12 Happy 2012 Memories

It's the time of year when we're bombarded by top ten and bottom ten lists, by news stories forcing us to relive the most memorable moments of the past 12 months. In this post, I'm going to completely avoid negativity. I'm simply going to share 12 of the things that made me happy this year. Read on to discover three of my own personal victories, three music videos that will make you happy, three beers that will make you happy, and the "one" book, one movie, and one song that will always make me think of 2012.
THREE PERSONAL VICTORIES
VICTORY #1: GOING TO CHINA

How is this a victory, you might ask? Well, I'm absolutely terrified of flying, and I had never traveled alone before in my life. I tend to get lost a lot. I guess the closest I'd come to flying anywhere by myself was the time that I got really lost driving and ended up getting stuck doing several laps around O'Hare airport (which, by the way, was nowhere near my intended destination) because I couldn't figure out how I'd gotten into the airport parking lot and also couldn't figure out how to get out.
And I can't say that things exactly went smoothly. My flight was delayed an hour in taking off and an hour in landing. So, already arriving in Beijing two hours late, I was horrified to find out that none of the baggage carousels said anything about a flight from Seattle. After about 20 minutes passed, I tried to ask an airline employee about my flight, but she understood little English and only spoke enough to convey that this was where I wait for the baggage. In an attempt to keep my sanity, I stared at an advertisement for Yanjing beer that showed Chinese astronauts, in their spacesuits, enjoying a bottle of Yanjing. Maybe this was my type of country, after all.
Finally, FINALLY, my baggage came through (even though the sign above the carousel indicated that it was coming from Eastern Europe), and then I was free to wander out of the baggage claim area into the vast confusion that is the Beijing airport. At first my eyes just darted around wildly, but luckily after just a few minutes I saw a girl in a turquoise sweater sprinting toward me. And that's when I knew I'd made it, I could finally hug the sister I hadn't seen in nine months, and after 30 hours of travel and terror I could finally just relax. I think a loud sob escaped me as I threw my arms around her and let my blood pressure start to return to its normal state.
There were a lot more adventures to be had in China, of course. Temples, palaces, hutongs, an awesome morning hiking at the Great Wall, and even a trip to the Beijing Hooters.

But that exhausted, relieved, joyous moment when I first hugged my sister was probably the best of all.
VICTORY #2: DIAGNOSIS- BENIGN
Around Thanksgiving this year, I found out that I had a 2-inch tumor in my left breast.
Imagine the following situation. You're lying on your back, shirtless, on a table, as a doctor and two nurses perform a biopsy. You're numbed but you're awake, and you're trying so hard to scrutinize their faces. Staring at them so intensely you feel you could burn a hole through their skin. Are they frowning? WHY ARE THEY FROWNING? Even though they won't tell you anything until the results come back, of course, they must know something, they must be able to tell what it looks like...
Then, afterwards, as they're applying pressure to the incision and cleaning the area up, all of a sudden, one of the nurses freezes. Stares down at your breast and asks, "What is THAT?"
The other nurse's eyes widen. "I don't know. What IS that?"
At this moment, your heart pretty much stops. You were already so tuned into their facial expressions that now you have lost any sense of reassurance you might have had previously and your mind is spiraling out of control. Somehow, your medical condition has baffled even the professionals. You have fleeting images of being the first one to start a The Stand-esque superplague. Maybe you shouldn't have watched that miniseries twice. In fact, you really shouldn't have, because it kind of sucks.
"It's.... glitter." The tension goes out of the nurses' voices, and you realize you don't have the superplague, yet. She removes the offending sequin.
This was kind of a personal victory for my boyfriend against my sequined shirt. I think the shirt is cute and fun. He groans loudly every time I wear it to his apartment, because he knows he'll be picking mini-sequins off his couch for a week.
A week later, my results came back, showing the tumor was benign.
A month later, the shirt is still untouched on my floor. I don't know if I'll ever be able to wear it again.
VICTORY #3: EVERCLEAR PLAYS YOU MAKE ME FEEL LIKE A WHORE
A couple months ago, I went with Mollie, Keith, Mouse, and Chris to "rock out like it's 1999" at the Eve 6 and Everclear concert. The reason I went was to hear Everclear play one of my favorite songs, "You Make Me Feel Like a Whore."
This song never got nearly enough radio play. When Mollie and Rachel used to DJ their college radio station on Monday nights, I would set aside time every Monday night to contact the station and request "You Make Me Feel Like a Whore." Sometimes not even framing my request in a full sentence and just saying the title of the song, which, if they didn't know me, they might have found confusing.
I didn't know if Everclear would deliver, or if they would let me down. I'm getting really used to being let down by bands I've loved for a long time, and I wouldn't even say I ever loved Everclear, just that song.
For example (BEGIN UNRELATED STORY), 2012 was the year that my Green Day fanship finally ended.
I'd stuck by Green Day through a LOT. So why did I stop being a Green Day fan? Was it because they cancelled the concert I'd already bought tickets to? Was it that footage of Billie Joe puking onstage at the end of "Jesus of Suburbia?"
No. It was this video.

I can hear you now. "Do you really hate Twilight that much? What's wrong with Twilight?" Whether or not I hate Twilight is not the point. The point is, this is not Green Day. Like, imagine a punk band that has been around since the early 90's, has built up an impressive punk music loving fan base, and has always had a kind of independent, rebellious, I-don't-give-a-damn attitude that even works now that they're in their late 30's.
Then, suppose that band announces they're inviting the latest teen pop sensation (think Miley Cyrus or Taylor Swift) to be their new permanent fourth member, and she's going to write some of their songs and choreograph their music videos.
It's like if the man you'd loved for several years suddenly revealed that he was really just a monkey in a man suit. I don't know them anymore.
(END UNRELATED STORY)
So, I was prepared to be betrayed by Everclear as well, and it sure looked like they were gonna betray me. Probably ten different times, the lead singer would bellow, "WE GOT SOME SPARKLE AND FADE FANS OUT THERE? LET'S PLAY A SONG FROM SPARKLE AND FADE!" And my heart would soar... and they'd play something... else. And I'd despair, because by the end of the concert I was thinking they'd played every single song off Sparkle and Fade EXCEPT "You Make Me Feel Like a Whore." What was this? The Sparkle and Fade tour?
But then... on the last song before the obligatory encore... when my legs were killing me and my eardrums were starting to hurt... the beautiful moment happened. And I threw up my rawk fist. And I sang at the top of my lungs. And I felt like a whore. Oh yes. I did.

