Lost Drinking Game: Season 1 (*SPOILER ALERT*)

A few of my friends get together and watch Lost every Sunday. It started as an attempt to hang out with some friends who'd just had a baby. Well, it's been about a year and now that baby is walking, shaving, rolling his eyes at us (as children do) and we are officially about to start the 5th season. And in honor of that season and its time-transforming properties, I thought I'd post this: a list I'd made while we watched the very 1st season. This is accidentally my 3rd go around watching Lost (the 2nd time was for Joe) so at this point I've started to notice things a bit more acutely. Please forgive my cynicism. When the Monster and the Others wear off, you are left mostly with agitation.

Try to catch up. This game is sure to floor you every episode, so take small sips.


DRINK...

When Locke or anyone else says "Don't tell me what I can't do!"



Once for each flashback.



Any nickname given by Sawyer.



Every time Kate butts in.



Whenever Kate does the opposite of what Jack tells her.



Whenever Kate just generally gets on your nerves.



Whenever you hate Shannon even more than you hate Kate.



"Dude."



When Claire says "Okay?!"



When someone immediately decides the culprit.



When it turns out it wasn't that person.




Every time Arzt is--Whoops, nevermind. Bye, Arzt.



Whenever someone is irrational.



Whenever the bottom of Locke's foot is way too clean.



When Ethan's baby face--AHHHHH! IT'S ETHAN! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!!!



Any time Jack risks his life even though he is the only doctor and therefore the only real chance at survival on the island.



Every time the women on the show are horrible and the men do everything important.



Whenever you get annoyed by that episode's feature character.



When someone has "daddy issues."








Whenever you wonder how someone got the item they have while on an island.



Any time you remember that if you make it through the season, you will be rewarded with Henry Gale.

Odd Jobs

Well. Someone from my high school posted the sonogram for their second child on Facebook. And because I am still not in the mood for booze (hurrr) after this weekend (hurrr) and thinking about alcohol makes me dry heave (hurrrr) but I still need to drown my sorrows, I've found the next best thing: licking the Hint of Lime off Tostidos tortilla chips. It's helping.

Here's the thing: I'm not ready for a second child. I am not ready for a first child. Like, AT ALL. In fact, lately I've been having some near mental-breakdown issues where I completely doubt everything about the life I'm living. Well, really it's more about my job.

Basically what happens in my brain is this:

Bah, this one part of my job is the worst.
Well this sucks, I don't even like doing this.
Wait, am I going to have to do what I don't like forever?
Wait, am I going to get laid off if I don't do a good job at this thing I don't like?
Wait, why am I doing a job that I'm going to get laid off from when I'm 40 and then can't find something because I've become totally obsolete and I'll be forced to fold socks at Walmart for the rest of my life?!?!?!?!?

And that's when, as Jan Levenson says, I collapse in on myself like a dying star.

Basically this:


These are the times that I start considering my options. And, as I see it, I have four potential other jobs that I would be willing to seriously consider.


1. Puppeteer


Ya'll know my blood runs Muppet. But honestly, I could see myself making a job out of entertaining on stage with a puppet, Muppet-brand or otherwise. There's something in me that just HAS to talk to inanimate objects (cabinet doors, boxes of dry pasta, running water...) and give voiceless things voices. Every pet and baby I've come in contact with in the past 10 years has had a voice. Each with their own personality and timbre. Taxi finished every sentence with "you know, and stuff." Charlie craved attention. Wally has a 1930's gangster voice. Regina is the first one to continuously threaten to kill me. I really think I could make a puppet show based on my pets. And no, I have never written a more depressing sentence.

I'm so serious about this one, I started legitimately looking into Puppetry schools. There's one in Connecticut. Puppet fantasies AND Gilmore Girl fantasies all wrapped into one? Be still my little beating heart.

