Some tips, 1940s style.

Ladies, I have all the answers you need. I found a hilarious book this past weekend that I just had to have...How to Get Along with Boys. It's a reprint of a book from 1945. And it is FULL of solid advice. (Maybe later we can talk about how at the ripe old age of 23 I have already broken 7, possibly 8, of the 10 rules in Chapter XI: How Not to Offend Him.)
I do find myself confused, though, as I read the section on writing love letters. It is suggested that one should edit letters before sending them off into the world. Sure, not a bad plan. But the reasoning? That loved ones have a habit of reading into things, and you wouldn't want to unnecessarily trouble them. Now...this is a manual for ladies. Who are trying to pin down a man. Um...preeeeeeety sure that women are the only ones reading between the lines. Right? Are we not constantly berated by men for trying to figure out "what he really means"? Do they not repeatedly tell us they mean what they said? So...doesn't it seem highly unlikely that a man would sit there, rereading a letter in order to search for hidden meanings and subtext? Am I crazy?

DAMMIT.

Alright, I have had enough. This writers strike is something I understand and the reruns of Letterman are certainly something I can live with. But now? Now I am pissed. Because the new season of 24 is being delayed. It's time to reach a damn agreement. I love 24 in a way that is unparalleled. My schedule stops when 24 comes on. I do not take phone calls, unless it is my brother calling at a commercial break. I will not go out or make plans. And now I have been waiting months for the return of Jack Bauer, and THIS happens. Give the writers what they want, dammit!

Surprise!

I almost exposed myself to Philadelphia this weekend.

Or rather, the women of Philadelphia. I was in the airport there, flying home. (I spent the weekend with amazing friends, surprising one for her birthday. I didn't know what to get her, so decided that I would do as a gift.) I generally enjoy airports, unlike 98.3% of the population. You're never far from some type of coffee, and the people watching is second only to amusement parks.
Anyway, I stopped in the restroom. (As another sidenote, there is such a difference in airport bathrooms. Some cities have great stalls with room for your luggage and a shelf so nothing goes on the floor. And some look like everyday bathroom stalls, without even a hook for your bag. Ew. Philly has nice ones, I am pleased to announce. One important detail, though, is that the stalls open outward, towards the sinks.) As I was...ok, not important. You do not need details. I was doing what one does in the restroom, I noticed that my lock was undone. Somehow, my backpack had knocked the lock out of place when I hung it up. By the grace of God, the weight on the door stopped it from swinging freely. Which I dearly appreciated once I realized that the doors do in fact open OUT. Had it done so while I was indisposed, I would not have been able to lean over and lock myself back in. It would have been out of reach, and then, my friends, I would have had a VERY AWKWARD encounter with the woman at the sink directly in front of me.

Awesome.

One Stop Shopping

The Kodak photo gallery emails me occasionally, with deals on prints and whatnot. Handy if you print as many digital photos as I do. But never before did I realize that it truly is a utopia for my inbox.

I got an email just now about doing my holiday shopping. I had a look around.


Oh. My. God. I had not realized that I could buy photo gifts. Each and every one on my holiday gift list could receive something with my face printed on it! Merry Christmas Dad, MY FACE ON A NECKTIE.

......It's the most brilliant plan ever. Imagine the ease with which I could complete my shopping!
Grandma? Amanda ornament. Check.
Mom? Amanda coffee mug. Check.
Brother? Amanda baseball cap. Check.
Sister? Amanda t-shirt. Check.
Niece? Teddy bear wearing an Amanda t-shirt. Check!

This is either the best or the worst idea ever. Which is it? I guess we'll have to wait until the holiday gift season!

First name basis?

