Hey Jupiter and Other Various Planets

Fin.

2005-07-19T15:37:00.000-04:00

The end has come for my blog. I’m done. I’m burnt out.

I’ve been writing random things here for over a year now and I think it’s just the end of an era or something. I could just walk away without a word, but that’s kind of messed up, especially since I have so many avid readers.

And by many, I mean two. One being my mom, the other is probably a friend with a 9-5 who gets bored real quick.

Here I stand sucked dry of all my witty humor and social commentary. It’s sad, really, but I just can’t do it anymore.

Anyway, that’s the story.

Thank you and goodnight.

Stop calling me

2005-06-25T13:45:00.000-04:00

I've come to the conclusion that I cannot meet a regular guy. They are all either jerks or psychos. And then there's the guy who stalks you.

I met this guy at Pat Mitchell's birthday party a few weeks ago (not the stalker, though I'm sure that's the guy everyone really wants to hear about). He seemed cool. Kind of pulled the "oh you're so beautiful" lines on me, but I was willing to look past the cheesey line usage. Or maybe I just liked the attention. He said that I was a cool girl and gave me his phone number, usually I don't get phone numbers from the guys I meet. I didn't call him, but I thought maybe, for once, I could get to know this guy better and maybe, for once, something good would happen. I told Robin about my interest in him and she says to me, "you know he has a girlfriend, right?"

What? Stop hitting on me if you have a girlfriend!! What the hell??

They've been together off and on since high school, so that's probably like six years or something. I also found out that he's a "sweet talker" and that the whole thing was just an act anyway. He pulled the same thing on Karen!! I mean, I never expect anything from guys, I usually write them off right after I meet them. The one time I let my guard down and actually start having feelings, I'm the one whose been written off.

Jerks man. So, I've given up. That's it.

If your friends can't even set you up with decent guys, what's the point anyway?

They say you were something in those formative years

2005-06-14T20:59:00.000-04:00

Robin likes her eighth grade boyfriend. Again.

I’m not really sure what happened, but Robin and her ex-pseudo-boyfriend met again last Thursday while his band was playing at a local coffee house. I say pseudo because they dated for about a week in eighth grade, and we all know that doesn’t really mean anything. They hung out (and made out) together all weekend, including during his birthday celebration.

Funny, because he was also my pseudo boyfriend in ninth grade. Pat Mitchell is his name. Always a super nice guy, but just could never hold on to the chicks long enough. We “went out” for a twenty-four hour period where we did not see or talk to each other until I called him and said “look, this isn’t going to happen…” He had bought me flowers because the next day was Valentine’s Day. He told me this past weekend that he gave the flowers to his mom.

Anyway, so Robin and I always joked about how we both kind of went out with this guy like a million years ago. Well, this weekend was his 21st birthday and he invited Robin to his party type thing at this Irish restaurant near DC. Robin called me and said that she liked Pat Mitchell again, and I invited myself to his birthday party because I wasn’t about to let Robin ditch me on a Friday night. No way.

His birthday thing, which I thought was just going to be a bunch of kids hanging out at a bar, was actually a dinner thing that included like twenty-five people and Pat’s family. I hadn’t seen Pat in six years, so I felt like a complete asshole showing up to his intimate birthday gathering. But, oddly enough, it was a great time. And his dad picked up the entire tab. Classy.

I mean, I cannot tell you how much fun it was to hang out with Pat Mitchell, he’s still as nice as ever and a really cool guy. And he told me he is totally “smitten” with Robin. How cute!

It’s weird how people you’ve brushed off for years can suddenly come back into your life. It’s like it’s fate or destiny and then that “everything happens for a reason” mentality suddenly doesn’t seem that far fetched.

2005-06-07T00:45:00.000-04:00

My cousin the prom queen!!!!!! Isn't she hot?? Man that takes me back. Not that I was the prom queen. (We all know that it should have been Karen!!!!!!!) But man, high school. That was a long time ago. It's fun remembering all the stupid things I thought and did. Man, I was DUMB.

Anyway, I'm so proud of my cousin Katie P for being the most popular girl in her high school.

Wisdom teeth are BS

2005-06-02T17:33:00.000-04:00

I have to apologize to my loyal readers for not posting anything new on here for a few weeks. I try to post something at least once a week but I've been kind of out of it lately.

Last Thursday I had my wisdom teeth removed. Sure, it was fun for awhile. Doped up on vicodin, not really caring that you look like a chipmunk or that you can't eat anything but milkshakes and soup. Your brother laughs at you but still brings you your ice cream while your mom's at work. But then, the vicodin loses it's appeal. Mainly because you stop taking it because you don't want to get addicted or anything, so you move to Motrin, which doesn't make you as happy. It's still 800 milligrams, but it's just not doing the trick. And then your mouth still hurts. It's not even like a sharp stabbing pain, but a dull annoying pain that doesn't ever go away. You realize that it's not cool not brushing your back teeth and the holes from the surgery continue to ooze leaving your mouth with this awful bitter taste and you wake up to find brown drool on your clean, white, 400 thread count pillow. And you still can't eat anything.

I mean, yeah I can eat. But only in tiny bites. I like to shove food in my mouth and be done with it, taking regular sized bites. And you know what, I love ice cream, I feaking love it to death, but I can't handle just eating ice cream. I need variety. I've chewed on some rice, some really soggy cereal because I let it soak up all the milk so it's easier to chew, a few pieces of chocolate, and some mushy strawberries. This is total crap.

Yeah, no one wants to hear about my battle with open mouth wounds, there are more important things in the world. Sorry, but this not really eating too much thing is making me crazy. The good news: I think I lost five pounds.

Better luck next time.

Are you pro-titty?

2005-05-16T17:43:00.000-04:00

That question basically sums up my weekend. Only Robin will truly understand the significance.

Last week I was at home in boring old Northern Virginia with nothing to do but sleep all day. Robin was my salvation. She took me out most nights even though she worked like a dog all day long cleaning swimming pools. I caught up with a few other friends and went to an oral surgeon for my wisdom teeth consult, but that’s about it.

On Friday night Robin and I, along with Matty G and some other kids from high school, went to T.T. Reynolds in Fairfax, a bar that we’ve been frequenting since Christmas break. Fun times, but there is always a lack of cute guys there. Maybe we’re going to the wrong bar. I still got ridiculously drunk and ended up falling flat on my ass while walking to the bathroom. Right on the sticky, dirty floor in front of a bar packed with people. That was probably the least of the embarrassing things that I did on Friday night, but my mom reads this so I can’t go into anymore detail.

Saturday night Robin and I hung out with Erin and Scott and then went to a toga party at our old friend Dan’s apartment in Arlington. Robin and I had very scandalous togas, if you can call them that. We basically wrapped this transparent netting stuff around ourselves and called it a toga. But hey, let me tell you, we didn’t get any complaints regarding our noncompliance. One girl thought I was just wearing a shirt…I was like.. no... I don’t wear clothes like this, it’s a toga. Anyway, Robin and I kicked Dan’s ass in beer pong, did some catching up and met some cool people. Dan’s girlfriend is very nice. His roommate is super fun, too.

Dan, you should have more parties. I would go to them. And I forgot to tell you that De Soto sent his “regards”. Whatever that means.

Anyway, I wish I had not been a slacker and that I didn’t have to take this summer class… but I do. I forgot how depressing summer on this campus can be. I should be home in Centreville most weekends only because there is really nothing to do here and at least at home I can see my girls and eat my parents’ food.

Almost out.

Barf.

2005-05-11T23:32:00.000-04:00

Today my mom and I went to get some coffee at our local Starbucks and then went to the grocery store. We do this a lot whenever I'm home. Get coffee, sit, chat, eat a cookie, then go to the grocery store to figure out what to have for dinner. It's very nice.

But today, we came out of Starbucks and saw a young lady holding what looked like a baby duck. So, we went over to her and said "oh that's so cute!!" and all that. Because, well, baby ducks are cute. Turns out it's not a baby duck, it's a baby goose. It's fluff was kind of a lime green color with black speckles. A little weird looking but still cute. The girl said it had just hatched that day. Apparently this little goose's mother died and this girl saved the egg and hatched it or whatever.

Now, that's all fine and good. Then someone asked how she'd been feeding it. She said that she chews up crackers and spits the remnants into the little goose's mouth. Okay.. does she think she's a bird? And then she proceeded to give us a demonstration and stuck the bird's beak in her mouth. "Like this, then he will open his mouth and take the food." Basically it looked like she was french kissing a goose.

That's love and dedication for you.

She tries her luck with the traffic police

2005-05-04T23:12:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, I went to court.

I got caught going twenty miles over the speed limit on I-81 which runs through JMU. 85 in a 65. Brilliant. I didn't even make up some excuse at to why I was speeding or cry or anything when I got pulled over at 10:50pm on the Wednesday night before I was to meet Tori Amos.

