You know you have become a hermit when...

Your friend gchats you to talk about how crazy it is snowing outside, and you have no idea what he's talking about until you walk over and open the blinds you were too lazy to open in the morning, after not having been outside since Sunday.

Upgrade me, I'm Irish

My mother and I had been desperately trying to change my flight to Paraguay next week since my ticket only allowed for a 45 min window of time between connections in Miami, and with the track record of NY airports that is just begging for a flight to be missed. I called American Airlines and spoke to an older gentleman who told me there was nothing he can do and the airline had denied my request for a change. I decided to channel my fiery Hispanic mother and give him my full wrath in response to this news. Apparently, I should have taken on an Irish accent instead.

As soon as he read my last name, his entire demeanor changed. "What are a bunch of Irish people doing going down to South America?" he said. (I chose to ignore any racism he may have been implying and go with it). I explained to him that I was half Hispanic and then answered all of his questions about where in Ireland my ancestors were from, where my relatives live now  — "I'm a Boston Irishman, you?" "My family is proudly Chicago Irish sir" — while he told me all about his ancestors growing up 20 minutes away from mine, how his son now is the assistant superintendent in a Long Island, has four kids with his wife, and his school placed fourth in his district. He then proceeded to change my flight, upgrade me to Business class for the long trip down and in turn I assured him I would tell my father how "Only an Irishman could fix my problem."

I hope my Paraguayan relatives will forgive me for fully abandoning them in order to make sure I get to them in time. And hey, the Irish are one of the only other cultures who have as bad of a temper and as much of a drinking problem as the Latins — is it a wonder I am the way I am?

Because You Can't Ctrl Alt Delete Your Love Life

I was loading pictures on Facebook recently and go to the "Trust" or "Don't Trust" option on the uploader. As I moved my mouse over to click Trust like I always do, without hesitation, I thought to myself 'Why is this such an easy decision?' I mean part of it is because one time when I hit Don't Trust I had to restart my computer to get it to work again, because it apparently saved Don't Trust in its memory. (I guess after you Dont Trust something once, you should probably not trust it again.) Why is it so easy for me to hit Trust on a computer but not in my life?

If you have ever dated me, been friends with me, or known me even a little, you'd know that I have a teeny tiny issue with trusting people. And Don't Trust always comes along with its best friends — Jealousy and Paranoia, which is so much fun for whoever they are latching on to.

I suppose I can easily click Trust on my computer because I have a Mac, and they rarely get viruses. So why can't we program ourselves to be more Mac-like? We could be so amazing, that viruses wouldn't even penetrate us. They just wouldn't exist in our godly Mac-like world. Or, if you are just too PC to function as a Mac, why isn't there spyware we can download to protect ourselves from the asshole viruses out there? Our spyware could give us messages: "Warning this boy might be corrupted. Recommendation — Do Not Proceed." And we could have emails that we send out to our friends, you know? "This boy has been known to break the hearts of multiple girls. Once downloaded, he takes over the girl's thoughts and then erases their memory and self esteem while overriding any other previous boys — er, files —. Please fwd to your closest friends so that they don't download him."

Although, let's face it — that would probably just end up increasing his downloads.

Nakedly Typing

Sometimes it gets really hot in my apartment, and it takes a lot of energy for me to move the couch to turn off the heater. So my solution is to take off my clothes and bask in the benefits of staying home by working topless. The other day I noticed that my blinds weren't closed all the way, and as I walked over to shut them I heard someone yell "NOOOOOO!!"

Hopefully someone tripped, hurt themselves, fell out a window, or something that didn't mean they were upset at missing out on the peep show they had been enjoying.

You may be fat/desperate but at least you're smart

Katherine: Just got an email about an Ivy League Singles Holiday Party in DC. Nothing, I repeat, nothing could ever get me there. There is even an Ivy Singles PLUS party which I take to mean one of two things: either its for old ivy singles, or its for super-ivy singles, as in they have passed a proficiency exam or two in the art of being single

me: It definitely means fat.

What do you guys think?

Runaway Bridesmaid

Note: This pic doesn't necessarily make sense with the post but it came up in my google search for runaway bride and I loved it.

Apologies for being so bad at keeping up the posts lately. Last week I was enjoying my home state while reuniting with high school friends as we made fun of Riverfront while reveling in its trashtastic-ness. This week is also quite busy as I am preparing to be in my first wedding since the age of 8.

Yes, the first of my close friends is getting married. Yes, I am a bridesmaid. No, I cannot handle it. Yes, I am making her wedding entirely about me. Of course.

It is that wedding. You know the one. The one where you realize you are getting older and a person who danced with you in college while screaming country music and crying about boys, whose hair you held back in the bathroom while laughing about "bottle service" at K-town, who watched you drop pizza all over yourself and the floor then posed to take a pic of it, is GETTING MARRIED. (Addendum: these situations are all theoretical. Obviously.) And let me be clear, in case this post makes me seem like I think otherwise: she is totally and thoroughly ready to be married. They are wonderful together, and we have a blast whenever we all see each other. Much love and happiness and everything. And I'm extremely pumped about the wedding it will be a wonderful party, total craziness, I honestly can't wait. I just don't think I'M ready for it.

And so as I make the wedding about myself and lament about getting older, I really have no time for posts. I already have to deal with the typical questions you get asked when you live with your boyfriend of 2.5 years, and I'd rather just enjoy my relationship without the extra dose of anxiety. My friend Jamie called me the other day and revealed that whenever I call and don't leave a voicemail she thinks it is because I'm going to announce my engagement. Don't give me a heart attack. I reassured her I am not even ready to handle my friends getting married, let alone myself.

So again, apologies for the lack of posting. I'm throwing myself a panic attack party about the wedding on Saturday. Because really, I am the perfect, supportive, bridesmaid.