I'm spending this week subbing in a 5th grade classroom...in my former elementary school. And it is FREAKING ME OUT. The secretary recognized me. I realized that the teacher next door taught me 2nd grade. This morning she came to introduce herself. So I shook her hand and told her my name, waiting to tell her about our history. And that there is no way I will feel comfortable calling her anything but Mrs. Second Grade Teacher. Sorry, but the first name will just feel wrong. Kind of like putting your shirt on backwards in the morning...sure, it'll WORK, but it won't sit right. Before I could figure out how to break the news, though, she recognized me. "Oh my God, Bitter Amanda??" It was a funny, surreal moment. And while I know that I'm an adult now, I think that going into the teacher's lounge unaccompanied is about as far as I'm willing to go--I'll pass on first names! (PS: yes the teacher's lounge is as amazing as it always seemed. A magical land, I tell you.) I'm used to going in them, but there is something so bizarre and satisfying to go in the lounge of your own school. Ladies and gentlemen, I have tasted freedom. And it is delicious.


FOR THE RECORD, if anyone is still questioning my general disdain for men, I'll only point you toward the fellow on that Shot of Love dating show...wearing the very tasteful "vagitarian" shirt. There are hardly words.

Not helpful.

Last week was the triumphant return to my alma mater--to visit the women who helped me become who I am today. (Good thing? Bad thing? Jury still out.) Additionally, I was there to celebrate a 21st birthday (I love you, Stabby) and prevent any work from getting done. (For the record, I excelled in all three endeavors.)
One of the highlights was a trip to the bar. (New since my graduation--which is probably ok.) I sat there with five friends, having a pint and a chat. Out of nowhere, a guy from the bar and his ladyfriend come to sit with us. Um, okay? She is quiet and friendly. He is in a band, just blowing through town. Which meant one thing: Philosopher Musician Guy. Sigh. After a few minutes of preliminary conversation bullshit, I strike up a side conversation with the other girl farthest from him. (We lucked out by choosing those seats at the start of the evening.) Talk turns to a certain boy. As I start an unprovoked rant about Boy, PMG hears and stops the other conversation.
"What's the story?" PMG thinks he can help, I suppose. It won't be anything new, though--I have heard it all regarding Boy. I tell him the Reader's Digest version, emphasizing my most recent headache.

"See," he starts. I know instantly that he will philosophize, as PMGs are known to do. "See, the important thing is that you were ready to open up your soul and be vulnerable." Oh God. "And blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah," he went on. Then, he reached his bottom line.
"The important thing is that you not become jaded."
My friends? Could not stop laughing. Dude, you're just a little too late.

Damn, it was a good trip home.

Alive? Yes.

I know, I know, I know...I have been seriously MIA lately. Which I will attribute to two things, and one of them is a SERIOUSLY good excuse. First is work. School started again, so = busier. Lame excuse. Yes.
Second. A lovely friend sent an old copy of The Rules in the mail, for my amusement. She had a suspicion that I might get a laugh out of it. And Miss L, you were dead on. I've been reading it since the minute I got it, alternating between shocked laughter because seriously people believe this garbage? and throwing the book across the room. Literally. I was so enraged at one point that the book flew and we took a break from each other before continuing.
It's research, darlings. Research. When I return from a short holiday, I will be sharing some thoughts on the book with you.

Speaking of research, I have a bit of a confession for you. The Hills. I watch The Hills. It's a problem and I've admitted it so there you have it. I can't tear myself away! I mean...can any of those kids maintain a semi-healthy relationship? I find that watching the bloodbath that is Heidi and Spencer helps me keep up a steady stream of bitter, even when my friends aren't grossing me out. So really, it's love/hate between myself and The Hills. But I feel better having admitted it to you.

You know you watch it too. Shut up.


ALSO: IMPORTANT.
The reason I am coming home when I am is The KDB Melanoma Walk. A year ago, we lost a beautiful friend to melanoma. This is our second year walking, organized by my kickass neighbor. It's a great cause, and a lot of fun. The walk is on Saturday, October 13--if you're in the metro Detroit area, you should check out their website and come join us at the walk! I just might bring back the squirrel hat for the occasion--if you don't know what I mean, then you are missing out. Feel free to email me (dear.bitter.amanda [at] gmail [dot] com) if you have any questions or want more information. Because I? Am a veritable fountain of information.