THREE MUSIC VIDEOS THAT WILL MAKE YOU HAPPY
(After all, you need to recover from the one I posted above)
VIDEO #1: PLEASE DO NOT WATCH PAST THE FIRST VERSE
I want to say first of all that this is a terrible song. It annoys me to no end. When I hear it on the radio I usually emit an agonized howl as my fist slams into the tuning button to kill it as quickly as possible.
But the first time I saw the music video, it made me happy. Because I think I'm cooler than the guy from Owl City. And you probably are too. I mean, just watch the first verse where he's singing. Have you ever seen a guy look so uncomfortable in his own skin? Have you ever heard someone sound so awkward when saying, with almost painful enunciation, the words, "I'm in if you're down to get down tonight?"
Now, he might be having a good time, but he sure don't look like it. And for someone who gets told enough that she looks tired or bored or sad or angry, I shouldn't make fun of the lack of fun it looks like he's having, but, I'm going to.

 

VIDEO #2: PLEASE DO NOT HATE ME FOR POSTING A TRAIN VIDEO
Obviously I'm not a Train fan either. But they play this video at the gym all the time, and it always makes me chuckle and forget that I'm on the treadmill.

VIDEO #3: I HAVE NO DISCLAIMERS OR APOLOGIES FOR THIS ONE
This video is pure joy. It's finally helped me overcome the crippling yeti-phobia I've had ever since I watched Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer as a very young child and it gave me nightmares.

THREE BEERS THAT WILL MAKE YOU HAPPY
In case you didn't like the music videos above and need a drink, I'm going to share three beers I discovered for the first time this year that I think are worth a try.
1) GREEN LINE (Goose Island)
This is the most widely available beer of the three I'm going to mention--you can find it anywhere that has a sizeable beer tap--and it's a beer I'd recommend to pretty much anyone. That's because it simultaneously tastes like a light beer and an IPA, with even a hint of fruitiness. It's like a light IPA. And it's right up there with Blue Moon as far as my favorite non-obscure beers go.
2) ZOMBIE DUST (Three Floyds)
Like its delicious cousin Alpha King, this beer has just the right amount of hops, but it lacks Alpha King's citrusy notes, making the hops seem more powerful. And the picture on the outside of the bottle is pretty sweet, too.
3) GOLDEN MONKEY (Victory)
As you'd guess from the name, this beer is a beautiful golden color. It's light, smooth, and drinkable (maybe a little bit too drinkable) with a unique, mildly spicy flavor. The reason I say maybe a bit too drinkable is that this beer is deceptively strong... so proceed with caution.
BOOK OF THE YEAR: SONG OF ICE AND FIRE SERIES
When I went to China, I didn't really want to pack books, so I borrowed a friend's Kindle. He was kind enough to load some books he thought I'd like onto it, including the entire Song of Ice and Fire series. So, sitting at O'Hare awaiting my flight from Chicago to Seattle, I started reading Game of Thrones.
I didn't stop reading until six hours later when the plane landed in Seattle. And that's when I realized that the Kindle battery was almost dead... I was only 1/4 of the way through Game of Thrones... and I still had the 12-hour flight from Seattle to Beijing ahead of me.
Now, if you've read this post from the beginning, a) I'm amazed and b) you know I have problems traveling/navigating by myself. So, as I stumbled into the Seattle airport, trying to follow people who looked Chinese, I was being consumed by two fears: that I would not make my connecting flight, and that I would not find out what happened to the Stark family. I had to make a decision. Continue following Chinese-esque people in hopes of finding someone who would point me in the right direction, or stop at bookstore and load up on overpriced Game of Thrones books.
You can guess what I did. This actually led to even more panic, because it took a long time to find those books. I had to ask the clerk, who barely spoke English, and they were under scifi (which was separate from fantasy... what the heck?). I bought the first two books, then took off sprinting while weeping hysterically through the airport, because I thought I was running out of time. I didn't realize my flight would be delayed an hour. But you already knew that, if you've been reading from the beginning of this post (and again, if you have, I'm really amazed).
You may have seen the TV series, but I never had, and I thoroughly enjoyed the books. Pretty soon I had my mom and my sister reading them too so that we could bond over them. Occasionally we'll send each other texts that simply say "Hodor." So now, if you ever get one of those texts by accident, I know you'll understand.
MOVIE OF THE YEAR: CABIN IN THE WOODS
I won't tell you too much about Cabin in the Woods, because much of the joy of this movie comes from not knowing what to expect. But just know that this movie is like every single novel my sister and I ever tried to write together (which, to be fair, is only about two). So, now that I've seen Cabin in the Woods, I can now say that my life's work is done (and way better than I probably would have done it, too).
SONG OF THE YEAR: NO APOLOGIES
Calling this song a song is underselling it. This wondrous anthem stirs every emotion I have.
I couldn't find a good music video for it. There's a "real" music video but the acting in it is super crappy, and then there's this other video that's like plugging Sugar Red Drive merchandise, and I decided the crappy acting one was worse, so I'm posting the other one, because it's not like they're total sellouts, it's not like they're Green Day or anything. Besides, the point is not to watch the video but to hear the beautiful beautiful song, and I don't want to hear any of your "what is this misogynist Nickelbacky crap" comments because this song is the best thing to happen to anyone ever and taught me to love life again. So, on this note...

...happy New Year!