2. Kindergarten Teacher


And I know this goes against what I just said about not being ready for kids, but Kindergarten teaching is different than owning and operating your own mini human. I'm pretty sure everyone I say this to has laughed in my face, little specks of spittle flying every which way. But I'm serious. I am really good with 5 year olds. BUT REALLY good. I used to nanny two boys and I MAY have learned the name, number, color, size, and wheel quality of all the Thomas the Tank Engine characters.

The most attractive part of being a Kindergarten teacher, though, is that I'm pretty sure it's the exact opposite to being in Advertising. Instead of constantly trying to figure out how to weasel my products into the hearts and minds of people who could give a damn, I would be teaching children how to become better people. In fact, I wouldn't have to spend another single second pondering an ad. I could even try to IGNORE THEM. Also, I could wear vests with puffy paint on them. And who doesn't love the idea of that?


3. Junior High English Teacher


Honestly, I think I may be a glutton for punishment. But I really like the idea of this one. GONE are the days of kids who can't tell the difference between your and you're FOR I SHALL ATTACK THEM WITH THE NORTH if they ever forgot it.

Also, I remember my high school English classes as being one long string of teachers wailing "WHERE IS THE 'SO WHAT'?!" and we would wail back "WE DON'T KNOW WHAT THE HELL YOU MEAN!" Do you guys remember that? Did ANYONE get it back then? I know Adrienne and I didn't, that's for damn sure. And it wasn't until I started reading books for pleasure again that I actually figured it out, all on my own. And I want to try and pass on that knowledge to the childrenz, before they even hit high school. Because yeah. I'm ambitious.

4. TV comedy writer.



This is my newest idea. It's an interesting one to me right now. It involves me getting to be raunchier and more authentic than I can be in Advertising, which I like. And I get to write long copy versus headlines, which I clearly like. And I could be funny. And successful. And write myself into a show with Future Husband John Krasinski, Amy Poehler and (what the hell) Aunt Meryl and Tom Hanks.


For now I'm sticking with Advertising. I mean, I DID almost sell an ad with a flying squirrel in it the other day, so the job does have its high points.

My Personal Flight of The Navigator Fantasy

When I was young, I saw this movie called Flight of The Navigator. I remember exactly three things from it:

1. A boy got lost in the woods and went on some kind of space adventure



2. Sara Jessica Parker mentioned New Coke



3. The CUTEST ALIEN EVER was in this movie.




After I saw Flight of the Navigator, I was actually PHYSICALLY angry that this creature did not exist in real life and I could not have one for my own. I mean, he had no back legs, he clung to your fingers, and he made adorable gurgling noises.

And then. I came upon this.



And I have all new hope, like I have never had before. Bless you, baby Sugar Glider. Bless you.

Awkward, Bloated and Sarcastic. Hellooo, Fellas.

I am officially the worst person ever.

Today I was wearing jeans, a short-sleeve shirt, and a short-sleeve blazer which I believe I found in the back of my sister's closet.

My boss asked me, "Why are YOU so dressed up?"

First of all, it's a sad state of affairs when me in jeans and a frumpy blazer looks dressed up. I really need to try harder.

Secondly, I wore dresses all week last week, SIR.

Really, I think what he was implying was, "Well well. Blazer, eh? Someone have an interview at lunch perhaps??" (I honestly didn't. And God knows I wouldn't have worn this blazer if I had, but that's neither here nor there.)

So, considering all these factors added to the fact that work is currently at Threat Level Midnight over here and I have no time for pleasantness I said, "Well to tell you the truth, I don't really fit these pants anymore and this blazer covers it up nicely. So I'm not actually dressed up. I just feel fat."

********AWKWARD SILENCE ALL AROUND**************

"...Aren't you glad you asked?"
"Heh heh...*sweating*...No."

I should have thrown in a PMS reference in there just to really seal the deal. God.

UPDATE

Remember a month ago when I has forgotten some great word to share with Hannah? ANOTHER MYSTERY SOLVED, MY FRIENDS.

KERFUFFLE.

I was so close with my guesses of "hullaballoo" and "brouhaha"! If only I'd followed that instinct! And I was close with "F". The word does have THREE of them, afterall.