It was my first ticket ever, so I go to court in downtown Woodstock, Virginia and listen to the judge chew people out for going 78 in a 65. I'm sitting there with my dad thinking, "Shit. I'm dead."

"I don't care if your cruise control was broken, anything over 65 on 81 is speeding," the judge says to some poor guy who thought he could talk his way out of his ticket.

I get up there and plead guilty, because, let's face it, I can't deny the fact that I was speeding. I speed more than I'd like to admit and it was honestly just a matter of time before I got caught. And anyone who has been in the car with me knows what a lousy driver I am. Anyway, to my surprise, he knocks it down to 79, charges me 100 bucks and sends me on my way because it was a first offense.

Whew. Sweet. The DMV doesn't even get notified and my insurance won't go up and no points get put on my license. And my dad was there to pay the bill.

I got lucky.

In other news, last week my Uncle Chris broke up with his girlfriend that he met on the internet because she wanted to have sex too much. Weird, huh?

It's cool though.

2005-04-24T23:23:00.001-04:00

i heart aimee!!

2005-04-24T23:23:00.000-04:00

rockin out

2005-04-24T23:22:00.000-04:00

gotta love JEW

You Kill Me

2005-04-24T23:15:00.000-04:00

Craziness.

This past week or so has been jam-packed with stuff.

Last weekend I went home to babysit (not fun) but got to see Robin and Matty G and had a blast hanging out with them, as usual. Friday night was out of this world. I also got to go to McDonald's three times in one weekend so that the kids could get a different Happy Meal toy. I'm the best babysitter ever.

My dad totally revamped my resume and it's awesome. I'm sure I will have no problem getting some random government job now. Come on health insurance...

Thursday Aimee and her friend Brandon came up from VA Tech to see Jimmy Eat World and Taking Back Sunday here at JMU. The show was amazing!! (See above photos) I haven't jumped around and screamed that much at a concert since I saw the Offspring when I was sixteen. How JMU got hold of such a cool show I'll never understand, but I'm grateful just the same.

Yesterday I took the Foreign Service Exam for the State Department. Wow. That was the most random test I have ever taken. One question was "What is the capitol of Columbia?" and then the next question was like "What is the best way to fire an employee?" and then there was even one of those y=mx+b algebra questions. I was like... what?? I came home and said, "Dad! The test was so weird! One of the questions was 'what is the capitol of Columbia'!! Who knows what the capitol of Columbia is?!"

Dad looked at me and said, "It's Bogota."

Awww crap!!!!!!!

Yeah, so we'll see how that went. Ugggggggh.

Yesterday was also Heather's birthday!!! Yay 22! Heather, Robin, and I hit up Richmond, hard. We paid a pizza delivery guy ten bucks to drive us to some crappy party from some crappy bar and we even ran into some crappy people from high school! Heather knows every damn person in Richmond so that made it cheaper to get drinks and everything and we got soooo wasted. Except for throwing up Mexican food at 5am and Heather's cat attacking my feet every ten minutes, it was a great night. Full of laughs. I love my girls so much!!

Speaking of girls, last week Erin asked me to be a bridesmaid in her wedding! How exciting is that?? My first real bridesmaid job ever! We are going to have so much fun planning this shindig. Oh, and FYI Erin and the rest of us bridesmaids: My mom already called dibs on hosting the bridal shower.

And so it is.

...the tail of your kite

2005-04-13T02:00:00.000-04:00

Last Wednesday I saw Tori in concert. My fourth show and as amazing as usual. You can't go wrong with Tori. You just can't. I cried. Not that that's a big deal because I always cry, but you know. Very moving stuff.

Except for this stupid guy sitting next to me who thought the concert was a sing-a-long. Tori concerts are NOT sing-a-longs. I did not pay 60 bucks to hear you sing, buddy. Shut the hell up. I shot him a few evil stares and he got the point. Dumbass.

Anyway. Graduation is looming. I'm sticking around here for the summer to take some classes, so I'm kind of behind on the whole finding a job thing. That and I'm lazy. Though, this amazing weather has lifted my spirits some. I have been more productive than usual.

I've sent my resume out to numerous places in DC and New York City and have heard nothing. It's a little discouraging. I did receive a phone call from this company in Midtown Manhattan that told me to resubmit my resume when I was done with summer classes. So.. who knows... maybe Kerry is moving to the big city? (isn't it awesome that I just referred to myself in the third person?!) But I'll probably be in DC before I'm anywhere else. I actually found an apartment before I found the job to pay for it. Awesome.

I just want to be on my own, have my little white dog and my tiny 250 square foot studio apartment and my 9-5 at some government agency and live, you know? Do some soul searching. I want credit cards and bills and health insurance.

I want a real life!!!!!

Hit Me

2005-03-30T00:03:00.000-05:00

Nothing exciting. This past week or so, the life I lead seems to be an uneventful one at best. I guess everyday can't be like meeting Tori Amos. Or getting drunk in Mexico.

But anyway.

Last week was spring break for all the Fairfax County school kids. My little brother, Timmy, is a freshman at Westfield High so my parents took him, along with Uncle Chris and some family friends, down to the beach house in NC for the week. This left my other little brother, Johnny, who is 19 but still "little" to me though a freshman in college and six foot two, home alone all week.

When the cat's away, the mice will play, right?

Well, it started raining on the Outerbanks last week, like it did on the rest of the East Coast. My dad primarily goes down there so that he can fix up the house. Not that it needs any fixing up at all, but he always has to be improving something. He's been working on the yard mainly. And by yard, I mean the pile of sand the house sits on. Anyway, Dad can't work on the outside of the house and Uncle Chris can't install new light fixtures when it's raining. Not to mention that you can't really have too much fun on the beach when it's 44 degrees out. So, the family left Wednesday afternoon, two days early, unbeknownst to Johnny.

What sucks is that he didn't get caught actually having a party, but in preparing for one. My parents waltz in on Wednesday night without warning, allowing them to find about 100 Jell-O shooters in the fridge. Assorted colors and everything. Just Johnny's luck, the party was set for Thursday night. How a freshman has no Friday classes is beyond me.

The kicker: my parents didn't even make him throw them out. The shooters just moved to the basement refrigerator. They're still there. There's apple, watermelon, and tropical berry Jell-O shots in my basement. What the hell?

I bet it would've been a bangin' party. I'm sure I would've been proud and all.

My brother the genius. But I still love him, he even made me a peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwich on Saturday night during a Family Guy marathon. How cool is that? My brothers never do jack for me! I think I'm going to start expecting more from them...

Goodbye to Pisces

2005-03-22T23:15:00.000-05:00

On St. Patrick’s Day, I met Tori Amos. My idol. A woman I’ve worshipped since I was fourteen years old. A musician whose music sucked me in and never let go.

As corny and cliché as that all sounds, it’s the truth.

I camped out in front of the Barnes & Noble in Georgetown for two and a half hours at 6:30am, getting acquainted with other hardcore Tori fans, in order to get a wristband so that Tori could sign a book some 15 hours later.

Tori fans are weird. I mean, some of them are normal, (clearly I can say this because I am normal) but the majority are weirdo nerdy people. She has quite a large guy following, too, which I wouldn’t have expected. And not all of the guys were gay, or had their girlfriends dragging them in by their ears.

She just recently came out with a new album, The Beekeeper, and she wrote a book, Tori Amos: Piece by Piece. The book is actually worth reading, even if you’re not a fan. She goes in depth about her life and her music and it makes for a very interesting semi-autobiography. I’d let you borrow it if it didn’t say “To Kerry <3 Tori Amos” in it. Sorry. But you should read it, she never produces anything less than amazing. Her music has evolved over the years, and it’s totally different now from when she started, but it’s still Tori. And I love it.

I actually got to talk to her and shake her hand and everything. And I met her body guard, who isn’t very big. She was standing up too, not just sitting behind a table or anything like that, she was really embracing people. It was like, “Hey, I’m Tori, just a regular person.” Very casual. Our conversation, though the moment and its pictures are a complete blur in my head, went something like this:

“Hi, what’s your name?” Extends her hand to be shaken. Good handshake. Not a half-assed handshake.
“Kerry…” She’s about a foot shorter than I am. So tiny.
“Hi Kerry, how are you today?”
“I’m good, how are you?”
“I’m good, okay I’m going to sign your stuff here.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Well thanks for waiting for so long.”
“Oh you’re worth the wait.”
“Well thank you.”
“I loved your book. I love the new album. I love everything!”
“Oh thank you dear. Oh and your shoes are pretty!”
“Oh! Thank you!!” Patting myself on the back for deciding to wear my hot pink shoes.
“Here you go.” Hands me my freshly sharpeed CD and book.
“Thank you, thank you so much. Really, your music has changed my life, it’s such a gift.”
“That’s very sweet of you to say, thank you, thank you. That’s very sweet. It was nice meeting you.” Extends her hand again as I’m totally staring at her not knowing what else to say.
“It was nice meeting you, too. Thanks!”

