I got to thinking about this summer, and what is next for me. As always, summer ending remains a very hard pill for me to swallow. And, it's not just because I'm not ready to begin working again. (Though, that is certainly part of it).
In short, it all comes down to this: I love summer. I love shorts, sundresses, and flip-flops. Tan lines, Rooftops, outdoor spaces, eating outside at a restaurant, and sitting on an East 9th street stoop, with some Sixteen Handles. I love the beach, the smell of suntan lotion, and going for an early morning run before it gets too hot outside. I truly believe that I am a happier person in the summer time, and am not ready to let go of my favorite time of year. (Surprise, surprise. I don't want something to end).
This past month (of not working) has been kind of magical for me. Without any form of work, I have literally been a free Willy! I have explored different NYC parks with my best friend, I went saddle boating, I visited mediocre East coast vacation spots (c. Derek), I've slept as long as my body let me, I watched one of my college roommates get married, I drank a lot of bacaaaardi, I did not endure the Sunday night blues, I visited Camp Schodack, and perhaps most importantly of all: I made out with a boy in a bunk bed.
In a couple of days, I begin work again. Only, I am not returning to familiar lands, but am beginning a new job, at a new school. I've known this was going to happen since May. It's only hitting me now, as August comes to a close, that this change is taking place whether I'm ready or not. And, let's just say...I'm not. Summer Vacation, I miss you already.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Schodack Weekend
It is a rare, and truly lucky thing to feel so comfortable around a group of people that you can completely be yourself, and share anything. I'm talking, no inhibitions, no filter, just completely uncensored you. Even if this includes sharing your daily pooping schedule, sharting, the many uses of a wifebeater, (ie: as toilet paper or a tampon substitute), playing numerous rounds of whose face would you rather sit on, and letting it be known that you maaaay have accidentally peed on someone. (Whoops).
It is a rare thing to have these types of co-ed friendships. The type in which a male friend, in an attempt to maintain the well-being of the other passengers in a long car ride home, says to you, "You either get five free farts, or one free shit your pants." (Please love me still: Brooke, Jeff, Nate and Marla). I know that I can be a semi disgusting human at times, and for me to be me, and share that openly...it kind of means everything.
Who are these people that I am referring to? This group of friends that I feel one hundred percent myself with. Well, they are my camp friends. And, while I certainly value the other relationships in my life outside of camp, I visited camp this weekend for our alumni reunion, so, that's what I'm gonna write about here. Okay?
For fourteen summers, Camp Schodack was my summer home, and to this day--probably the most influential experience of my life. Camp helped shape me, taught me invaluable social skills, and most importantly, helped foster some of the most important friendships I have. I am very lucky to live in the same city as these friends. For my group of friends, a camp reunion is not necessary for us to be reunited. But, to be able to spend time together, at camp, outside--that's the amazing part. When was the last time that you woke up in a room, sleeping in bunk beds with fifteen of your best girl and guy friends?
Being at camp this weekend felt special, not only to reminisce and laugh with my best friends, but also to spend time with my old campers (many of which have become close friends). This Schodack community ties us together, and keep us together. And, I think that it always will.
My voice is very hoarse. And, sure that may have something to do with the multiple Bacardi and diet cokes I consumed at camp. But, mostly... it has to do with all of the singing, cheering, and laughing I did. Pretty much, all I did this weekend was laugh. Laugh, and wonder why there were ants in the parmesan...and in the cereal. 12123, you never let me down. Amazing weekend.
It is a rare thing to have these types of co-ed friendships. The type in which a male friend, in an attempt to maintain the well-being of the other passengers in a long car ride home, says to you, "You either get five free farts, or one free shit your pants." (Please love me still: Brooke, Jeff, Nate and Marla). I know that I can be a semi disgusting human at times, and for me to be me, and share that openly...it kind of means everything.
Who are these people that I am referring to? This group of friends that I feel one hundred percent myself with. Well, they are my camp friends. And, while I certainly value the other relationships in my life outside of camp, I visited camp this weekend for our alumni reunion, so, that's what I'm gonna write about here. Okay?
For fourteen summers, Camp Schodack was my summer home, and to this day--probably the most influential experience of my life. Camp helped shape me, taught me invaluable social skills, and most importantly, helped foster some of the most important friendships I have. I am very lucky to live in the same city as these friends. For my group of friends, a camp reunion is not necessary for us to be reunited. But, to be able to spend time together, at camp, outside--that's the amazing part. When was the last time that you woke up in a room, sleeping in bunk beds with fifteen of your best girl and guy friends?
Being at camp this weekend felt special, not only to reminisce and laugh with my best friends, but also to spend time with my old campers (many of which have become close friends). This Schodack community ties us together, and keep us together. And, I think that it always will.