The funny thing is, the first time I thought of the word was while I was folding laundry. Then I told you guys about it. Then a few weeks later, WHILE FOLDING LAUNDRY AGAIN, I remembered it AGAIN. That is some crazy psychology stuff going on right there. Of course, when I remembered it, I didn't have the presence of mind to write it down. *punches myself in the face*

BUT THEN! At work, a middle-aged curmudgeony British guy actually used the word in context, and I audibly GASPED. Because, yeah. I'm the awkward girl who makes noises when she remembers things, THAT'S HOW OFTEN IT HAPPENS.

Anyway, besides the fact that "kerfuffle" is just an outstanding, outstanding word in and of itself, here is another reason to love it: these are a few of the images that come up when you Google the word:


If PeeWee comes up in an image search, you're doing something RIGHT.


WAY better than EGOT.


What?! Sure. I accept.


I assume this picture was under the idea of "how to knit your own slutty Halloween costume" but seriously, I want this to just wear AROUND. Like, "Hey guys, thank you for coming to this meeting. Let's take a look at the brief--oh, this? This is my hamburger dress. So anyway, the brief..."


Am I the only one who has a hard time suspending reality because CLEARLY this snowman would be more careful about putting hot things to his lips? And would he really go inside to a coffee shop in the first place? He'd start melting right away. Come on, Shelly.


This one is anybody's guess, but I really wish I had been asked to be the guy on the very right making the awkward pointing motions. I'm really good at those.


ALWAYS.


Anyway, just an update on the important things in life. Hope I didn't create a kerfuffle.

Solving Mysteries One Search Engine At A Time

Oh man, you guys. I'm like Nancy Drew over here. If Nancy Drew were real, an adult, and used Google to solve all her mysteries. But I'm just as fiesty.

So. On Mother's Day my family went to the cemetery to pay tribute to both my parents' moms who are buried there. This is not the mystery part. That part went as expected. But when we were leaving, a grave caught my eye. It was a large double gravestone, but the woman buried there, Amy, was only 15 when she died in 1985. I looked at the other gravestone, the guy, Larry, was 16. Between the two it said, "Together forever." So they had been buried together but only at 15 and 16. My brother pointed out that they had different last names. So they probably hadn't been married or related. And finally we saw that they had died on the same day.

Whoah. MYSTERY.

We started talking about what might have happened. Car accident, we figured. Although that doesn't answer why a boyfriend and girlfriend would be buried together. Suicide pact? Possibly, but still not right. Finally, the mystery was consuming me. I whipped out my handy dandy (notebook) smartphone and typed in the names of the people and the date they died and voila:

MURDER.



So here's the story as I've pieced it together.

Two high school kids, Amy and Larry, are desperately in love. As 15-year-olds tend to be. But Amy's family was moving to Maryland and they couldn't stand the idea of separation. So they ran away to Colorado where people could get married much younger, I suppose (crazy Colorado and its healthy, lawless hippies.) For some reason they brought along Larry's friend, Patrick. Little did they know, however, that Patrick is CRAZAAAAAAAAY. The three of them decide to make the marriage trip into a camping trip as well, and go traipsing through the Colorado mountains. Larry's truck overturns, and that's when Patrick grabs Larry's rifle and kills his two friends. Eventually the whole story comes out that Patrick has some form of schizophrenia but an IQ of over 140 and admits to the whole thing with no remorse. He's charged as an adult and gets 20 years. Which means, in theory, he could be out right now. But I can't seem to find anything more on the matter. I figure the family is so guilt-stricken that they had forced the two to run away in the first place, buried the couple together.

WOW. What a crazy story! It makes me want to walk around to every grave, Googling things and solving mysteries. "This woman was only 94 when she passed away. Looks like someone had some unfinished business." *whips out phone*

Mostly I'm just proud of myself for being The Master at Googling Stuff. And I'm seriously curious about this guy with the rifle and why he shot his friends, which no one seemed to be able to piece together entirely. Although I guess that's the whole thing with mental illness, not a whole lot of explanation possible sometimes. But there seemed to be some hints in this article that it had to do with the relationship between Larry and Patrick, platonic or...one-sidedly platonic, perhaps.