I mean, wow, I was a bumbling, flustered idiot. At least I was able to say something. I’ve had the encounter with famous people where I just kind of stop and stare and can’t move, so I’m glad I didn’t do that. I feel like I could’ve been a little bit cooler and collected during the whole thing, but ah. It’s not like she’ll remember it anyway.

That’s another thing. People were seriously talking to Tori for like five minutes. From the concerned look on her face, I think they were telling her all about their problems. And it’s like, okay if you were sexually assaulted or have had an eating disorder or something, tell your shrink about it. That’s what shrinks are for. That’s not what Tori’s for. She’s a hardworking musician with legions of fans and people have come to her because of her life experiences and because they connect so deeply with her music. She can’t help you beyond what you hear on your ipod. And the thing is, she wants to help you, but she can’t physically do it. There’s just not enough Tori to go around. I mean, sheesh, I wanted to shoot those people. Poor Tori, you know? Don’t burden her with your stuff – you may think you know her, but you don’t man.

Below are some pictures, none of them are good. I think my hands were shaking or something.

That definitely ranks as one of the top ten greatest days of my life. Afterward I got to hang out with Heather and Robin which was just ridiculously awesome.

“Have you ever seen a more Irish face?!”

And while I was waiting for a phone call outside the sketchy bar we were at, a guy walked by me and said “Damn girl, who are you waitin for?” I said, “Haha, just a phone call.” And he said, “Well, you better tell them to hurry up, ‘cause you don’t deserve to be waitin’.” And I thought, wow, that was a nice thing to say.

Everyone loves an Irish girl.

2005-03-22T23:04:00.000-05:00

She's so cute!!

2005-03-22T23:03:00.000-05:00

The guy on the right is her body guard, Joel.

2005-03-22T23:02:00.000-05:00

The only almost decent pic I got.. and that guy has to be standing in half the shot.

2005-03-17T10:37:00.000-05:00

Me.. completely PASSED OUT on the plane to Acapulco. Jen took two pictures right in my face and I didn't even flinch...

2005-03-17T10:34:00.000-05:00

The view from the balcony of our hotel room.

2005-03-17T10:33:00.000-05:00

Becca and me rockin out the hammock at the old skool flamingo hotel just before sunset.

2005-03-17T10:29:00.000-05:00

Me: "Wait.. why do I get two?" Waiter: "Because you have two hands!"

2005-03-17T10:25:00.000-05:00

Me dancing with a pole.

2005-03-17T10:23:00.000-05:00

"Say.. 'tequila!'"

Because you have two hands

2005-03-16T17:58:00.000-05:00

Last week was spent in Acapulco, Mexico. You wouldn’t know it by looking at me. My boss asked me where my tan was yesterday. A tan for my freckly Irish complexion is very elusive. Very. But many hours of my time in Acapulco were spent on the beach, basking in the sun’s cancerous rays. I was covered from head to toe with SPF 50, though, while my roommates poured on the tanning oil.
And, funny you know, I’ll be the one who ends up with skin cancer.

The week was super chill, not too much crazy stuff like you would expect to happen on spring break. We took it easy and only hit the town really hard two nights out of the seven. One night ended with dancing on a bar and hanging off a balcony twisting my drunken self around a pole. And I also ended up in the kitchen yelling at the cook (because a waiter told me he was the DJ) to stop playing crappy techno music.

“Hey! Where’s the DJ??”
“Ohh, the DJ? He’s right there in the kitchen.”
I walk on into the kitchen.
“Hey man, you gotta stop playing this crappy techno music, it’s killing me. It’s so crappy!”
“Okay…” as the Mexican chef who had prepared the fabulous nachos and fajitas for us earlier in the night looked at me like the crazy drunk girl that I was. Man that margarita was ALL tequila. Mexican people know how to get a girl drunk, let me tell you.

The good news, they stopped playing the techno music and got to the good stuff. I’m sorry but I just can’t shake it so well to “Myyeeea – Hee!!” or whatever that crazy song is. You know, the one that fat kid sings on the internet.

We did some tourist things too, saw some crazy people dive off of a 136 foot cliff. Went to the flea markets, went to the Mexican Super Walmart, went to some old hotels where movie stars used to stay when they visited Acapulco in the 60s. Interesting stuff. A twelve year-old kid even tried to sell us some cocaine. Sad but true.

Oh, and Mexican VH1 is awesome. And don’t jump off the second story of a building and land ass-first into a giant pool of water. And never let Sara for Jesus drive a jet ski. And when they say “don’t drink the water,” don’t drink the pineapple juice either.

Aside from the crappy chartered flight that we had (that didn’t even feed us!) the trip was wonderful and very much needed. Seriously though, never travel on a chartered flight, they are straight up bullshit.

Pics are from Sara’s camera. More to come as soon as Jen loads hers onto her webshots so I can jack them (she’s the one with the good digi).

2005-03-15T23:32:00.000-05:00

Me and Sara on the beach just before she tries to kill me on the jet ski.

2005-03-15T23:29:00.000-05:00

Sara, Christi, Jenn, Cassie, Becca, and Me at Planet Hollywood our last night in Acapulco.

2005-03-15T23:25:00.000-05:00

Cassie and I in our hotel room singing to a crappy 80s song on Mexican VH1.

Gone to Acapulco in my mind

2005-03-02T23:03:00.000-05:00

Leaving for Acapulco on Saturday night!!! The beach is all I can think about.

Next week will be all fun in the sun (but not without the SPF 50), Mexican food, and lots and lots of tequila.

Tequila is my favorite.

I'm just so giddy.

Today two Mormon guys came to the door. I told them I was Catholic. They wouldn't go away. I felt like saying "I'm sorry, I don't believe some crazy guy from the Mid West who INVENTED a religion just so he could have coinciding multiple wives." But I held back. I learned my lesson and will never open the door again without looking through the peep hole first.

Why do they try to push their beliefs on people? I'm not saying that one religion is better than another, believe or don't believe whatever you want, but if I tell you I'm Catholic and that I do in fact read the Bible, I'm obviously not looking for a new faith. So, shut up.

Anyway, if I knew any Spanish, here's where I would insert something like "adios" you know, eat my dust, see you next week when I'm covered in freckles type thing.

All that glitters

2005-02-24T00:13:00.000-05:00

I feel like I use this space to tell people what I've learned, give some important advice and life lessons.

Well, yeah, whatever. But here:

Ladies, don't ever make a joke about a man's jewelry buying skills. Let’s just say I made a BIG mistake and learned that the hard way.

I’m such a snob about that stuff it just gets away from me sometimes. It’s not like material possessions even matter. Hey, you can’t take it with you.

But Villanova is a fun school! Especially since the biggest mall on the East Coast is about ten minutes from it. And one of the greatest people on the East Coast goes to school there! Karen and I went shopping for six hours on Saturday! It was amazing.

I popped her Tiffany cherry, hence how I got into trouble with the jewelry joke. And I managed to get shunned from Louis Vuitton! That was awful. But it was still a super fun day, even though I was about ready to pass out when we got home.

AND I got to go to a party in my sweats. That was amazing too. Karen and I definitely kicked some ass in beer pong. Come to think of it, I haven’t had that much fun in awhile. Like, I never go out anymore because what’s the point?? I always end up in some crowded basement messing up my shoes because of the mixture of beer and dirt on the floor. Bars are cool, but there’s about one down here. Freaking turkey country.

Harrisonburg is actually the poultry capitol of the world. Lots of trucks around here packed to the brim with chickens. Feathers everywhere.

Anyway, if you get the chance to visit Karen, it’s a good time. She rocks my socks.

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain

2005-02-15T23:42:00.000-05:00

Let me direct your attention to a previous post of mine, the one about Coldstone Creamery and its obnoxiousness. Click here.

Now, several months after the fact, some loser high school twit decides that she needs to comment on my blog. What the hell is wrong with people?

I'm entitled to my opinion. If I think something is stupid, I'll be sure to post my thoughts on here. It's not like that post was about me hating minorities or anything crazy like that, it was about a freaking ice cream parlor.

And please, always take what I say with a grain of salt. I'm easily aroused when it comes to certain things and this just happens to be a good medium for conveying my ideas.

I feel like I say that all the time. Ahhhhh well.

In other news, today I registered for the Foreign Service Written Examination for the State Department. Crazy. Not that I’ll pass it or anything, but it could be worth the effort. What’s scary is that if I do pass it, I might have a shot at a real live real world job. Or, career, rather.

I guess I’ll just keep my fingers crossed…

2005-02-08T23:28:00.000-05:00

Robin and me :)

2005-02-08T23:27:00.000-05:00

HOT GIRLS!!!

Scott Spaulding is one lucky S.O.B.