Four Bad Decisions Made During Blizzards Past

Some people, for reasons I cannot comprehend, are disappointed that the much-hyped Winter Storm Draco left us with nothing more than a dusting of snow. I was definitely not among those people. I hate snow. I loathe cold and I loathe precipitation, so the combination of the two stirs a hatred within me so potent that I can feel my eyes turning to liquid fire as soon as they are afflicted by the offending weather forecast. I find no beauty in snow. Not when it first falls, and not when it turns into a hideous brown slush when the thaw begins. And I am not a very confident driver in the best of conditions, so when it comes to driving in the snow, I'm often weeping and gripping the steering wheel so tightly that I'm surprised it has not permanently fused with my hand.
But aside from all of these reasons, I hate snow because I've noticed a pattern wherein I make particularly bad judgment calls during snowstorms. I'm going to tell you about the first four that come to mind. Actually, three of these happened during the same snowstorm...
I. FEBRUARY 2011 - WENT RUNNING
I'm sure everyone knows the snowstorm I'm talking about. Definitely the biggest one in the last several years. This was the snowstorm when virtually everyone I knew was off work, and when my brother went out with all his army medic gear to help people whose cars went into ditches. (In just a few hours, the number of motorists he'd helped was somewhere in the teens.)
I decided that morning would be a lovely time for a jog.
Now, mind you, there were a few obstacles. Like the fact that the sidewalks weren't cleared whatsoever. But the major roads were somewhat plowed, and it's not like there were any cars on them. And when else does a jogger get the privilege of running right down the middle of Wolf Road in the middle of the day?
I did see the occasional person out shoveling his/her driveway, and I generally was not met with kindness and acceptance. "You've got to be kidding me!" one man exclaimed. "DID YOU TAKE YOUR PILLS THIS MORNING?" another called after me. And yet another gaped at me and then pulled out a video camera and started taping me, steadily following me with the camera until I was out of sight.
While jogging was definitely more constructive than other things I ended up doing that day (read on), I ultimately felt it was a bad decision because a) during the portions of the run when I was going through knee-deep snow, my heart rate surged so high that I was actually concerned, and b) I was already uneasy at the idea of the random stranger sending the video footage to some news station, and it seemed like just the kind of stupid video they'd show to lighten things up during the last 2 minutes of the broadcast ("Suburban girl forgot to take pills!"). The jeers of my neighbors were already making me feel bizarre, like an outcast, the soon-to-be-infamous Crazy Running Girl. That sudden desperation is probably what led me to Bad Decision II.
II. FEBRUARY 2011 - JOINED FREE DATING WEBSITE
Being confined to the apartment and afraid of my Crazy Running Girl status crippling my prospects for a social life, I decided to join a free dating website. I was not 100% sure about this. I tried to make it explicitly clear that I was just looking to go out to places around the Chicago area, meet new people, and have fun. I said I was looking for "friendship" and set a geographic range of within an hour of Mokena, an age range, and a few other restrictions (no guys with kids, etc.). I made it ok for guys who met these requirements and were also looking for friendship to contact me.
So, I'm guessing the reasons that some dating websites are free is because they completely disregard your filters.
During the total of one hour I idly monitored my emails, I got many incoherent, often all-caps and unrecognizably misspelled, and occasionally really offensive declarations of love, most of them from men way out of my age range and in different states (in one case, a different country). Sometimes the same people who'd declared their love for me just minutes ago would then call me names for not responding. Well, I suppose they weren't all rude. There was a very polite and eloquent gentleman from Virginia, who looked like a frightened, skinny nerd in his pictures (yeah, he actually looked frightened in the pictures, maybe he should have smiled), who told me that he believed that there is someone for everyone and not to let the distance dissuade me because he would be willing to relocate for the right girl.
The one person I talked back to was the one person who actually did live within an hour of me, and was only one year too old for the date range I'd set. However, he was dead set on coming to my house.
Me: "I would be fine with meeting somewhere, but I'd rather go out, try something new."
Him: "Nah. I'll just get a six pack of something and come over to your place."
Me: "Well, the thing is, my apartment kind of sucks. Wouldn't you rather do something that's a little more... in public?"
Him: "No"
Me: "Sorry, I'm not comfortable meeting in private. Plus, I live with my big brother. My big, military, firearm-loving brother." (Okay, so I didn't actually say that stuff about my brother. And while it is true that he's big, in the military, and loves firearems, I am guessing he'd just laugh at my plight if I were in an awkward situation like this. Actually, what's more likely is he'd talk to Dating Website Guy and try to gauge DWG's love of firearms. If he found that DWG's love matched his own, he'd probably shove me toward him and tell me not to screw this up.)
I got off the computer for the rest of the day, and a few weeks later I remembered that I'd joined a dating website and it sucked and I should probably delete my account. But I couldn't remember my username or password. So, my profile is still out there, but guess what? I haven't gotten a single message from anyone since that first day. THEY DIDN'T REALLY LOVE ME! THEY WERE JUST TOO LAZY TO NAVIGATE PAST THE TOP OF THE "RECENTLY JOINED" LIST! I'm sure that once my fifteen minutes of fame were over, they moved right on to the next girl at the top of the Recently Joined list, didn't they? I mean, not that I cared. I bet she was prettier than me. Wasn't she?
III. FEBRUARY 2011 - AGREED TO HOST A MARY KAY PARTY
Shortly after my social networking fail, I got a call from my friend Maryam, who sells Mary Kay products. I guess part of the whole Mary Kay thing is you're supposed to try to get your friends to have parties too, and then try to get the people at those parties to have parties, and so on and so forth until you've built an impressive and moisturized army.
I am the last person who should host a Mary Kay party. I am not girly. I don't do girly stuff. I typically used maybe 3 makeup items, one I'd bought from Maryam and the others from the dollar bin at the end of the aisle at Jewel Osco. To top it off, I lived in a barely furnished apartment with my military, firearm-loving brother. The one saving grace was that my brother's taste in decor is actually surprisingly feminine; he'd put up a floral scroll, a few Impressionist prints, you know, Monet, Van Gogh, the usual. So I decided my apartment MIGHT provide a girly enough atmosphere for Maryam to do her thing, provided the guests didn't mind sitting on the floor.
So, I agreed. I blame the snow.
The party that I threw probably set Maryam's makeup-selling career back about five years. If it weren't for me, she might own that pink Mary Kay convertible or whatever the heck they give their top salespeople.
I couldn't really bring myself, my non-glamorous, makeup imbecile self, to create a facebook event that was JUST a Mary Kay party. So, I called it a "Mary Kay and Interpretive Dance Party." The event picture was me and a college roommate performing dance moves (actually, she was trying to shove me in the closet and I was resisting, but it looks like a dance) and I invited about 12 or 15 girls I knew (half of which had already been to a Mary Kay party for Maryam) to come jazzercise and enjoy a makeup presentation.
My facebook event caused mass confusion and fear. I heard that the girls I invited asked amongst themselves, "What is this? Is this really a thing?" I guess I can't say I blame them.
The reason I forgot to mention why I REALLY shouldn't have thrown this party is, when I throw parties, people don't come.
Two people showed up.
While this party was as damaging to my self esteem as it was to Maryam's career, she managed to move past it, and I threw two more (non-Mary Kay) parties over the course of the next year that were also attended by about two people each before finally banning myself from party-throwing. If only I could blame those other two parties on snow...
IV. DECEMBER 2010 - DENNYS
A group of my friends get together at the Denny's in Mokena every Christmas night. I'd said I would go many times, but I'm usually at my parents' in Momence on Christmas, and just have never been able to motivate myself to make the drive back because Christmas tires me out, not to mention I've usually gone way over my calorie limit for the entire week before noon on Christmas.
I always wanted to go, though. So, when I actually had the energy to make the drive on Christmas 2010, I decided I was GOING to Denny's... massive snowfall or no massive snowfall.
Somewhere in the cornfield wilderness between Momence and Mokena, I got a flat tire and had to pull into someone's driveway. It was a lone house out in the country, with no other houses within sight. And- I was stuck in the driveway.
Let alone not being able to change my own tire, I couldn't shovel myself out of the driveway. I got the shovel out of my trunk and tried my best, but nothing... I was stuck. And I had the feeling that this is how every horror movie begins. I wasn't the main character but the stupid girl who gets killed right at the beginning before they introduce the main plot. I was certain the next person I was going to see was going to be a serial killer dressed as Santa, or a clown, or Clown Santa, and wielding a chain saw.
At some point, my friends texted me and asked if I were coming to Denny's. "I can't," I responded. "My car broke down and I'm stuck in the snow."
Perhaps forty minutes later, my friends followed up by texting back, "Do you need help?" But by then my parents were on their way to rescue me, and the person who lived in the house had come out to investigate, showing no serial killing inclinations whatsoever.
I tend to tell this story to anyone who claims to want a white Christmas. I remind them that white Christmases can be deadly. However, no one seems to really care about my plight that Christmas night. Okay, I guess I didn't suffer tremendously, but it was cold, and I didnt' get to go to Denny's, and I had to get new tires, and there was that interval of time when I really thought that I might end up as clown food.
Just recently I was in a meeting at work with my boss and the majority of the Customer design team when the whole white Christmas campaign was brought up, and so I began telling my tale of woe. They were completely unsympathetic.
Coworker 1: Wow, you're still not over this, are you? You even look like you're still cold.
Coworker 2: No, she always looks like that.
Coworker 1: Is the point of this story going to be that you actually died that night, and the whole time you've been working here you've been a ghost?
Me (to my boss): Well, maybe I at least deserve a little more slack then, on account of being dead.
Coworker 3: Actually, I would think that should mean she doesn't need a lunch break.
And so, rather than sympathizing with my hatred of snow, they went on blithely wishing for it to be terrible, terrible weather on what is supposed to be the happiest day of the year. And I sat. And I listened. But I did not, no, I did not understand. And if you are among those hoping for a white Christmas this year, I hope that I did not offend you. I also hope that perhaps I've opened your eyes to the hidden dangers of snow. And also prepared you for any stupid decisions I will probably make the next time it hits us.

