Continued.

Day 5: Thursday
11am: Sister bored of freakouts. Sympathy waning quickly. (Four days ago.) Turns evil box around. (Better luck next time, hellspawn!) Pee in peace.
2pm: Shower. Relax for first time in days, knowing motion-activated demon cannot hiss if no motion is sensed. (You have met your match.)
6pm: Pee. Hissing. Lulled into false sense of security. Mother did not pay for box to sit on counter, turned box right way. Gag.

Rough week.

Day 1: Sunday
7pm: Home from Massachusetts. Notice new air freshener in bathroom. Hmm. Upon using facilities, learn that new air freshener is motion-activated. Learn this while trapped, for lack of more delicate terminology. Also learn that “Clean Linen” scent not so much like clean linen. Gag.
9pm: Forget about new air freshener. Unpack. Put toothbrush away, hear hissing/popping noise. Jump because noise is scary. Senses once again assaulted by heavily air-quoted clean linen. Gag.
11:30: Prepare for bed. Remember motion will activate demon’s breath hissing machine. Dance around and then jump out of bathroom. Nothing. Wait. Nothing. Determine room to be safe. Proceed with contact lens and makeup removal. While face is in under-sink cupboard searching for cotton ball, hear much-feared noise heralding arrival of a “fresher” room. Scream and try to escape from room, running into cupboard door. This results in a cut and bruise combo which will surely be a painful reminder of stupidity. Hear laughter emanating from basement. Resolve to punch sister in face.

Day 2: Monday
Try to ignore feeling that air freshener has personal vendetta. Rely heavily on new method of dance in front of air freshener, flee from room, and wait 5 minutes. Adjust to going in bathroom before it becomes a necessity. Expect arrival of nicer, non-punched sister, put on makeup. Hear car. Look out bathroom window. Hear hissing noise as face is pressed to glass. Face now fresh like Clean Linen. Gag. Gag again. Hope chemicals do not result in permanent damage. Truly feel that air freshener has it out for me.

Day 3: Tuesday
Figure out system of lights on device. Blinking will result in hissing and air pollution. No blinking is safe, but for unknown amount of time. Learn from sister that device will only go off every 30 minutes. File information away. Spend remainder of day using bathroom only after another person has set off tiny hellion.

Day 4: Wednesday
Discuss hissing box with mother. Matriarch insists she has never seen it hiss. Stand outside bathroom door and listen for her reaction. Feel vaguely creepy, but all in the name of research. (Research and proving that tiny demon box hates me. See no difference.) Hear nothing. Confused. Wait for mother. Barge in upon seeing open door. Nothing. Dance around. Nothing. Hmm. Mother bored, exits. TINY BOX HISSES. BOX HATES ME. Gag.

Saved by the Bell reruns start at 7.

Scene: living room, 6:45am.

I stumble out, bleary-eyed. "Taking a shower."

Dad: "Are you working today?"

Mom and Amanda: "..."

Dad: "Well?"

Amanda: "No, just hanging out."

Dad: "Why can't I ever get a straight damn answer in this house??"

Amanda: "It's 6:45."

Mom: "What else would she be doing?"

Dad: "Well, I don't know!"

Amanda: "...Right, shower."

Thomas Wolfe--not a Smithie.

I spent this weekend at my alma mater, for reunion weekend. Technically it wasn't a reunion year for me, but enough friends registered to go that it became a necessity to fly out. They make me whole again, with their clever, engaging conversations and endlessly amusing stories. We bask in the glow of our former home, benefiting from the restorative powers of Herrell's ice cream.

Alums from 1934 all the way to present walked together in the alumnae parade. We cheered the women who are nearly 100 for so long the college president had to stop speaking and wait. They kick ass, and I'm proud to come from the same place as them.

I had the kind of absurd and wonderful adventures that only my alma mater mixed with my group of friends can produce. I laughed until I hurt and I remembered exactly why I care about that place, those people so dearly. So while it's true, perhaps, that you can't go home again, you can most definitely visit.


"Life is not worth living if you have to explain the joke." --a '94 alum, overheard at breakfast

Includes MySpace and Twitter.