2005-01-31T22:06:00.000-05:00

I haven’t updated this thing in awhile… same old story. But the only complaint I received from my lack of postage was from my dear friend, Erin Holcombe, soon to be Mrs. Scott Spaulding.

So, I figure, why not devote my next post to Erin?

She was kind of scared when I told her I was going to write a blog about her. But, no worries.

Erin and I met back in 1997, our freshman year of high school. We shared the same P.E. class, meaning that we pretended to run the mile together, and have been friends ever since.

She’s totally hot, smart (and I do mean 4.0 smart), and funny. She was the kind of girl in high school for whom guys tripped over themselves in order to impress. Erin, however, never realized that everyone was drooling all over her, or if she did, she was still nice to the poor slobs anyway. She could always be a little ditsy, but that was all part of her charm.

Then one day Erin met Scott. And oddly enough, Erin fell in love with Scott. No other guy could compare, and she left about fifty sad little boys behind in the dust wondering what hit them.

And now, sadly, Erin is going to be leaving us. She’s jumping off the deep end into that thing called married life. The first one of a tight knit group of best friends to have that perfect rock on her left ring finger, and she deserves it. Just as long as Scott knows that he’s lucky to be able to carry her shopping bags around the mall for seven hours, I think we’re all okay with letting her go. Plus, now we have a wedding to plan!!

There comes a point in nearly every girl’s life when a guy becomes her best friend. And they live happily ever after.

All the best, Erin and Scott. All the best.

Okay, I didn’t mean for that to come out sappy, but it did.

Real Men Drive Stick

2005-01-11T22:48:00.000-05:00

That sounds like a great title for a chick novel. Ha!

On Saturday I realized that there is something to be said for guys who drive hot cars.

They drive hot cars.

But damn.

Sometimes I wish I knew how to drive a stick shift, but after I nearly killed the clutch of my brother’s Mustang last summer, I figure it’s not such a good idea. Stick shifts just seem to get you around so much faster… and I feel the need for speed.

Not really, though I do find it amazing that I’ve never gotten a speeding ticket. Knock on wood, right?

Anyway, my last semester at JMU started out with a bang. Break was too short and Robin got me into way too much trouble. I would’ve given anything for one more week. I just hope I can make it out alive by May. I SO need to get out of here…

NICE!

2005-01-03T22:27:00.000-05:00

Yeah, I’ve been neglecting this thing. But really, I never have anything to say. Or I just can’t say it because my mom reads my blog.

And she’s hot pissed right now because of the credit card bill I ran up buying Christmas presents. I don’t want to piss her off even more. In fact, she just walked into my room and took my American Express card. I think I’m going to have a heart attack.

I take money for granted. But that’s another story for another day. It goes along with that whole high maintenance bitch thing.

I had a very nice Christmas, went up to New York and jumped from house to house visiting family and went into the city and all that. And I decided that if I don’t pass all of those State Department exams, I’m packing my bags and moving to the Big Apple. There’s just something about that place that sucks me in. What I wouldn’t give to live on the Upper East Side…

New Year’s was great. I have the greatest friends in the world. The evening was far from perfect and included lots of stumbling around D.C. and spilt drinks on my satin skirt, but it was fun. But next year has to be classy. I’m not down with drinking out of Solo plastic cups while decked out in Banana Republic.

And I’ve come to the conclusion that I only attract guys who have NO IDEA what they’re doing. When it comes to girls, I mean. I’ve seen it all. Once I was making out with some random guy in a bathroom and he stopped to pee. The jerk peed right in front of me!! How is that okay?? Guys should be forced to take a class or something on how to treat the ladies. Some things are just not cool.

Branding is for beef.

Chick Lit Blows

2004-12-23T22:48:00.000-05:00

So I was wandering through Borders this week trying to find a quick read to get me through these next few days (I don’t have cable) and I realized that there are a lot of crappy novels out there.

These novels are written by chicks, for chicks. I love a funny, light novel every now and then, though I do tend to read more depressing stuff, but come on. Take Confessions of a Shopaholic, for example. I don’t even want to read that shit and I’m a shopaholic. I mean, when did it become okay to turn women into boyfriend obsessed shoe shoppers via the printed word??

Sure, we are like that. A lot of us anyway, but I don’t need to waste a day or two of my life reading about it when I could just spend two hours watching Bridget Jones’ Diary or an episode of Sex and the City. I like chick flicks just as much as the next chick, but at the same time I don’t think that novels should be devoted to the idea of needing an engagement ring. Literature should enlighten you to some extent, not make you believe that your future husband is just a stumble in Central Park or a bus accident away. Or that your true career can be found at a fashion magazine. Or that credit card debt isn’t really something that you need to worry about.

You can have your trashy romance novels and your John Grisham legal thrillers, but please, put chick lit out of its misery.

I could probably list about thirty chick novels that I’ve attempted to read, but never made it through. I suppose these novels are just modernizations of 19th century Jane Austen lit, like Pride and Prejudice and Emma, but at least Austen could write well. I guess novels that attempt to empower women just don’t hold my attention. I am a woman, I know how women feel, I don't want to read about it. Sometimes I think women just need to get over themselves.

If you want to empower women, run a marathon, run for president, don’t run to the nearest publishing company with some bonehead cliché idea for a manuscript.

Gift Receipt?

2004-12-14T22:43:00.000-05:00

After a grueling semester of procrastination and paper writing, it was nice to come home and relax.

But I didn’t do much relaxing. Saturday morning I woke up at 8 (ugh! I NEVER get up at 8.. not even for class…) and went to baby-sit overnight. I was dragged around by a bossy six year-old girl all day and then woke up on Sunday morning at 7:30 to her bouncing on my stomach.

Then yesterday I woke up way too early again and went to work.

“Virginia Surgery Associates, this is Kerry, how may I direct your call?” If you want to hear my professional phone voice, give me a call at 703-359-8640.

Today Susie and I shoveled pistachio nuts into Ziploc bags. On Thursday we get to deliver them to the doctors at Fairfax Hospital. Don’t ask.

And of course I’ve been Christmas shopping. I have no money, but I’ve been shopping anyway. I walk around the malls in my pink shoes sipping my Starbucks lattes and pretend like I have money to buy things. You think it would be bad to buy my mom’s Christmas presents with her credit card?

Despite the lack of funds and income at the moment, I have gotten some shopping done. The thing is that I try to force my need for designer apparel onto other people. Instead of just getting people what they want and ask for, I get them what I want them to have. I’m sure the last thing my fifteen year-old brother wants is a sweater from the Gap, but he’ll probably get one only because I don’t feel like buying a stupid video game or computer gadget. And my poor dad, I don’t know why, but he asked for an Enya CD and I told him that I’d be damned if I was going to stand in line at Best Buy holding an Enya CD. I mean, if my dad wants it, shouldn’t I just buy it for him?

I’m a lousy gift-giver.

And I’ve realized that Northern Virginia is boring when you don’t have any friends.

But they’ll be back eventually. I can’t wait to go to New York after Christmas and then rock out D.C. for New Year’s! Hotel partaaaay! My first open bar shindig where I can actually drink. And Aimee, if I don’t have a cute boy to kiss at midnight, remember that I’m holding you personally responsible.

Well.. I don't want to manhandle it...

2004-12-05T23:16:00.000-05:00

With four finals to study for and four papers to write by Friday, I figure, hey, why not write in my blog?!

I am the queen of procrastination. And every semester it’s the same damn thing. I never learn. Not ever.

I don’t really have anything to write about other than the events of this weekend. I learned a lot.

I learned that jumbo margaritas from El Charro should not be consumed if you drove to El Charro, but it is nice to have a roommate with a slightly higher alcohol tolerance. I’m never letting Kurbel talk me into that one again. I learned that sitting on a turkey statue and putting your underwear around its neck is not the best way to make friends with local law enforcement officers. I now know what the inside of a cop car looks like. (No, I wasn’t arrested and no I’m not going into any details.) And I learned that some people will always sweat the small stuff.

Now for some words of wisdom: Don’t be hateful. The only thing you will gain by hating someone is a shit load of enemies. And I don’t know, but I’d be a little freaked out if I had a shit load of enemies. I guess if you’re involved in an organized crime ring and you’re making money off of making enemies, then it’s okay.

Anyway, that’s just my public service announcement for the week or something.

Don’t breed ignorance.

"I'm thankful for calculus!"

2004-11-28T23:13:00.000-05:00

My Thanksgiving was spent with great family and friends. It is true that I have the greatest family in the world. And I have so much to be thankful for. And I am thankful.