bargaining

I'm finding that when faced with a problem you can do nothing about, the problems you CAN do something about seem minute, simple, and not even really problems at all. In fact, IF this bigger problem could just somehow be removed, you'd then be able to fix everything else in your life as if with a magic wand. "If somehow this could turn out alright, it will be the end of self esteem issues, body image concerns, being directionally challenged, losing my spare keys, general bitchiness, shin splints, nutritional deficiencies, not being good with children, losing my backup set of spare keys, hating Christmas music, lashing out at coworkers who criticize my face, and Blue Moon purchases. I will acquire a perma-smile and devote myself to the betterment of mankind like some kind of non-religious nun."
Sad that you can't actually bargain like that...

Consisting of a rant about Seven-Eleven and an epiphany about life

THREE STRIKES FOR THE SEVEN ELEVEN
It seems there's always one gas station borne, calorie-packed food that I crave constantly, but at varying levels. For a while, it was trail mix. Then moved on to cheese popcorn. Then, shamefully, it was those awful (wonderful) (awful) "danishes," you know, the Archer Farms pastries where they have a single pastry in a package but still try to list it as two servings in the nutritional information, possibly because they don't have enough room to print the calories contained in the pastry without halving it? Well, I've moved on from all of those cravings, and when the era of a certain food passes, I don't want said food anymore. Mentioning it doesn't make me salivate or compulsively reach for my car keys to drive to the nearest gas station. However, it's always replaced by something new and currently it is: breakfast burritos. I am ashamed to even type this. I constantly register at least some level of breakfast burrito craving. During most hours of the day, I can keep it at a manageable level so that I don't start shaking and foaming at the mouth, but if I've skipped a meal or if it's the morning after I've had too much to drink, the burrito craving's strength overwhelms my common sense and clouds my thoughts. And so I rush to the nearest gas station, wherein I shall find my salvation, and promise myself as I open the wrapper containing what shall become my next roll of abdominal fat, with fingers trembling with anticipation, "This is your last burrito EVER, Mandie. God. Buy some vegetables next time."
And it's never the last one. Except now it may be, because the nearest purveyor of burritos, Seven-Eleven, has now received three strikes.
Strike One.
Mandie is hungry and decides she should buy some healthy food. She ventures to her local Seven-Eleven, grabs a little single-serving veggie-and-dip tray, and then, what the hell, balances it out by grabbing a six pack of Blue Moon.
MALE CLERK: Ah, it looks like you are having a party.
MANDIE, being very socially awkward and not good with comebacks, looks down at the makings of quite possibly the world's lamest party, to which the invitees consist of herself and her cat. (No beer for the cat, though he did enjoy my dip leavings.) She can't think of anything to say, so she forces a sound between a giggle and a hiccup.
MC: Are you sure this is all you want?
MANDIE (decisively, swiping credit card): Yes.
MC: Nothing for me?
MANDIE (now in way over her head as far as comeback inadequacy goes): Uhhhh... (another hicgiggle)
MC: Because all I want is a beautiful smile from the beautiful lady.
MANDIE: Heh, heh (now actually kind of grateful she impulsively grabbed the beer, because she's gonna need it)
Strike Two.
Mandie is having a weak moment and decides to purchase a morning burrito.
ANOTHER MALE CLERK: Is there anything else that her royal highness wants?
MANDIE (very decisively): No, thank you.
AMC: Have a wonderful day, royal princess.
Upon getting into her car, Mandie realizes she woke up not long ago and has not looked in the mirror yet today. She flips down her visor mirror and sees that a long dark smear of the remainders of yesterday's eye makeup is completely darkening the side of her nose (I do own eye makeup remover but it's a childproof bottle i can't open, ok?), her other eye looks like someone punched it, and her hair is sticking out at comical angles. This makes the "royalty" comments that already made her excessively uncomfortable and on the brink of hicgiggling seem like cruel sarcasm.
Strike Three.
It's a Saturday morning, and let's just say that the events of Friday night have propelled Mandie's burrito craving to a level that is beyond her control. She reluctantly visits the Seven-Eleven and gets a burrito.
FEMALE CLERK (giving Mandie an odd, condescending smile): Hungry?
MANDIE, already brutally ashamed of her 340-calorie purchase, not to mention the alcohol calories consumed the previous night that are currently having a pants-size-increasing fiesta in her fat cells and demand Mexican-style refreshments, makes a noncommittal sound. She's not even really that hungry, it's a craving thing, which surely the size-two Seven-Eleven employee before her would not understand.
FC (louder, and this time seeming amused by Mandie's purchase): You HUNGRY?
Luckily, MANDIE is saved from further comment by the guy in line behind her, who says, "Not very hungry by the looks of that. That's not a very big burrito." MANDIE, having paid, escapes.
I'm not going to that Seven-Eleven anymore, and you know, I may even be liberated from burritos. It's one thing to be creepily hit on, it's another thing to have your smudgy morning face subjected to harsh mockery, but to have a skinny woman ask you if you're hungry as you go on your shameful, solitary junk food run is more than any human being should have to endure. And I'm done with it. Goodbye, conveniently located but brutally insensitive Seven-Eleven. Three strikes, you're out. May you and your fattening snacks rot in- oh, wait, there's a chance I may still want to use the mailbox in your parking lot. I will not finish that sentence. We shall live as civil neighbors. Please don't egg Cujo.
UNRELATED MUSINGS
Thanksgiving is coming, and I usually post a blog of amusing things my family says at Thanksgiving, because inevitably there will be some good quotes. I was thinking, since this blog is hurting for material, that I might do a "best of Gossage Thanksgivings" post this weekend. And so I began scanning the late-November entries over the years in my previous blog (which I had for 6 or 7 years, so that's a lot of Thanksgivings). And I came to two conclusions:
a) Funny stuff your family says doesn't have a really long shelf life. It was hilarious then, but it wouldn't be now. I'm not going to re-post any of it. It's had its day, it's time for new material.
b) Reading my old blog can hurt. REALLY hurt. So many close relationships have ended, either with a bang or a whimper, or just a slow fade. Reading these blogs in which I talked about them, quoted them, received comments from them, really was communicating with them (because back in the mid-aughts, people actually read my blog)--can be tough. It makes it so hard to believe our relationships aren't like that anymore. It seems like I should be able to just reach through the screen and pull their 2007 (year chosen at random) selves out, and we should be able to laugh together.
But that's not how it is. I have a hard time dealing with change, but I need to accept the fact that my life has changed very much. I'm a different person, and the people I love have evolved right along with me. And I am EXTREMELY grateful for the exact state that my life is in right now- drunken fiestas going on in my fat cells, crippling social awkwardness, occasional afternoons spent partying with the cat, everything--I still have so much to be thankful for right now, and I feel like this is where Mandie 2012 needs to be.
So, like the family quotes that were hilarious at the time but don't really translate to now, I am ok with leaving these memories in my blog's archives. It doesn't mean I don't cherish the memories, and it doesn't mean I'm giving up on ever restoring some of the good aspects of my life in the past. But it means that I'm not going to pine for the past anymore. I'll look forward to a new Thanksgiving and whatever special 2012 brand of hilarity it might include, and I'll focus on now without comparing it to then.