My voice is very hoarse. And, sure that may have something to do with the multiple Bacardi and diet cokes I consumed at camp. But, mostly... it has to do with all of the singing, cheering, and laughing I did. Pretty much, all I did this weekend was laugh. Laugh, and wonder why there were ants in the parmesan...and in the cereal. 12123, you never let me down. Amazing weekend.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Eighty Sak
Back in college, I lived in a neighborhood called Old Eastward Look. A small beach community, just footsteps from the ocean. My roommates and I lived at 80 Sakonnet Boulevard during our junior and senior years of college. 80 Sakonnet Boulevard, or 80Sak as we liked to call it, was our second home; and we loved it there. We even had a sprial staircase connecting the first floor to the second floor! Our bedrooms were on the first floor of the house. In the two front bedrooms lived Caitlin and Maurin. (Yes, I had a roommate named Maurin. And yes, our names rhymed. We didn't sound obnoxious at all when we introduced ourselves).
In the back of the house were mine and Taylor's bedrooms. Coincidentally, the four of us were split by the front and the back of the house, and there were some similarities that we shared. Taylor and I are both brunette, hailed from New Jersey, and had (have) D+ boobs. We were the back of the house girlays. Living in the front of the house were Maurin and Caitlin. Both blonde, from Massachusetts, and also sharing the same cupsize. For years, it was those defining characteristics that divided us, (and also united as at the same time). But, now as we enter into our late twenties, there is something else that both divides and unites us. The former residents of 80Sak have now been divided by marriage and singlehood.
On Friday night, we attended Taylor's wedding in Maryland. (And, a lovely time was had by all). On Saturday night, Maurin got engaged. Hmm. Are these the same girls that I used to take atleast seven shots with before going out at night, eat raw brownie batter with, and dance around the house in our underwear? Yes, they are. They're just getting maui-ed.
See? We're all being proposed to, just some of us on different levels. At Taylor's wedding, on Friday night, a guy that I was talking to, proposed that we go back to his parent's RV (!?!?!?) after the wedding. Unlike, Maurin's marriage proposal, (to which she said yes), I turned my RV proposal down.
Even though I can't believe that you bitches are growing up on me, a sincere mazaaaaal to Moho and Flint. LYLAT, girlfriends.
In the back of the house were mine and Taylor's bedrooms. Coincidentally, the four of us were split by the front and the back of the house, and there were some similarities that we shared. Taylor and I are both brunette, hailed from New Jersey, and had (have) D+ boobs. We were the back of the house girlays. Living in the front of the house were Maurin and Caitlin. Both blonde, from Massachusetts, and also sharing the same cupsize. For years, it was those defining characteristics that divided us, (and also united as at the same time). But, now as we enter into our late twenties, there is something else that both divides and unites us. The former residents of 80Sak have now been divided by marriage and singlehood.
On Friday night, we attended Taylor's wedding in Maryland. (And, a lovely time was had by all). On Saturday night, Maurin got engaged. Hmm. Are these the same girls that I used to take atleast seven shots with before going out at night, eat raw brownie batter with, and dance around the house in our underwear? Yes, they are. They're just getting maui-ed.
See? We're all being proposed to, just some of us on different levels. At Taylor's wedding, on Friday night, a guy that I was talking to, proposed that we go back to his parent's RV (!?!?!?) after the wedding. Unlike, Maurin's marriage proposal, (to which she said yes), I turned my RV proposal down.
Even though I can't believe that you bitches are growing up on me, a sincere mazaaaaal to Moho and Flint. LYLAT, girlfriends.
Monday, August 1, 2011
August
The season of summer is my very favorite. And so, it's hard for me to believe that it's already August. Please summer, never leave me. Today was my official first day of summer vacation. With school ending in June, and my summer camp job ending on Friday, I am finally freeee. And, it feels so good.
On Sunday, I went to the town pool in Livingston, with Little Mimi Girl. (Yes, Meelzy--I know. So, sioux me if I am a townie). The funny thing about the town pool is that the people there are either under the age of twelve, or over the age of forty. There is no one remotely in my age demographic. (Well, unless you count the sixteen year old lifeguards). Just as my mom and I were leaving the pool for the day, we bumped right into my second grade teacher. She looked about eighty years old. I remember thinking that she was "old" when I had her back in 1991, but now, she actually looked elderly. She recognized my mom, (not me though). When I shook her hand, and told her my name, she smiled, but I could tell that she had no clue who I was. That's okay though. All I remember about second grade is that my grandparents visited my class on "grandparents day," And, Grandma Eva (my ninety-six year old grandmother) was introduced to my class as being born before radio was invented. (True story). My other memory of second grade is accidentally stapling my finger. I guess some things don't change...