But I’m also a spoiled brat. I’m very high maintenance. I’m a nut case really. On top of saying that I was thankful for my wonderful family and friends at Thanksgiving dinner, I threw in Prada and pink paisley shoes. (You wouldn’t believe how many compliments I get on those shoes! It’s amazing!) I don’t know how my parents put up with me. Spending Black Friday at the outlet mall was awful, I only wish that I had made it back home to hit up Tysons one more time…

My friend Lauren’s boyfriend Dave says that when he meets the guy I’m going to marry, he’s going to tell him to run. But that doesn’t really make any sense because he’s going to marry Lauren and Lauren and I are the same person. She doesn’t have the same need for designer clothing as I do, and she’s not as much of a neat freak, but other than that we’re the same. Nonetheless, Dave feels bad for my future husband. I feel bad for him too. Poor guy.

Please don't pull a Jessie Spano on me...

2004-11-22T13:30:00.000-05:00

I've noticed that life is like high school. No matter what you do, it's like high school. And even when you eventually get married and have kids, you're kids will be in high school one day and then your life will be like high school even more.

People (myself included) are ridiculous and petty. No one seems to get the big picture. I think I can relate every day of my life since puberty to a "Saved by the Bell" episode.

Even when you grow up and get a real job, people will still come into your office bitching and moaning, and people will still talk about you behind your back because you forgot to change the coffee filter or made out with the mail boy in the copy room.

It's just a difference of age, scenery, and drug of choice.

Whatever. Zack Morris is hot. And that's all I'm going to say about that.

Heading to the Outerbanks on Wednesday for Thanksgiving. I know that I shouldn't complain about my parents making me go to their beach house for the holiday, but all I want to do is be at home. And see my girls!! And shop. There isn't anywhere to shop on the Outerbanks on black Friday!! What am I going to do?? It's my favorite day of the year!

When you are all at regular malls on Friday, be thankful. I'll be doing my black Friday shopping at the crappy Nags Head outlet mall. I HATE outlet malls.

It seems all I do these days is complain. But, I really am thankful for all of my family and friends who are always there for me. Thank you! And have a happy turkey day.

O.C.D.

2004-11-08T22:47:00.000-05:00

Enough about Billy Corgan. I have OCD.

Now, I don't think that I really have OCD, but it is possible. Over the past few years I have become a total neat freak - everything in my room has a place. My drawers are organized. Underneath my bathroom sink is organized in a very distinct fashion. I'm extremely meticulous about my medicine cabinet. I could go on and on...

My roommates like to make fun of me. One day Sara and Cassie went into my room and rearranged three things to see if I would notice. Well, I did. I think it even came down to them switching the angle of a picture frame on my bookshelf. I yell at them about their dirty dishes so much it's amazing that they haven't kicked me out yet. I hate messes and I hate clutter.

Now, I wasn't like this last year. (Last year my roommates didn't leave dirty dishes in the sink either, but I feel like that's irrelevant) Though I was always obsessive about my room, it never spread to the outside world. I noticed that I may have obsessive compulsive disorder a few weekends ago while watching "Coyote Ugly" with my roommates. If you haven't seen the movie, it's about hot girls that dance on a bar and pour tequila all over themselves. Anyway, I found myself getting very uncomfortable thinking about what a mess they were making pouring beer and tequila everywhere. I mean, I started squirming thinking about how sticky and smelly that mess would be. So, obviously, I started thinking, "What the hell is wrong with me?"

Then it hit me- the crappier my life gets, the more I want to dust, make my bed, and soak my bathtub in bleach. I'm not saying that my life is awful, it's very far from it, but instead of just fixing things that matter (like starting the millions of papers I have to write this month, or picking up the phone and calling an old friend) I just fix the external things that don't. My day isn't going to be ruined because my shoes aren't perfectly lined up in my closet, but at the same time I can't sleep unless they are.

I don't know. Maybe I just have too many pet peeves.

"The guy with the hair!"

2004-10-25T18:58:00.000-04:00

I know you all have been dying to hear how the Billy Corgan poetry reading went and I can honestly say that I was glad that I was able to relive my high school years for that short period of time.

I went to the show with my long-lost friend and fellow Billy Corgan enthusiast, Jeremiah. He, however, is still a huge Billy Corgan fan, while my feelings about him have dwindled throughout the years. The show was pretty cool except that Billy had this weird Tibetan lady who was like chanting along with him. It was really stupid. At one point I actually think he was making fun of her. It was kind of a mixture of reading poetry and playing what seemed like some mellow new solo stuff. Just him and his guitar.

The best part of the night though was when Billy was flipping through his binder of poetry trying to decide what to read next and he said "oh, I don't know. Does anyone else want to read something?" Of course, everyone was screaming "YEAH!!!!" so he had the house lights brought up and started picking people out of the audience. The 9:30 club is a super small place so he could obviously see everyone. Jeremiah and I were standing straight across from the stage where the sound/light operator was. Now Jeremiah probably loves Billy Corgan more than anyone else in the world loves Billy Corgan, so one of his friends and I made it a point to point to him and have him get up on that stage.

"The guy with the hair!" Billy said pointing right at Jeremiah. I don't really know why he said "the guy with the hair" but maybe it's because Billy Corgan doesn't have any hair, so anyone with hair is weird. Anyway, Jeremiah got up on stage, sat next to Billy and read a poem from his book. HOW COOL IS THAT? Jeremiah was on stage with Billy Corgan!! The entire evening was very intimate and I really enjoyed it. So, yeah, Billy's still kind of a has been, but he puts on a good show even without all the loud guitar solos.

But if I go cold, I won't get sold

2004-10-11T23:30:00.000-04:00

Okay, I know I've been super awful about updating this thing, but I'm a busy girl, what can I say? We're all busy, I don't know one person who is able to consistently keep up a blog.

Anyway, what's giving me this sudden urge to write a blog entry is that I am going to see BILLY CORGAN at the 9:30 Club this Sunday. A totally random thing, but something I feel I have to share with the world.

My mom called me today (for the first time in five days!!! Wow Mom!!) and told me that Howie Day was going to be at the 9:30 sometime soon, that she'd heard it on the radio. I'm a huge Howie fan and thought it would be fun to go with my Howie fan partner-in-crime, Katie. BUT I found out that it's not just Howie that will be at there but a bunch of other people too, and tickets are 40 bucks. I love Howie, but I'm not going to pay 40 bucks to see him play for 15 minutes or something crazy like that.

While stumbling through the 9:30 Club web site I saw "Just Announced: An Evening of Poetry with BILLY CORGAN." What the hell??? So, I looked into it. Apparently, Billy is trying to make a come back. He's got a book of poetry that just came out entitled Blinking With Fists which sounds very dark and Billy-like AND he's coming out with a solo album. Crazy!

Crazy because I was OBSESSED with Billy and The Smashing Pumpkins in high school, around ninth and tenth grade. I wore almost nothing but Smashing Pumpkins tee shirts and listened to nothing but Smashing Pumpkins albums and desperately tried to learn how to play Smashing Pumpkins songs on my guitar. There are still remnants of my Smashing Pumpkins obsession on my walls at home. Lots of posters, framed ticket stubs, and collages of magazine clippings are still hanging up, for no reason other than I am too lazy to take them down and I don't spend enough time in that room to really care. When I was fifteen, my friend Heather and I used to fight over who would get to marry him and we would bawl our eyes out whenever we saw him in concert and scream "WE LOVE YOU BILLY!!!!" Oh my God.

It's funny how people you idolize and obsess over in high school turn into has-beens who sell tickets to their poetry readings/concerts for 15 dollars. I mean, back in the old days, you paid 50 bucks, if not more, for a Pumpkins ticket. I guess that whole 1990s alternative grunge rock stuff has officially died. Wow. Seven years ago, Heather and I would have given our left boobs to go see Billy read poetry.

Anyway, just for nostalgia's sake, I'm going to see him. I bought two tickets for the show this Sunday at 5:30pm at the 9:30 Club. Tickets are $15.00 and you can probably buy them at the door, so if anyone wants to (please someone!) join Heather (most likely) and I on Sunday that would be awesome!

I don't know why, but this has made my day. It's almost like the untouchable Billy Corgan that I loved in high school stepped down from the pedestal that I put him on and all I was left with was the memory of what it was like to love someone so much. But now, on Sunday, I will refresh my memory and relive my teenage years. WOOHOO!

This is how my parents must feel whenever they go see has-been rock stars that they listened to in high school at Wolf Trap. However, my mom did point out that she was thirty before the artists she listened to in high school became has-beens.

Oh well Billy, you had a good run.

2004-08-12T22:41:00.000-04:00

The cousins from top left to bottom: Harry, Charlie, Johnny, Kevin, Kristie, Matt, Timmy, Katie, Colleen, Me

What are we paying for?

2004-08-12T14:55:00.000-04:00

I've been spending this week with my dad's family on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. We've been here since Sunday and it's been one disaster after another.

Here's a rundown of all the people staying in our house:

My Mom and Dad: Centreville, VA
Three kids: Johnny, Timmy, and myself.

Aunt Kathy: Poughkeepsie, NY
Three kids: Kevin, Katie, and Kristie.