Why I Need a New Hobby

I haven't read this book in years, but I think I remember that in "Frankenstein," by Mary Shelley, the monster begs the doctor to create for him a companion. Once this request is granted, the two monsters will go somewhere far away, never to bother him again. And so the doctor agrees, but as he looks upon the newly created female monster, he can't bear the thought that he's bringing yet another monstrosity into the world. Therefore he tears the she-creature apart, and the repercussions really kind of suck for him later.
If that's not actually part of the novel, then I may have made it up, and should probably submit to a psychological evaluation. But, either way, that's the story of my nanowrimo attempt this year.
In 2010 I'd begun writing a story, and stopped after roughly 2600 words. Then, life got crazy. Not that I necessarily would have finished this story even if life hadn't gotten crazy, but life did get crazy in 2010, I swear it really did. And to this day, I haven't written any more than 2600 words, but I have the entire story plotted out in my head. And every so often, it finds a way to poke some of the soft gray matter inside my skull, as if to say, "Create me, Mandie, complete me. I have so many plot twists yet to be twisted."
"I don't know if me writing fiction is a good idea," I protest. "My creativity level has flatlined, and as for my vocabulary, I think I'm forgetting about ten words per day."
"But what ELSE are you going to do with your time?" the unwritten story whines.
So, I thought this year I'd try nanowrimo. I've thrice attempted nanowrimo unsuccessfully, but I could just write those off as practice rounds. Virginia Woolf believes one just needs "a room of one's own" to write a novel, and I've got a whole dang apartment. Plus, my November kicked off with six hours of maintenance on Cujo (poor guy needed new brakes) during which I had nothing to do but write.
And so, after handing Cujo's key to the mechanic, I sat down in the waiting room, pulled out my laptop, opened my partial story for reference (I couldn't write in the same document, because those 2600 words can't count toward my total), and began creating a monster.
Seriously. I know my fiction writing was never good and has gotten worse over the years, but this was painful. I found no enjoyment in the process. What I was doing was a crime against God, man, and the English language. I was mangling basic sentence components, forcing them to do terrible things that they were never made for. Once I'd typed 866 words, I was forced to sit back, take a few deep breaths, and study the monster I'd created. I thought of the implications if this story joined forces with my previous excerpt and they were unleashed on the world, and I suddenly felt like I'd birthed a race of demons that would make the literary devastation caused by Twilight seem like a mere hiccup.
Thus I banished my new document to my laptop's recycle bin as my old document looked on in horror, realizing it was destined to be forever alone. And I'm sure, much like Frankenstein's monster, it will continue to nag the creator who gave it life but not fulfillment. In this case, the creator attempted to drown her sorrows by taking mindless quizzes in Oprah magazine (the strength of my inner voice is on the low side of medium, in case anyone was curious about that). But I know all solutions are temporary. It will always bug me, at least a little, that I used to be able to write fiction and enjoy writing fiction, and I can't anymore.
I don't know what it is. I feel like it's some kind of slowing of my brain, and perhaps it just comes with age. Or perhaps it's because I didn't keep my brain in shape. Kind of like I used to be able to run marathon distances on any given Saturday, and I now feel very accomplished if I can run over 8 miles. Part of it may be age, and part of it that I didn't keep my body in that kind of shape.
But still, even when you cease to be able to do something, part of you perpetually thinks you can. I'm in the gym, and I pick up a Runner's World magazine. Always a dumb mistake. I read an article about training for ultramarathons. I COULD SO RUN FIFTY MILES! THAT SOUNDS AWESOME! Or, I'm reading the Game of Thrones series. I COULD SO CREATE A COMPLEX FANTASY WORLD WITH MULTIPLE RELIGIOUS IDEOLOGIES AND POLITICAL STRUCTURES AND 30 PAGES WORTH OF FAMILY TREES AT THE END OF EACH BOOK AND WRITE AN EPIC SERIES THAT FOLLOWS DOZENS OF PRIMARY CHARACTERS BUT AT THE SAME TIME MAKES EACH OF THEIR STORIES ENGAGING, PERSONAL, AND PAINSTAKINGLY DETAILED! THAT WOULD BE A BLAST! Stupid inner voice. Why do you think I can do things I can't do? We need to work on our communication. Maybe Oprah could help me with that.
All this to say, I feel I'm still without talents or hobbies. Perhaps someday I'll find something that I'm capable of and that I truly enjoy, and my inner voice and I will finally be on the same page, and I'll become the Mandie I was always meant to be. In the meantime, though, I'll probably keep on beating the dead horses of writing and running. "Maybe if I wrote this scene from the other character's POV..." "Maybe if I eat a different flavor of Clif bar..."
Hmm, come to think of it, I haven't tried the mint chocolate chip ones.
Today may be the day that changes everything...