I love New York City in the summer time, during the week nights. I took a stroll down to Urban(uhhh) in the East Village tonight. My first wanted stop and chat (the literal, exact opposite of an unwanted stop and chat) was with one of my camp besties, Nate. Nate is great. (And, I'm not just saying that cause it rhymes). It was a real treat bumping into him. Next, I ran into, yet another Schodack alum, (holla!!) Lastly--I bumped into someone who I worked with at my old school, outside of a bar, and she was wasted. See? Aren't NYC summer nights the greatest?
I love having things to "check" online each day. You know. There's Gmail, and Facebook, my work e-mail, People.com, and all of the other websites I just love to check in with. One of my newer websites is Thought Catalog, an online blog all about pop culture, dating, and other topics relevant to 20-somethings.
An article I recently found, detailed a straight man's encounter blowing a zucchini. Yes, you read that right. The author of this blog is not bi/gay-curious. He is a straight male, who was in his bed wishing to be blown, thus leading him to imagine what it would feel like to be the blow-er. He found the most phallic object possible in his apartment. (Hence the zucchini), and thought that it would be interesting to put himself into someone else's shoes. (That of a woman or gay man). What did he discover? Well, a new respect and appreciation for all the women and gay men in the world, who perform this act. He learned that blow jobs can be tough work!
He experienced neck cramping and some light gagging. As a woman, I appreciated his appreciation. And, while I am not going to find an edible object around my apartment to practice cunnilingus, I will still give a special props to straight boys out there. It can be a crazy place down there, with the flaps, folds, smells and secretions. (I winced, typing that). But, when a boy knows his way around, and (knows it well), we girls are pretty grateful. (But, probably not grateful enough to practice on edible objects found around our homes).
I don't really want to end this post with blow jobs, but my eyes are beginning to close. Blow jobs it is. Good night.
On Sunday, I went to the town pool in Livingston, with Little Mimi Girl. (Yes, Meelzy--I know. So, sioux me if I am a townie). The funny thing about the town pool is that the people there are either under the age of twelve, or over the age of forty. There is no one remotely in my age demographic. (Well, unless you count the sixteen year old lifeguards). Just as my mom and I were leaving the pool for the day, we bumped right into my second grade teacher. She looked about eighty years old. I remember thinking that she was "old" when I had her back in 1991, but now, she actually looked elderly. She recognized my mom, (not me though). When I shook her hand, and told her my name, she smiled, but I could tell that she had no clue who I was. That's okay though. All I remember about second grade is that my grandparents visited my class on "grandparents day," And, Grandma Eva (my ninety-six year old grandmother) was introduced to my class as being born before radio was invented. (True story). My other memory of second grade is accidentally stapling my finger. I guess some things don't change...
I love New York City in the summer time, during the week nights. I took a stroll down to Urban(uhhh) in the East Village tonight. My first wanted stop and chat (the literal, exact opposite of an unwanted stop and chat) was with one of my camp besties, Nate. Nate is great. (And, I'm not just saying that cause it rhymes). It was a real treat bumping into him. Next, I ran into, yet another Schodack alum, (holla!!) Lastly--I bumped into someone who I worked with at my old school, outside of a bar, and she was wasted. See? Aren't NYC summer nights the greatest?
I love having things to "check" online each day. You know. There's Gmail, and Facebook, my work e-mail, People.com, and all of the other websites I just love to check in with. One of my newer websites is Thought Catalog, an online blog all about pop culture, dating, and other topics relevant to 20-somethings.
An article I recently found, detailed a straight man's encounter blowing a zucchini. Yes, you read that right. The author of this blog is not bi/gay-curious. He is a straight male, who was in his bed wishing to be blown, thus leading him to imagine what it would feel like to be the blow-er. He found the most phallic object possible in his apartment. (Hence the zucchini), and thought that it would be interesting to put himself into someone else's shoes. (That of a woman or gay man). What did he discover? Well, a new respect and appreciation for all the women and gay men in the world, who perform this act. He learned that blow jobs can be tough work!
He experienced neck cramping and some light gagging. As a woman, I appreciated his appreciation. And, while I am not going to find an edible object around my apartment to practice cunnilingus, I will still give a special props to straight boys out there. It can be a crazy place down there, with the flaps, folds, smells and secretions. (I winced, typing that). But, when a boy knows his way around, and (knows it well), we girls are pretty grateful. (But, probably not grateful enough to practice on edible objects found around our homes).
I don't really want to end this post with blow jobs, but my eyes are beginning to close. Blow jobs it is. Good night.
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