Uncle Tom and Aunt Lynn: Kansas City, MO
Two kids: Charlie and Harry.

Aunt Carol: Gainesville, FL
One kid: Baby Jimmy (he's five years-old but will be forever referred to as "baby")

Uncle Jimmy: Gilbertsville, PA (though he left on Tuesday his kids stuck around)
Two kids: Colleen and Matt.

Auntie Mary Pat: Levittown, NY

Uncle Chris: Arlington, VA

That's 20 people. This is not including Uncle Michael and Short Aunt Janet (who could not make it because of health reasons), Uncle Jimmy because he left already and his wife Aunt Kathy who was never here.

We're all staying in this huge eight bedroom house near the beach. It's a beautiful house and no more than seven or eight years old so we can't imagine why it seems to be falling apart.

When we got here on Sunday we noticed that the waterfall to our pool doesn't work. Yes, our pool has a waterfall and I was very excited about it, but it doesn't work. No biggie. But the hot tub was more like a lukewarm tub and didn't get fixed until today. The only thing to do at night is go in the hot tub! How can you hang out in a lukewarm tub??

After being here for a few hours on Sunday, I was walking up the stairs after waking up from my afternoon nap, and my brother Johnny decides he's going to flick me with his key chain thing. Well, I'm cranky when I first wake up so I wasn't having it. I turned around from the top of the stairs and started kicking him. In order to stop himself from falling ass first down the stairs, he grabbed onto the railing. He managed to not fall on his ass, though the railing snapped in half. Anyway, my dad fixed the railing and you can hardly tell that it's been snapped in half and put back together!

Then we opened the refrigerator. What an old piece of crap. The door had no bars on it to keep the ketchup and cans of root beer from falling onto the floor. My little brother Timmy made duct tape bars which have proven to work just as well, but make the fridge look like it belongs in a trailer park. Or a dump.

Then Uncle Tom was leaning back in a chair after dinner last night and he broke the chair.

Katie's been sick all week and had to be taken to the ER yesterday.

But the be all end all of our disasters here has occurred over the past few days. The toilets have been going crazy. Three toilets in the house have been stopping up for no apparent reason. I woke up this morning to the sound of water dripping onto my bathroom floor from the air conditioning vent in the ceiling. I ran across the hall to my brothers' bathroom to get some extra towels, only to find that the flood was even worse in their bathroom. Then I ran upstairs hoping to find someone to help with this flooding emergency but found that Aunt Kathy's toilet had overflowed, being the cause of the flood. The water has seeped through the ceiling and the walls.
A plumber finally came today and told us to stop flushing our feminine products, but that wouldn't explain why the toilet in my brothers' room was stopped up.. unless there's something I don't know about. Personally, I feel that a house with ten toilets in it should have a plumbing system well-equipped to handle the occasional tampon. SHEEESH.

Oh yeah, and the oven doesn't work.

And now we've got two hurricanes or tropical storms (or who the hell knows) coming up the coast.. it's supposed to rain until who knows when, but we're leaving on Sunday. Thank goodness.

But, the beach has been nice, the water warm and the waves timid. Perfect for bobbing around in the ocean. And my mom did buy me a beautiful sundress from Lilly Pulitzer and the food's been awesome. My family's a little insane and I've been drunk most nights, but eh, it's vacation, right?

The Keegan Family Reunion 2004: Livin' it up in the "Jewel of denial."

Changing Lives: One Blog at a Time

2004-07-03T21:22:00.000-04:00

Uncle Chris, previously mentioned in "Thank Goodness for Sunblock", came to dinner tonight. My mom made some hot dogs and we did the fireworks thing, nothing special. He told me that he read my previous blog about Coldston Creamery and said that after reading about it, he would never step foot in one.

My blog is actually affecting people!!!!!!! So what if they're family members. Psh, whatever. I'm sure that his life has been made better because of his lack of the Coldstone experience. He was actually coming out of the movie theater by his house in Arlington and walked past a Coldstone but decided he didn't need an ice cream fix that badly. The only reason he didn't go in was because of my blog! How cool is that?

I rule.

PS: If you're a single 25-40 year old woman looking for a husband and hate Coldstone but love ice cream, Uncle Chris is the guy for you. He makes bank, drives a rugged SVU and lives in a swanky Arlington apartment. Check him out on match.com!

Seriously.

I Scream, You Scream

2004-06-23T01:20:00.000-04:00

It's nearly two in the morning and I have to be at work tomorrow for my 9-5er (I got a raise today!) but I really have to get something off of my chest.

Ice cream. I love it, can't get enough of it. It's the greatest thing ever invented. I can guarantee you that no one knows ice cream better than I know ice cream. I could go on and on about it, but I'll just try to get to the point.

I always thought that ice cream could do no wrong and any place that made or sold ice cream was great. I've never met anyone or been anywhere that I didn't like so long as I was eating ice cream. This was, however, until the day I walked into a Coldstone Creamery.

They had just opened one in the new shopping center in Harrisonburg and I had heard good things about it, so the Saturday that it opened, I made an appearance. Unfortunately, I went in with a strong desire for strawberry ice cream. Just plain strawberry ice cream, no fancy stuff. Sometimes I like the fancy stuff, but other times there's nothing better than something simple.

For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, Coldstone is this ice cream place where you basically create any kind of ice cream you want. They have every kind of topping and every kind of ice cream flavor and you pick whatever you want and they mash it together on a "cold stone" and charge you five bucks a scoop.

What's wrong with this place is not the outrageous price for what is just regular ice cream and is really not any better than any other ice cream parlor. What's wrong are the annoying employees.

I walked in just wanting strawberry ice cream and because it was opening weekend, I was stopped by a manager-type person and given a menu of different ice cream creations that could be created. I was like "uhh.. okay... I really don't need to be educated about ice cream.." I went to the counter and a girl with a lisp said "HI! HAVE YOU EVER BEEN TO A COLDSTONE BEFORE?!" "Um.. no.." "Well let me just tell you a little bit about it!" and I said, "no, that's okay, I just want strawberry ice cream." "JUST strawberry ice cream? Not strawberry cheesecake ice cream or strawberry shortcake ice cream?" "No, just strawberry, plain and simple." "Well, wait, what's your favorite dessert?" "Why does that matter? I just told you I wanted strawberry ice cream." "Okay!"

She mashed some ice cream and strawberries on her cold stone while singing a song with all the other employees about how ice cream is so great and Coldstone is so great. I don't think anyone needs fourteen high school kids to sing them a song about how great ice cream is - all you have to do is EAT IT to know how great ice cream is. Anyway, they just kept singing and singing and after I got charged four dollars and forty-seven cents for my plain strawberry ice cream, I made the mistake of dropping my left over change in the tip jar. Another song immediately commenced, thanking me for my tip as I bolted out the door.

My first Coldstone experience was bad, but I figured I would go when it wasn't opening weekend and maybe it would be less crazy and I would like it better. I decided to go for something a little more fancy than just plain strawberry, but didn't know what I would get. I walked in, went to the counter, and wouldn't you know: "HI! HAVE YOU EVER BEEN TO A COLDSTONE BEFORE?!" "Yeah... I'm going to need a minute because I'm not sure what I want yet.." "Do you want a sample of anything?! How about this one, it's our most popular flavor, and here's a list of all the different flavors people have mixed and the most popular selections and..." SHUT UP I CAN READ YOU STUPID BITCH. While I was in there I heard them sing at least four songs.

The worst thing about that place was that they tried to make me feel stupid for wanting something simple. And they wouldn't ease off when I told them I needed a minute to decide what I wanted. I'm the kind of person who likes to be left alone by sales people. If I need your help, I'll ask for it, and when you've answered my question you can leave me alone. The Coldstone employees didn't want to leave me alone, so I will never set foot in one ever again. Not to mention their stupid songs are enough to drive anyone to the edge.

A few weeks ago, without consulting me first, my friend Priya applied for a job at the new Coldstone in Fair Oaks Mall. After she gave them her application, they called her in for an "audition". She thought they were just kidding and that it would just be a regular job interview. THEY MADE HER MAKE UP A SONG ABOUT ICE CREAM AND HOW MUCH SHE LOVED IT AND SING IT RIGHT ON THE SPOT. These people are breeding ignorance! She didn't get the job because she isn't a stupid girl with a lisp, but after that she didn't want it anyway.

Ice cream is very important to me and Coldstone Creamery is ruining the ice cream experience! This is what's wrong with America, people trying to fix things that don't need fixing, improve things that don't need improving.

I would have tried to articulate my feelings about my one true love a little better, but it's 2am.

All in the Family

2004-06-18T15:38:00.000-04:00

My little brother graduated from high school this morning! It was so cute. I made it a point to stand up and yell "YEAH JOHNNY!" when they called his name. I was so obnoxious. Especially since he doesn't go by Johnny outside of the house.

