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I Am Cool Now Posts

An Unexpected Twist of Fate

Today I threw caution to the wind and put two items of clothing in the dryer. The instructions advised line drying.

What inspired such reckless behavior, you wonder. Well let me tell you.

The two items of clothing were “lounge wear.” So they were casual attire. I never fathomed that clothes designed for comfort or exercise would have finicky washing instructions. And today when I was doing laundry and saw the label, I was at first flabbergasted.

“Line dry?! Cool iron if needed?! You are a hoody!”

Then I stared at the hoody. “Why stop there? Why not dry clean only, your highness?”

So I gave it some further thought: if these lounge clothes could not sustain a journey through the dryer, they had no place in my wardrobe which is already too full of high maintenance clothes. I debated returning them to the store. Then I had an inspired idea: I would put the clothing through a trial by ordeal. The Gods would determine their true merit.

I washed them with like colors, and then when the time came, I put them both into the dryer on tumble dry. But that didn’t dry anything. So then I added time and changed the temperature to medium heat. When the wash was done, I would know whether they could be a part of my closet team.

They both shrunk. So, the moral of this story is to check washing instructions before buying an item of clothing.

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Anything for the Stage

Last night at improv class I made a bold decision during one of the games. I dramatically flung myself to the ground and then proceeded to do an army crawl across the stage, motioning, “FOLLOW ME!” while yelling gibberish to my team members. Nobody joined me on the ground.

Also the stage is wooden, so now I have cuts all over my hands. My beautiful hands.

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Let’s Hope It’s Not Alive

I can’t be sure, but I strongly suspect the necklace I’m wearing today has become sentient. Let me explain. This morning I was debating whether or not to wear the silver necklace. I haven’t worn it for over a year, and that I even thought to wear it today was quite the peculiarity.

Anyway, I reached for the ziplog bag it usually rests in and was surprised to see that the ziplock was not closed. Rather the necklace was peaking out of the lock as though it already had its own plans this morning to exit. I didn’t think much of this at the time and put the necklace over my head.

I then walked over to a mirror to evaluate my ensemble selection for the day. Upon immediately deciding the necklace would not do, I reached to pull it over my head only to find that in the two steps between putting on the necklace and finding a mirror, the necklace had managed to entangle itself in my hair!

“I guess you get to stay on me today you devious necklace.” I said.

I then decided it wouldn’t be lady-like to have the necklace stuck in my hair, so I continued to attempt to disentangle it at the very least. Within seconds of declaring I would keep the necklace on, the necklace seemed to release my hair strands from its persuasive grasp and endear itself to me for being reasonable.

Now I sit here, content with my decision to wear this necklace today but slightly uneasy that the decision was not entirely mine.

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Crystal Ball: Scrapbooking

I don’t want to come out and say “I LOVE SCRAPBOOKING,” but I do feel like it’s appropriate to acknowledge scrapbooking as a legitimate art form that is going to be really influential in the coming decade.

You’re probably nodding your head energetically in agreement and whispering, “What of inspiration boards? What is your vision for how they will shape future generations?!”

Let us hope they play no role in shaping future generations. I only see chaos and despair when I look upon inspiration boards.

You see, once, in the fifth grade, I took a giant white poster board and taped it to my wall. The next day, I crafted the most beautiful glittery, purple grapes using only play-doh and glitter. It was truly stunning. Such craftsmanship from a 10 year old was unprecedented; the grapes and their stem were so masterfully shaped. I pasted the grapes to the white poster board, in the lower right hand corner. Every day I aspired to make something that could be glued next to the grapes, and every day I failed. I searched magazines for imagery that would make sense on the board. Nothing fit. Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, and years later I tore up that giant white poster board with nothing but the glittery play-doh grapes glued to it, because all it did was serve as a haunting reminder to 13-year-old-me that I peaked as an artist at the ripe age of 10.

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My Emotions are Headed to Upton Abbey

I was a little surprised by how affected I was by the Downton Abbey season 3 finale. I actually called Mummy this morning and shrieked, “Don’t bother watching that series Mummy! It will win your heart and then shatter it into pieces! It can only bring unhappiness!”

Fortunately a little Internet research helped explain why the writers did what they did. The Internet also helped me remember that the characters of Downton Abbey are fictional. So, you can’t control my emotions anymore, Downton Abbey. I’m rebuilding my emotional fortress so that never again will a television show so masterfully manipulate me into loving it. Never. Again.

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Reality Bits from a Saturday Afternoon

Me: David, can we go see the improv show tonight?
What I thought David would say: My love, I would follow you to the depths of the Mordor if it would make you happy.
What David said: I really don’t want to.

Me: But David please!
What I thought David would say: Okay, yes! I don’t know what I was thinking. Truly, the only thing fairer than your gentle face is your bright mind, beloved. You only have the best ideas.
What David said: It’s the same show!

Me: David it’s not the same show. It’s improv! Every show is different.
What I thought David would say: Good point my love! Let us go to the show!
What David said: I really don’t want to go.

Me: Okay, well I could go alone and we could have dinner afterward?
What I thought David would say: Alone!? Men will think you are single and make advances towards you, as you are irresistible. No. I must go with you.
What David said: I feel bad. Are you sure that’s okay?

Me: Yeah! It would be fine!
What I thought David would say: Oh you! You are too good to me! Moments apart from you are not moments worth having. I will come!
What David said: Great! I’ll see you for dinner!

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Let’s Hope 2013 is Going to be Better than it Sounds

I am not looking forward to the year 2013. The number itself doesn’t bode well, and perhaps that’s why the Mayans predicted 2012 would be the end: 2013 is just such an unpleasant number. Conversely, I was really excited about the year 2007, because 2007 is such a beautiful sounding number.

Two thousand seven, the name rhymes with heaven.

Twenty thirteen, ugh, it rhymes with obscene.

You’re going to have to prove yourself 2013. You’re going to have to earn our affections.

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Bonjour Ma Cherie

Hello my dearest. I have returned from Paris, a city that lights up in the winter so brightly and beautifully that you forget how little you’ve accomplished with all the opportunities you’ve been given. “Wow, that sentence didn’t end the way I expected it to,” you think. Yes, me neither. We’ll have to explore that professional despair later though, because right now we need to discuss the wonderful fashion trend we found in Paris: Elbow patches.

Elbow patches instantly make every shirt, cardigan, and blazer outstanding. Take this hoody for example. It’s okay. Nice cut.

Now take a look at this. Boom.

You see me and you think, “Wow. Just wow. This woman is obviously an intellectual. She is that rare mix of culturally informed and socially accessible. I’m not quite sure how I know, but I do.”

If you hadn’t read this entry, you wouldn’t understand what is triggering this astute observation, but you would feel it in your heart. And then, then you would think, “I want to be her friend.” That is the power of elbow patches.

Fortunately I had the good sense to purchase not one, but two shirts with elbow patches, during my travels. I immediately put them into my ensemble rotation, and it’s only a matter of time before I am the sartorial envy of all my friends.

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