silver linings

I know. It's been a while.
Writing blogs can be scary, and it was tempting to go the safer, easier route and let this flaming gopher go silently into the night, like my Twitter account from years past (though I still get emails about the stupid thing--I don't think I've posted since 2009, but just this week I discovered that I have a new follower and that my password has been changed because it thinks my security has been compromised). But the blogging world will always call to me, even when I'm finding it nearly impossible to write about myself.
It's been a rough few months. This sounds like a cliché, but it's so true ... I feel like I don't know who I am anymore. I've been afraid to type out words, because I'm afraid that either I won't like the person who reveals herself on the screen, or ... I'll see that she is nothing.
I tried to write an entry in a personal journal. I diligently forced out a few paragraphs, but I felt like I was in an awkward conversation with myself that wasn't really going anywhere, and I wished there were a third me who could suddenly show up and save me from it, or at least who I could pretend to get an emergency text or phone call from.
Putting even a little bit of yourself out there is scary. My last blog was mostly ignored and also used as a forum for personal attack. But I want to write. Not because I think I'm good at writing, but because writing added a dimension to my life that I'm lacking now. So, I'm telling myself I'm going to do nanowrimo (I never even make the quintuple digits, and I'm not expecting to this year, but it'll be something) and I'm also going to try to bring back those joyous days in which I would write inane blogs about my daily life and not care what anyone thought.
I'm going to challenge myself to try to see the positive aspects in negative events. I'm not going to say that ALL negative events can be seen as positive, but when you try, it's surprising what an optimistic spin you can put on your life. Some examples:
EXAMPLE ONE: Yesterday, a sick morbid curiosity led me to do a web search on how many calories are in beer. It turns out that my favorite beer, Blue Moon, has more calories than pretty much any beer, almost twice as many calories as Miller Lite.
THE POSITIVE: Rather than seeing this as bad news, I'm seeing it as wonderful news, because if Blue Moon has that many calories, imagine how many calories I could save if I stopped drinking it? So, starting today, or maybe starting after I finish the cans of Blue Moon in Aaron's fridge, I will begin the Miller Lite revolution. I imagine that after a month or two I will have a Keira Knightley-esque physique. So, you see, all things happen for a reason, because if I had never tasted Blue Moon in the first place, then I would never feel like I was being diet-friendly by drinking Miller Lite.
EXAMPLE TWO: My entire life I have been plagued by having a face that is such a unique form of grotesque that people feel the need to label it as tired, angry, miserable, or some other emotion that it's not currently conveying.
THE POSITIVE: This has taught me to analyze conversations and social etiquette to a degree that I think makes me pretty much a certified sociologist and certainly less socially inept than the average Applied Systems employee or gas station clerk. Let's look at two conversations that happened within the past week.
CONVERSATION ONE
(Mandie is filling her water bottle at the sink, around 3 on a Monday afternoon)
RANDOM COWORKER I DON'T KNOW: Wow, having a rough Monday, huh?
MANDIE (hesitant to say anything because she feels an insult against her face coming on, tries to just make some kind of sound that could mean everything and nothing and hopes the conversation will end there): Uhhrnnnghuh.
RCIDK: Hey, I said, having a rough Monday, huh?
MANDIE: Why? Do I look like it?
RCIDK: Every time I see you walking around here, you always look like this. (Completely slackens arms in an ape-like fashion, slackens face as well, droops mouth, juts out jaw like a Neanderthal, and adopts a slumping posture, overall looking like Frankenstein's monster if he didn't have any bones and had just taken a triple dose of Vicodin)
MANDIE: Wow. I feel so beautiful right now.
CONVERSATION ONE- ANALYSIS
This conversation was awkward, and it was Mandie who was at fault. While it is pretty clear from context that RCIDK did not actually care about the quality of Mandie's Monday and didn't give a crap whether or not she had in fact had a rough day (in fact, he indicated she looks like this all the time, rendering his initial comment even more meaningless), Mandie should have taken the comment as such in order to avoid awkwardness. Rather than ask the question that we all KNOW isn't going to have a good answer, she should have just responded, "Actually, no, I'm having a pretty good day. How about you?" Then, she may have even made a new friend, been able to give RCIDK a name, and through warmth and caring rather than self-defensiveness, torn down all his misconceptions about people with weird faces and quietly taught him a lesson in tolerance.
CONVERSATION TWO
(Mandie is buying food at a gas station (I know, I told my self no more gas station food, I am cutting down))
GAS STATION CLERK: Are you okay?
MANDIE (politely): Yes, I am. (See, she's learning. This happened after conversation one.)
GSC: Oh, 'cause you don't LOOK okay.
MANDIE: This is just how I look in the morning, I guess.
CONVERSATION TWO- ANALYSIS
This conversation was also awkward, but in this case, the blame rests entirely upon GSC. You see, if you are truly concerned about the current emotional state of a stranger you're only going to interact with for about 45 seconds, you don't follow up your concerned comment by insulting her appearance. You would instead say, "Alright. Hope you have a good day." Then not only are you giving her the impression that you find her face acceptable after being given the initial reassurance required in order to process it, but you're also brightening her day. And providing good customer service. And ensuring she would return to your gas station, even though by ensuring that you're actually setting her back a lot because she's trying to not eat gas station food anymore, but hey, at least she's drinking Miller Lite now, so maybe she can afford to splurge a little.
The time now draws near for me to go to the cat place, so I must bring this entry to a close. I'm not even going to read it before i post. I'm glad I wrote even when I didn't have anything interesting to say, because it got me into writing again. Even if I'm just writing about stuff I always write/talk about, like beer and my face. I promise that there is more to me than beer and a face. I promise that in the coming posts, I will come up with a much more colorful array of subject matter. Or at least I'll find new, colorful, possibly metaphorical ways to describe beer and my face.

The First Tribute

I've been having a hard time motivating myself to blog lately, because I am really boring. But today, I had an epiphany. Why don't I write about people who are NOT me? And so, I came up with the idea to do a series of tributes to people who have proved themselves blogworthy throughout my life. I didn't really know how many I was gonna do, but in the spirit of Hunger Games mania I should probably do twelve. Actually, if I were really adopting the spirit of Hunger Games mania, I should do twenty-four tribute blogs, about twelve males and twelve females, but that would be uber nerdy. And I am not a nerd. Hodor. (Sorry, that just slips out sometimes.)
Without further pointless rambling, I present to you tribute number one: my dad.