The speeches people gave were awful. The valedictorian totally sucked and they had a student speaker instead of just a regular graduation speaker like a politician or something. The student speaker guy was a complete tool and I could tell he was one of those guys in high school who thought they were a lot cooler then they actually were. I hated those guys. It's kind of like you should know your place in the high school food chain and deal with it.

The worst graduation I've ever been to.

With graduation comes parties and lots of family members. Our house is pretty much packed with extended family. All weekend I get to have my grandma ask me stupid questions like "What size shoe do you wear?" (What?) And after she's asked me about twelve hundred times already, "Are you finished with school? What are you doing this summer?" But the question to end all questions came a few years ago when Grandma asked "How much do you weigh?" at the dinner table surrounded by friends and family. "I weigh 175, Grandma." "You don't look like you weigh 175 pounds. That's too much for you." Thanks. This is what I have to deal with until Sunday afternoon. She's not even senile or anything, she just threw her tact out the window when she turned sixty-five.

My family is crazy and they act like they hate each other. You could cut the tension in this place with a knife. Cliche, yes, but very, very true. I'm thinking I might just drive down to JMU tonight so I can sleep in my own bed instead of on the floor. And watch TV instead of listen to screaming.

Indian Summer: Is it autumn that you're talking about?

2004-06-10T16:35:00.000-04:00

So I'm out of here (Harrisonburg) tomorrow and heading back to Centreville, Virginia for the remainder of the summer. I called my old boss and asked her if I could come back and work for the same surgical practice that I have been working for since I was sixteen. Unsurprisingly, I'll be spending the next eight weeks working a 9-5 at Virginia Surgery Associates, P.C. just like I have been for the past eighty million summers. Super.

It should prove to be an interesting summer though. I'll be turning twenty-one in August (yay for drinking legally!) but in reality, my first legal drink was in Western Australia in some bar that I don't remember the name of because of the intense jet lag. Anyway, I'll probably go out and get drunk with my friends in D.C. and I really don't know what could be better than that. And, for the first time since last summer, I will have money as I will also have a real job. I won't be sucking off of my parents anymore, at least not for awhile. I'll be able to buy everything in the J.Crew catalog that I've been drooling over! Yes!

And with that, who is this kid?? Leave it to a VCU student to think that J.Crew is trendy. (Sorry Heather, I love you and you're better than everyone else at that school.) Learn how to write, buddy. And why don't you try to be original?? I totally published my blog on how today's music sucks five days before your "requiem" was published. Coincidence? I don't think so.

People who think they're better than everyone else piss me off. Why don't you go choke on some "Prozacs"?!

I'm really not an angry person. I just have a lot of pet peeves that get me all wound-up.

If you're wondering why I was reading the Fredericksburg Free-Lance Star, I really do have a good reason. There was a trial being held yesterday for a car accident that one of my best friends was involved in. Since it was held in Stafford County and I was unable to attend it, I figured there might be something about it in the Fredericksburg newspaper. But, no. It figures.

Okay I got side tracked. Two more reasons why summer 2004 will be awesome: my parents' beach house and one of my best friends leaving his Australian paradise only to sit in traffic on the Capitol Beltway. And to hang out with me, of course. Honestly, I don't know how he ever had fun over there without me.

Who am I kidding?

With the last day of May session being tomorrow, I have to study for my final exam in US Diplomatic History. It's not even the whole history, we only got to the end of World War II. That's crap because my dad paid for everything up until the latest Iraqi conflict. JMU, you owe me $129.72. Okay really, I have to go pretend to study and write a fifteen page paper on the Cuban Missile Crisis.

Peace out Harrisonburg! I'll miss you Becca!

These chicks don't even know the name of my band

2004-06-05T16:57:00.000-04:00

It has come to my attention, from reading my parents' Entertainment Weekly in my undying boredom, that I made an error in my last post. Apparently the band that I mentioned is called Hoobastank, not Hoo-p-astank. To be honest, I could care less how they spell their band name. I think they're awful. Yes, Hoobastank, Kerry Keegan thinks you're awful. Not to mention hopelessly unattractive. I figure as long as I'm dismissing them I should at least spell Hoobastank correctly.

Which brings be to my next point: what is wrong with music today? What the heck happened to it? When I was in high school music had a soul. My friends and I would spend hours upon hours just sitting in my room fooling around with guitars and listening to music. And it wouldn't matter what we'd listen to, almost anything, and it had such an impact on us. Maybe my interests have just changed or maybe it was just that time in my life that made it easy for me to connect with the riffs and solos.

For example, in the Smashing Pumpkins album Adore, you can feel Billy Corgan's pain in the song For Martha. You can feel it so much that you can relate it to your own pain. I used to sit in my room and cry listening to it. Depressing, yes, but songs make me happy too. It was just an example. I'm just saying that I don't connect with music anymore.

The only thing you'll find in my CD cases is a lot of old school stuff and Tori Amos and mixed CD's of old school stuff. I have not purchased a CD within the past year that I did not regret buying, Tori Amos CD's being the exception. Is there something wrong with me? Do I live under a rock and have just not heard of all the great new bands out there? Maybe I'm just too picky.

It's like music is more trendy now than anything. Everything out there seems to just be a fad, like platform shoes or slap bracelets. Yes, I owned lots of platform shoes and slap bracelets, but I don't still wear them. I put them in a big plastic bag and sent them to Good Will a long time ago. Fads fade. And this music that's pouring out of your local radio stations will fade too. Give me something timeless! Like a polo shirt and a pair of J. Crew khakis.

If you have recently purchased a stellar CD, please let me know about it. My ears are dying for something new.

There's a party upstairs! And you're not invited!

2004-06-02T00:25:00.000-04:00

Okay, I know I live in what might as well be a college dorm without any supervision or community bathrooms, but come on.

I live in an apartment complex here in Harrisonburg, Virginia that is rented strictly to college students. There would be almost nothing but chickens here in Harrisonburg if it wasn’t for the university. The town consists of about seven or eight apartment complexes and housing developments that are mainly occupied by the students who go to JMU. Without a doubt, it’s a typical college town.

This is both good and bad. On any given night around here you can take a cab, a bus, or carpool to someone’s apartment or frat house where you can definitely get drunk. What’s nice about JMU, that I’ve found to be different at schools like Virginia Tech and West Virginia University, is that you don’t pay for beer at parties. You walk in, grab a cup, and drink as much as you want from the keg that either contains Natty Light or Beast. If you’re lucky, sometimes there’s a trash can full of jungle juice which usually consists of Kool-Aid and a couple handles of Aristocrat Vodka. There’s nothing high class about parties here, but they get the job done.

Living in this dorm type apartment set up without the threat of being busted by an RA or Hall Director, my roommates and I have been invited to a few parties that our neighbors have thrown. All of the invites have been from guys, most of them very neighborly. They come down stairs, knock on the door and say, “Hey, we live upstairs in G, we’re having a Hawaiian themed party tonight and you guys should come up and join us. And if you have any problems with the noise, just let us know.” Nice guys. One time the people next door even came over to ask us if it would be okay for their band to practice for an hour. They were nice guys, too. Just because you live in a college town doesn't mean you have to be unconditionally noisy.

Come to think of it, the reason that living in an unsupervised dorm is a bad thing is because of the girls. Girls are stupid and ridiculous drunk bitches. Guys are nice when they want to be, and respectful of their neighbors. At least that’s the case over here in 1809 Putter Court. Maybe it’s just because they think they’ll get some neighborly lovin’ out of it. Anyway, the girls are obnoxious. They’re the ones who scream outside your door at four o’clock in the morning on a Wednesday and they’re the ones who clomp up the stairs in their big hooker shoes. (I live on the first floor and therefore have no steps to clomp on and I am therefore a better person for it.)

Now, the reason this is pissing me off right now is because the girl above me likes to be obnoxious 24-7. I’ve never met her, but the reason I know she’s a girl is because I can hear her. Occasionally she’ll have a nervous breakdown in which case there will be lots of screaming and things hitting the walls followed by uncontrolled sobbing. Some nights I feel like going up there and giving her a hug and some ice cream. However, this feeling quickly goes away when she starts doing other things. Like right now, I can hear every word of the music she is playing in her room. This has been going on all year, for a long time it was the Milkshake song and last week it was Hoopastank and the past couple of days it's been Missy Elliot. Sometimes I’m lucky and it will be something cool, but not too often. Now that the school year is over and her roommates are probably gone and don’t tell her to turn down her music anymore, she rocks the ceiling constantly. Sometimes it will be the same song for five or six hours. I swear she must leave her apartment and leave her stereo on repeat. Who could listen to the same song for that long?? The same damn baseline over and over and over again. It’s enough to drive someone nuts, especially at two o’clock on a Tuesday morning when you have to get up and go to class in five hours. Du da dun dun da du da dun…. What’s worse is that she also sings. “And the reaaaaasonn issss yoooooooouuuuuuuu and the reaaaaaason isssssss youuuuuuuuuuuuuu.” I can tell you that the girl would definitely not make it past Simon Cowell at an American Idol audition.

