Dublin: The greatest place on Earth.

Hello there, you! Just stopping by to say hello and let you know Kaitlin and I are not dead. On that note, I don't really have time to write anything right now because I'm on my way to dance. Afrojazz to be specific. I'm probably going to learn how to collect the harvest or seduce a virgin today; that's basically what that class consists of. Needless to say, it's pretty fun. Alright, I'll be back soon to complain about something or other I'm sure.

Tassel Boots

Ok, I just don't really know what to think of them.  For about two weeks this fall I was like: "Tassel Boots, hate them."  I had seen a couple pairs walking down the street as I was on my way to school, and it just looked like people's shoes were hula dancing.  And then I saw a different pair that was totally cute, and this girl could just totally pull it off, and that was really nice.  So I really just think tassel boots and I are going to be acquaintances.  I will probably never love them, but when we see each other walking down the street, I'll nod politely and say a brief hello.

The Fire Alarm Incident

Setting: Thursday, September 25, 2008 approximately 7pm. Hyatt Regency Hotel in Cambridge (home).
Well, it started off like any other early Thursday evening. I returned home from dance class at around 6pm, and after I ate dinner and messed around for a bit, I thought it would be advantageous to take a shower. So I got it the shower and all was well. I washed my hair, put in some conditioner, shaved my legs, but as I was shaving I heard something strange going on outside the safety of my shower. It sounded like a fire alarm, but I chose to ignore the situation until I finished my shower. However, Kaitlin had a different plan. As soon as I finished shaving, she started knocking on the bathroom door, so in order to hear her, I shut off the shower.
"Come on, we've gotta go, the fire alarm is going off!"
Suddenly, I became very flustered, and, without thinking, I threw on my bathrobe, wrapped a towel around my head (my hair still saturated with conditioner), shoved my feet into my slippers and was ready to go.
As I removed myself from the comforts of my own room and headed down the stairs to would-be safety, I regretted more and more my decision to forgo putting on actual clothes. Once I stepped foot outside and realized I was still soaking wet and the temperature had dropped significantly since earlier in the day, I knew I had made a terrible, rash decision. People were pointing and laughing.
"Look at that fool in her bathrobe!"
Yes, I was a fool. And so, for the next hour and a half which we were forced to wait until they let us back into our rooms, I tried to laugh off my situation, all the while wishing I had just rinsed out my hair and put on some stinking clothes.
I can't help thinking, though, had there actually been a fire (for this was all just some sort of false alarm) at least I'd have gotten to safety all that much more quickly... I mean... right? This was the better decision, wasn't it?
It wasn't a real fire, though, so I was just a fool in a bathrobe. And, so, the moral of the story is this: always assume it's a false alarm, and throw on some clothes because at least then, even if it is a real fire and you get trapped and die in the inferno, you never risked the chance of a breeze blowing up your bathrobe and exposing your lady parts to a large group of business men.

Taking the good with the bad.

I'm going to start with the bad:

I came home from school today, got in the elevator with six other people, hit the button to our floor (5), and waited for everyone else to board.  And get this, a young man who came in after me actually had the audacity to push the button to the second floor.  He wasn't on crutches, in a wheel chair, or suffering from any apparent illness to justify his taking the elevator up a single floor.  I even understand the argument that, at times, people are lazy, and climbing a flight of stairs can feel akin to climbing Mt. Everest, but there is an ESCALATOR in this building that goes from the first to the second floors.  He wouldn't have had to climb anything, his escalator-sherpa would have carried him to the peak.  I simply can make no sense of it.

The good is that while I was getting my salad this afternoon, the poor girl who was dishing it up was so distressed by the fact that a boy had not greeted her while she working that she slipped up and let me have an additional topping.  Yes! That's 7 sides laying casually on a beautiful bed of romaine.  Croutons AND beets!  Peas AND black beans!  Carrots, cheese, AND egg!   Thank you, star-crossed lovers, the meal was beautiful.

Xoxo,

K

Alaska, How I Loathe Thee

Alright, so I'm going to start this off by admitting right from the start that this is kind of an irrational rant.  The long and the short of it is: I hate Alaska.  I do. I do. I do.   This has nothing to do with politics, trust me I hated Alaska way before Sarah Palin came onto the scene.  But neither she nor that girl on ANTM with that really nasally voice, who constantly reminds us that she's from Alaska, do anything to redeem the state in my eyes.  

I just can't think of anything good that came from Alaska.  It's cold-- all the time.  It's either dark all day or light all day, and speaking of which, 30 Days of Night was all sorts of stupehhhd.  Also, Into The Wild scared the shit out of me. There's permafrost, bears, and wilderness.   And Baked Alaska was totally invented in China, so don't even try to pull the dessert card on me.  

It's just a place that really should just be left alone, and for this girl, it's a NO-GO zone. 

Xoxo- K

Pants Rant

Let me just start this post off by giving it to you straight-- leggings are not pants. Leggings are best worn paired with a tunic or short dress, not a t-shirt or anything that, were the leggings absent, would leave your crotch exposed. So please, ladies, put your camel toe away, and invest in something a little less reminiscent of an extra layer of skin. I don't care how comfy your leggings are, a thin layer of cotton and spandex pulled ever so snugly over your legs does not constitute pants. People can see everything when you wear those things: ass jiggle, thigh jiggle, and, worst of all, labia jiggle!
Here's a little tidbit I like to remember when making any sort of decision, and I think it might help out some of you ladies to whom I speak-- just because Lindsay Lohan does it, does not mean it's a good idea; it actually probably means it's a bad idea. Consider the evidence-- self-tanner, cocaine, anorexia, I Know Who Killed Me-- all these choices turned out to have negative effects on Lindsay's life.
So please, ladies, next time you reach for your comfiest, stretchiest, vag huggingyiest pair of leggings consider one of these two suggestions-- pair them with a top that covers your ass and crotch, or put on some stinkin' PANTS.

<3 Alicia