I started thinking about my dad, actually, because this summer seems to be infested with weddings. Now, I've never been one of those girls who ever thought about her hypothetical future wedding, but the one thing I do know about my hypothetical future wedding is what song would play when I dance with my dad. (If you know me well, you can probably guess this... go ahead and give it a shot.) And thinking about that made me remember how all my life my mom has told me if I ever get married, I'll have to find someplace with a really short aisle, because I won't be able to walk very far with my dad without threatening to kill or at least maim him.
I don't know why I threaten violence against my dad so much. It's just, you know, a bad habit, like some people bite their fingernails, some people clear their throats a lot, some people feel the need to glare at their fathers while punching their fists against their palms in a "you're next" fashion. I mean, I do it entirely out of love, of course.
The day that I was to meet my boyfriend's parents for the first time, I was kinda nervous, and I mentioned it to my dad in an email. My dad emailed me back with the sound but perhaps somewhat bitter advice that I should relax and act like I'm with my own family, except to not take that too far and disembowel my boyfriend's dad, as his mom might find that somewhat offputting. Now, that part of his advice was completely unnecessary. I mean, I have NEVER threatened to disembowel my father. That is completely uncivilized and messy and a violation of one's digestive privacy. I had threatened to stab him the last time I saw him (I really don't remember what prompted that, but I'm sure it was warranted, like he was whistling a song I don't like), but stabbing is the sport of gentlemen and is not even necessarily fatal.
Still, the fact that my dad thought I would go as far as to disembowel him (or, someone I was imagining was him) shows me that I need to start saying more nice, gentle things, to counterbalance all my playful rage. So, here goes.
Dad, you are awesome. You have taught me the value of bike rides, barn quilts, crossword puzzles, and not letting a movie interfere with my sleep. I am so grateful to have you in my life. Grateful enough that I am willing to forgive all the things that made me feel stabby before.
Yes, I forgive you for that time I had friends over and you brought out your fart sound effect machine. I forgive you for SPOILER ALERT telling me that Piggy died when I was on chapter three of Lord of the Flies and also for telling me half an hour into Saving Private Ryan that Tom Hanks dies at the end END SPOILERS and not giving a spoiler warning before you spoke as I was courteous enough to do for my readers. I forgive you for all those weekends when I was a kid that you dragged me to model train stores. I mean, really, those stores are so boring. And we'd stay in there FOREVER. Why couldn't we ever do what I wanted to do instead? You might claim that some weekends, we actually did do things I wanted to do, but, gee, I'm sorry, I don't remember those weekends because I think the part of my brain that stores happy memories was destroyed when my brain cells literally started cannibalizing each other when driven mad by the boredom of the model train stores. But, whatever, I guess I still forgive you. Heck, I'll even forgive you for that decade's worth of my life when all you listened to was Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. Seriously, like, all the time. It drove me crazy. And still, you persisted in listening to it, and whistling Josephy tunes, so blithely oblivious to the fact that your daughter stood before you, rigid with a red-hot rage, no, not just a red-hot rage, a red and yellow and green and brown and scarlet and black and ochre and peach and OH, DEAR GOD, AFTER ALL THESE YEARS I STILL REMEMBER THE COLORS. I FORGET EVERYTHING I LEARNED IN HIGH SCHOOL AND COLLEGE, BUT THIS MADDENING CHANT OF THE RAINBOW IS STILL TAKING UP REAL ESTATE IN MY BRAIN. I CAN NEVER BE FREE OF IT, EVER! THANKS TO YOU REFUSING TO EVER LET ME CHOOSE THE MUSIC ON CAR TRIPS, EVER, I HAVE NIGHTMARES ABOUT DONNY OSMOND TO THIS VERY DAY. DOES THAT MAKE YOU HAPPY? DOES IT??? WHY I OUGHTA
...ahem. See, that was close, but I made it through an entire tribute to my dad without threatening to stab him a single time. And that just shows how much I love you, daddy <3
Who wants to be my next tribute?

Ten Examples of Music I Shouldn't Like But Do

Those of you who have read my blogs in the past know that I love nothing more than criticizing (not critiquing, I think criticizing would be more accurate) music in the most colorful terms I can come up with—and the most merciless. You also know that my musical taste doesn’t cover a very wide range. I usually define it as “mainstream rock music from 1994 and afterwards.” To say I’m a music nazi would be a fair assessment… well, ALMOST fair.

Believe it or not, there are some vulnerable points in my otherwise impenetrable exoskeleton of rock music love, formed and solidified by many years of listening to Q101 religiously. Once in a while, inexplicably, a song or artist finds one of these soft spots, breaks through the barrier of my closed mind, and finds a home in my mp3 player and my heart (they’re pretty much the same thing).

Those of you who know me well already know that I like these songs. I may have even made you listen to them multiple times. Sorry about that (not really). And for the rest of you… I am now opening myself up to your ridicule as I come out of the I-like-bad-music closet. But I would hope that rather than ridiculing, you would share some of your own guilty music pleasures. And we can sympathize and bond and become better people.

SONGS THAT MAKE MOST PEOPLE WANT TO PUNCH SOMEONE

1)      SIMPLE PLAN. “I’M JUST A KID.”

Nobody cares that I’m alone and the world is having more fun than me tonight.

Mention Simple Plan to most people and they’ll look at you like you just confessed you love eating your own belly button lint. This band is a part of our childhoods that we don’t want to remember. We’ve gotten over it, we’ve grown up, we’ve escaped.
But apparently I haven’t blocked that era out completely, because this song is still my anthem. Few things in life bring me as much pure giddy joy as belting it at the top of my lungs. And if that’s something I have to sacrifice in order to join the adult world, well, I guess I’ll be just a kid forever.

2)      SUGAR RED DRIVE. “NO APOLOGIES.”

I’m a creep and that’s just me. I offer no apologies.

But Mandie, WHY do you like this song? It’s by some virtually unknown band that sounds like Saving Abel. There’s nothing too special about the melody. And the lyrics make women sound like helpless doormats and make men sound like *****ing *******bags. It’s enough to ignite the fury of anyone of any gender.
You know, I don’t really have any idea why I love this song, but I do. I could listen to it all day. I’m kind of sad that its time of radio play was brief, and that my petition to launch a new All No Apologies All The Time radio station has not gained a whole lot of support (contact me if you wish to sign it or contribute to my upcoming fundraising event). So, if anyone out there loves me and ever wants to phone in a song request to a radio station, be sure to dedicate this one to me. (Seriously. Because if you dedicate this song to anyone else, I promise you will owe them a whole LOT of apologies.)

SONGS THAT I USED TO HATE BUT I NOW PLAY ON REPEAT

3)      HOOBASTANK. “OUT OF CONTROL.”

And I may never know the answer to this endless mystery.