Dear Friends,
I have learned from facebook that our age bracket appears to be in a big reproductive swing right now. It's Babyville over there, and I'm...coping. People I remember from elementary school are now very specifically fat. And so far you all, my inner circle, haven't caught the bug yet. Way to go! Proud of you.
I know, however, that it's only a matter of time. You'll catch Baby Fever and want all that, and then I'll have to go to (ugh) baby showers and buy cutesy little outfits so tiny I'll be tempted to check if Barbie has heels to match. I accept that. My friends will be parents and I'll freak out but learn to live with it, as I did when you all started to get married.
But listen up. I'm saying this now and I don't want to have to repeat myself later because even this brief blog post is making me uncomfortable. It's hugely important that you understand this now:

I don't care how joyous the little bundle growing inside you is, or what a huge occasion this is for you. If you post ultrasound pictures on facebook, I hereby reserve the right to a.) mock you for the rest of time, including any haunting I decide to do posthumously, and b.) WILL tell your children that they were prenatally on facebook, once they're old enough to be sufficiently embarrassed and angsty. It's WEIRD, guys. Really weird.

Just thought you ought to know.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

I draw the line at the bouquet toss.

Well, it has finally happened. I knew it would come sooner or later. That cruel, dark mistress has knocked on my door and she will not be denied.

I'm embarking on the voyage that is Being a Bridesmaid.

My BFF is getting married, whoohoo for her and her enamored fiancé and the inevitable hearts and doves which will be spewing out of them. I am, as you probably figured out, standing up as one of her bridesmaids, so I am privileged to be front row for all the (aforementioned) projectile hearts and doves. I can deal with that. No problem. I teach first grade, so I deal with things a lot more disgusting than that. But did you know how many things a bridesmaid is responsible for?? I mean, there are WHOLE BOOKS written on the topic! This is new territory for me, so you can imagine my concern. I mean, I don't know what I'm doing! And this is for my BFF, who has seen me at my worst and puts up with me, and I'd like to do her wedding justice by not being the bridesmaid that should probably be hidden in the back. You know, the one that gets talked about in hushed tones throughout the wedding. (Shut up, you do it too.) There are showers and bachelorette parties and then of course the bride probably needs a lot of help with stuff on the big day. I need to find a flask that is both tasteful and small enough to fit in my handbag. And I have to campaign for a tall groomsman because I don't want to be the lopsided pair. And also I should probably check to see how tacky that last one is.

I have a lot of research to do.

Probably Ryan Seacrest.

Before I even begin, I want you to know that this isn't a criticism. (Seriously. Ok, a little bit mocking. But that's it!)

Last night I was made aware of Fake or Real? on E! Electro advised me to watch, and I must say it was quite an experience. Just as it sounds, judges are presented with three contestants all claiming to have had the same surgical procedure. (Well, in the episode I watched it was all surgical, but it might encompass other things. Can't be sure.) The contestants try to convince the judges it was them, vying for a big check suited to lottery winners and giants.

And that's it. For real. They have to pretend they were born a man, or have had multiple plastic surgeries, or whatever. And then they go home.

The big question here isn't what you're possibly thinking, "Why is this on TV?" Oh no. It's, "WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF THIS?" It's one of those ridiculous things that you only think of after someone else gets paid. Like Twister or all those fake how-to books. Dammit. Who are all these people stealing my unborn ideas out of my head before I make money off of them???



By the way, I totally called which one was the man. FYI.

Exhausted.

Relay for Life of Dearborn was a huge success. (And, if you're curious, loads of fun.) It was a day so full of awesome things and equally bizarre things that put together, you'd have a barely believable story. Sadly, fears of google-stalking prevent me from sharing the details until I can lower the Unwanted Friend Threat Level to yellow.
Regardless of how I spent the 24 hours, the event was amazing, and I cannot even begin to tell you what an experience it is. If you have never been to an ACS Relay for Life, I highly recommend it. Even though I tend to walk around with the attitude that people suck, it really makes me put that on hold for a day. (Except for when cantankerous neighbors who aren't even in close proximity to the event complain to the police about your kickass sound system, causing the police to shut you down at 2:30am.** Thanks, community members! You know who you are.)
And now, exhausted even after a short nap, I am off to finish some work for Monday (grr) and not move for a while.



**Well, try to shut you down. Cancer doesn't sleep, and neither did we.