In the end, I leave you with this:

Looks like this was a shotgun wedding...*puts on sunglasses*...without the wedding.
YYYYYEEEEEAAAAAHHHHHH!

Sorry. I had to.

The Tankini: Theory Vs. Reality

Nothing drives me crazier than when magazines tell me that the best bikini for my body if I don't like my belly is the tankini. A tankini, for those that don't know, is basically a waterproof undershirt paired with normal bikini bottoms.

How Tankini makers market their product:



How a tankini ACTUALLY makes me feel:


And yes, the tankini is not in direct correlation to the fact that I fail at beach hair, but the fact that models have hair stylists to make their hair look like they dipped it in glue and then rubbed it in sand and somehow it became SEXIER is just an unfair addition to the entire situation.

So please, Cosmo, give it to me straight. If I want a swimsuit that gives me support AND hides my problem areas, tell me what I really need: clothing.

A Scolding From My Subconscious

I was having a terrible day yesterday. I have a lot of those lately, but that's a different post for a later (much later) date. This story is about how, despite my terrible day, Joe was great. And I was a jerk.

Joe knew what a terrible day I had had, so he gave me a good head scratching when he came home, cooked me his specialty (Scrambled eggs. For dinner. Deal with it. Hmm, I wonder if he washed his hands between the head scratching and the eggs. Wait, do I care?.....No.) and he let me watch the shows I wanted to watch without complaint.

Before we went to bed, he listened to me vent about my day/life and why I was so upset. And he gave good input and he was very encouraging and supportive. And he offered to give me a back massage. And instead of being appreciative, I scolded him for not turning off the light.

During the night, I had a dream that Joe and I were on a roller coaster but we weren't securely buckled, and at a tiny loop, Joe fell out.

I don't subscribe to the Technicolor Dreamcoat method of dream explanation, but this one really nailed the...nail...right on the head. He and I are on a rocky path right now, one that I have little to no control over. Nothing like my own cerebellum to smack me out of my piss poor attitude and make me realize that Joe is in this with me, and I can't take that for granted.

On an unrelated note, anyone want to go to Six Flags with me this summer?

Why I Am Leslie Knope from Parks and Recreation

I think Amy Poehler might be secretly watching me from the bushes and then recreating my life on Parks and Rec. It's becoming freakish.


EXHIBIT A.
I make this exact face to Joe at least seven times a day


EXHIBIT B.
Awkward when attempting accents


EXHIBIT C.
I got 100% when I sang Playstation karaoke for "Baby Got Back."
Leslie Knope rapped the lyrics to "Parents Just Don't Understand" without pause before Ron finally told her someone was on fire and she had to leave.

EXHIBIT D.
Friday night I was high on exactly ONE red bull and explaining to people how my new dance move was going to involve my feet firmly planted on the floor at my arms moving in awkward circular motions.


EXHIBIT E.
The more nervous I get, the faster and more nonsensical I become, before I am no longer speaking actual words. Also, the leader of our program at work is named Carl. I have called him Kyle, Craig, and Doug several times. Luckily not to his face. To his face, I stick with "you."
Leslie went on a practice date with her friend, Anne, and got so nervous she knocked over a vase and blanked on the word "bathroom," opting for the replacement, "wizz palace."

EXHIBIT F.
A few weeks ago, I accidentally drop-kicked my phone into a wall.


EXHIBIT G.
My senior year of college, my friends would ask me to tell them stories about my latest attempts at love for a good laugh. One story involved a guy putting on his favorite episode of Family Guy and then asking, "So, do you wanna make out?" (Hint: no.)


Really what I'm saying is: watch Parks and Recreation and you might as well just be watching a blonder, nicer me.