I guess if it really bothered me I would go up there and ask her to turn it down, but I doubt she’d hear someone knocking in the first place. A part of me just keeps hoping that she will change. Although, people like that never change.

Shut the hell up!!!!! Respect your neighbors!!!!

Thank Goodness for Sunblock

2004-05-29T00:53:00.000-04:00

I always thought this whole blog thing was just a waste of time, or for people who had time to waste. Personally, I have no time to waste. I have a very strict schedule to follow that includes sleeping and television and my good friends Ben & Jerry. Up until today I was going to be forced to create a blog against my will by my good friend Mike De Soto. Lucky for me, today something happened that I feel is “blogworthy”.

In order for me to tell the story, I’ll have to give you some background information. My mother is extremely overprotective. Don’t get me wrong, I love her, she’s my mom, but she’s always been a little apprehensive when it comes to any of her kids doing things by themselves. For instance, she calls me everyday while I’m at JMU, just to check in. Anytime I go anywhere, I have to call her once I get wherever I was going. Otherwise she’ll hunt me down somehow.

When I was fifteen I was going to baby-sit for some family friends who lived about thirty minutes away, so they had to come pick me up. My family was at Home Depot or something like that and I was hanging out by myself waiting to be picked up. I made some microwave macaroni and cheese for lunch, but to my disappointment, my clients knocked on the door earlier than expected and I had to leave my hot macaroni and cheese on the kitchen counter. No biggie, I would probably just be raiding their fridge later anyway. I guess my parents came home within the hour, because about two hours later, while I was babysitting, I received a call from my house.

“Hello?”
“Kerry?? Oh my God!!!” and my mother started bawling at the other end of the phone. “I thought we lost you!!! Oh God!!!”

In her hysterics, she passed the phone to my cool and collected father.

“Where have you been? We called the police.”

“What?? I’m babysitting, you knew that.”

“Yeah, Mom got upset when we came home and your hot macaroni was on the counter, we called everyone you know, we didn’t know where you were. We were just calling to tell the Sproats that you couldn’t baby-sit because you’d gone missing.”

“Um… well I’m here…”

“All right, I guess we should call the cops then and tell them to call off the search. See you later tonight.”

Click. This is why cell phones were invented.

***
I have the good fortune of being a child of two people who just recently purchased a beach house on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, meaning that I get to stay at the beach for free. As it is Memorial Day weekend, most people go to the beach some way or another. So we’re here, at the beach. Woke up this morning, had a bagel, jumped in the pool, then decided I was going for a walk on the beach for a little while before lunch. It’s my favorite thing in the entire world, walking on the beach, getting my feet wet. I don’t know what it is, but it makes me feel great. Around noon, I head out.

I’m walking on the sand, and anyone who has ever been to the Outer Banks knows that you have to keep track of the walkways to the beach. If you walk back to the wrong one, you get lost in the maze of houses out here. You may have to see it to believe it. In anycase, that's what I did today; got lost. See, you have to look for landmarks. Things sticking out of the sand, a certain beach umbrella, something. I decided I was going to count the lifeguard chairs. Little did I know that the lifeguard chairs were just put out today, and the lifeguards were still moving them around and putting more out.

I walk about a mile from my starting point I’m guessing, who knows, it was pretty far, and decide to head back. Meanwhile I have no concept of the time. I see some lifeguard looking guys on some of those four wheeled ATV things. I don’t think anything of it. They’re probably just patrolling the beach, looking for drowning people. But ah, they were looking for ME. (Obviously the Corolla Beach Patrol is not very efficient.)

***
My dad and little bro Timmy had gone down to the beach around 2:15 to go look for me. They couldn’t find me and much to my overprotective mother’s influence, called the beach patrol. I mean, you’re kid goes missing, you call the police, right? The lifeguards drive all the way up and down the beach for twenty minutes. My dad, on the beach at the home base type thing they had made, hears on the walkie talkie of the lifeguard who is waiting there with them, “I think it’s time to call the sheriff.” Suddenly, I turn into a missing person. I’m a face on a milk carton.

***
Anyway, I don’t know if I miscounted or if they moved the lifeguard chairs around or what, but I walk back up the wrong walkway and end up in a neighborhood that I don’t recognize. Shit. I walk back to the beach and retrace my steps a little bit and walk up another walkway. Still shit. I figure I can’t be that far off from my parents’ house and that all the neighborhoods must connect somehow, and start walking in the direction I think the house is in. Dead ends, no house. I walk in the opposite direction. Nothing. I move to the next block up, closer to the main road. Walk past a kid playing basketball (why I didn’t ask to use his phone, I HAVE NO IDEA), walk past some construction workers and get whistled at. Walk to the end of another street. Fuck. Finally, I decide to walk to the main road. I walk down the side of the main road, hoping that by this point someone is driving around looking for me because it’s been about three hours since I left. Or it feels like three hours. I walk some more, past this realty company with about fifteen redneck looking men hanging outside of it. I would have asked to use the phone, but I’m a girl, I’m lost and kind of starting to get scared at this point, and didn’t feel comfortable asking these strange men if I could use the phone inside the building they were sitting in front of. I press on.

After a while, I figure I must’ve gone too far. I turn around, trip over a rock or ditch or something and my flip flop breaks. Great. Just what I need, to be walking along this main road with one shoe. I walk past the realty company again, limping on the painfully hot asphalt, figuring that at this point I should just suck it up and ask the strange men if I can use their phone, but they’re not there anymore. Shit. But it’s not too long before I see a silver SUV coming towards me, honking. My parents don’t have a silver SUV…

***
Meanwhile my mom is driving around in hysterics while I’m limping all over Corolla and my Uncle Chris is on one of the decks of our house, holding down the fort and looking into cars as they drive by, making sure I’m not tied up and gagged in the back of one.

***
“Are you okay? We saw you limping, do you need a ride??”

“Umm… I’m kind of lost and my flip flop broke!!!”

The people in the SUV pull over and offer me a spot in their air conditioned sanctuary. I’d been walking around in the sun for about four hours without stopping.

“Where are you going?”

“Myrtle Court, I have no idea where it is.” I tell them my story and they tell me about the lifeguard chair situation. It obviously wasn’t the best day to use them as landmarks.

“Okay, do you mind if we go back to our house to get a map?”

“That’s a-okay with me.”

The neighborly people who picked me up are Jack and his wife Bucky. Yes, Bucky. Maybe she spells it Buckie, I don’t know, but I am 110% sure that I heard Bucky. They’re from Pennsylvania right outside of Philly, and have had a house here in Corolla for about sixteen years. Nice folks. They find Myrtle Court on their Outer Banks map and finally, I’m resting my fate in the hands of Jack and Bucky, heading back to the elusive beach house.

I run into the house screaming “I’m here! I’m here!” and run to the phone because I know for a fact that my mother is out there somewhere searching for me. Call my mom. “Mom, I’m okay, I’m at the house!”
“Oh God Kerry! Oh God!!” like I expected, the bawling starts and our connection is lost.

My Uncle Chris walks up the stairs, “Where the hell have you been?”

My mom comes home, tears and everything. “Thank God, thank God, thank God.” I definitely made her age about fifty years today. The tears subside and she starts talking about the beach patrol.

“You missed out, there were some hot guys out there looking for you.” I love my mom.

Damn it. I could’ve had a date tonight.

I tell them the story, Uncle Chris calls Dad, the search is called off. Dad and Timmy trek home from the beach. They are able to make it back without a problem.

***
With my aforementioned anecdote, the entire Corolla Beach Patrol and Sheriff’s office looking for me is not surprising. This is not the first time I’ve spurred a search party. And after four hours of walking around aimlessly, I’m back. Back from my quick, lazy stroll on the beach just before lunch, now with the desire to bake five million cookies for all the hot lifeguards tomorrow to thank them for looking for me for an hour (even though they were unsuccessful, a hot lifeguard is a hot lifeguard).

I feel like an idiot. I’m a capable twenty year-old woman. I flew all the way from D.C. to Western Australia by myself without a problem. That’s three flights and a thirty-six hour trip. I can navigate airports I’ve never been in before, I’ve even been known to navigate the Paris metro system without this much of a problem, yet when it comes to a place that I’ve been spending my summers for the past twelve years, I might as well be a blind cat without whiskers or a sense of smell. Sure, airports and the beach are completely different, but what would cause me to have such a lapse in judgment?

The moral of the story: never go anywhere by yourself without your cell phone and don’t be afraid of a kid with a basketball.

***
Endlessly thanking Jack and Bucky, I step out of the SUV. Jack says, “No problem, us Corolla folk have to stick together!”

Thank God for that, Jack. Thank God for that.

***
A little long winded for my first blog, I know. But it’s been a hell of a day.