When I was eighteen-year-old and hopelessly smitten with the voice of the lead singer of Hoobastank, I built up some powerful leg muscles by sprinting across my room to press the Skip button on my CD player whenever this song started. I couldn’t stand the way that the lead singer mangled his beautiful voice during the break when he said “I’MSPINNINOUTOFCONTROL, OUTOFCONTROL.” It was too weak to be a scream and sounded either like he had failed horribly at trying to be badass or like he was purposely trying to annoy his fans due to some kind of sadistic whim.
While my Out of Control sprints were probably good practice for track and also gave my skip-button-pushing finger a workout, I admit now that I judged this song prematurely. Other than those couple of semi-screamed lines, this song has the same not-The-Reason Hoobastank sound that I still enjoy to this day. And so I’ve given Out of Control a second chance, and fittingly, I usually listen to it while running.

4)      LUDO. “THE HORROR OF OUR LOVE.”

Never so much blood poured through my veins.

I remember buying the awesomely quirky album “You’re Awful, I Love You,” copying it onto my computer, and listening to it in its entirety for the first time. When it got to this song, a gentle-sounding Gothic ode to stalking and cannibalism, I decided this one was a little TOO quirky for me. I felt a little creepier just for having it on my computer, and I deleted it without giving it a second play.
However, as years went by, I could feel this song beckoning to me from the ghost-filled realm of my computer’s recycle bin. Give in to your Gothic cannibalistic stalker side, Mandie. You can’t deny your true nature. And so, somewhat hesitantly, I welcomed the horror of Ludo back into my life. And I found the song seductive, epic, and hawt. I can’t understand why I wrote it off so quickly in the first place. I mean, how could a love song with the opening lyric “I’m a killer, cold and wrathful” possibly be bad?

SONGS AND ARTISTS THAT ARE NOT PART OF MY HALLOWED GENRE

5)      AWOL NATION. “NOT YOUR FAULT.”

She’s a ten, I’m a joke in my own mind. But she still loves to dance with my punch lines.

In general, I am not a fan of the indie-ish alternative rock music that seems to be taking over the world lately—but I’ve never really been a fan of the less rock-ish rock. Some people say this indicates immaturity in my musical tastes, but give me Disturbed or Breaking Benjamin over Jane’s Addiction or the White Stripes any day. Now, with Foster the People and the Black Keys topping the rock charts, I’m wondering if we need to revise the definition of rock completely.
It seems, therefore, that I would totally hate this song. It’s by a band that I would definitely call part of the new wave (potentially, part of the death) of rock, it has lyrics that make no sense, the melody is virtually nonexistent, and that’s probably a good thing because the singer can’t sing.
However, I love the music video. Those three and a half minutes of funtastical joy do wonders for the morale of my workout every time they play it at the gym. I love the music video so much that my love has carried over to the song. It’s a terrible song, but it’s fun. And who would have thought that the band that cursed us with “Sail” could ever produce anything fun?

6)      FAITH HILL. “CRY.”

I don’t want pity, I just want what is mine.

My driver’s ed instructor played nothing but country during my behind the wheel training. I credit my terrible driving skills to this forced torture. However, there was one song I encountered on the country station that really spoke to me. I think this song speaks to anyone dealing with the raw frustration of having been dumped by someone who just doesn’t seem to care. It just doesn’t make SENSE that the guy isn’t hurting from the breakup, and she’s begging for him to show some kind of emotion, even fake emotion, to put her mind at ease. However, I fear her plea is completely in vain, because the guy she’s singing to is probably someone along the lines of the singer in my next pick.

7)      DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE. “SOMEDAY YOU WILL BE LOVED.”

I cannot pretend I felt any regret, because each broken heart will eventually mend.

I should preface this by saying that I really hate Death Cab for Cutie. This is the only song of theirs that I do not hate to the point of actually tasting bile every time I hear or even think about it. That’s because I think this song can be used as a form of therapy. This is the straightforward and ice-cold response to song #6. “Yes, I unexpectedly left you and I’m never coming back. But it was the right thing to do, because, the funny thing is, I never loved you at all. But someday someone will, so just try to pretend I never existed. Don’t worry. It’s not like you’re going to cry forever.”
So, my recommendation for anyone who’s feeling like the singer in #6 is, listen to #7. This will give you the dose of reality you need to move past it.
And if that doesn’t work, you can always listen to song #2. Or, at least you'll always be able to listen to it once a certain radio station comes into existence.

8)      *SOME* PINK SONGS

I don’t want to be the girl who laughs the loudest, or the girl who never wants to be alone.

Most Pink songs will never make it on my playlists. It’s just not my type of music at all. However, I appreciate the songs where she sympathizes with, maybe even becomes the patron saint of, girls who have messed up once or twice or more or constantly and are painfully aware of it. I’ve found comfort in the song “Sober” before, and was surprisingly moved by the music video for “F***ing Perfect” when I saw it at a KTV place in China.
Just don’t expect me to buy one of her albums any time soon.

9)      *OLD* LADY GAGA SONGS

Random gibberish

I didn’t realize that I actually appreciated the older Lady Gaga singles until the airwaves were afflicted with her new stuff. I mean, songs like “Poker Face,” “Bad Romance,” and “Poparazzi” may not have been award-worthy, but they were fun, they were unique, and the music videos were awesome. I’m not sure why she transitioned from doing songs like these to doing utterly generic and boring songs like “Edge of Glory” and “You and I.” Yes, her new stuff shows off her pipes a little more, but ANYONE could sing these songs.
Even though I don’t listen to pop music, I do appreciate the bizarre, and I was kind of happy when someone weird came onto the scene and promised to only get weirder. I’m disappointed she did the opposite. And my dad probably feels the same way. I’ve heard him plunking out the chorus of “Bad Romance” on our family’s keyboard a couple times when he thought no one was around.

10)   LIFEHOUSE

It shouldn’t be hard to believe, shouldn’t be this difficult to breathe. The sky is falling and no one knows.

Most people are really surprised to hear I like Lifehouse. But that’s because all most people know of this band are their upbeat pop singles about love. However, I’ve been following this band from the beginning, and there’s a surprising amount of depth in the songs that never made it onto the radio. Their first and second albums have a lot of songs dealing with faith, a faith that isn’t religious but is mysterious, powerful, deeply personal, and heartbreakingly elusive. I feel like my own search for faith is mirrored in a lot of their lyrics. I also think that anyone could deeply identify with songs like “Sick Cycle Carousel” and “Somewhere In Between,” which are about being in an endless battle with yourself, or “Blind” and “Better Luck Next Time,” which I believe were written about the lead singer’s father leaving his family but could be applied to any broken or fading relationship. I can’t say I’ve followed Lifehouse over the past few years, but I still hope that someday I get to meet them. And tell them they are my soul mates. And possibly scare the hell out of them…. Hmm, maybe I’ll just “like” them on Facebook instead. Every relationship has to start somewhere.