Saturday List

1. Updated updated update (because you really really care): the incessant squawk-chirping turned out to be not only the smoke detector battery, but also the carbon monoxide detector battery. Both bit the dust in one day and consequently drove me to the very edge of my sanity {what's that? replacing the battery didn't shut it up?}. Welllll it's entirely possible that the smoke detector battery was fine the whole time but I walked alll the way to the grocery store to shell out five Washingtons for a replacement and the nonstop squawkchirping took a pretty big toll on both my sanity and blood pressure yesterday, so your presence is cordially requested in Delusionville for our biweekly semi-formal Ball, where we celebrate our illogical, unrealistic & exaggerated memories. Crazy eyes not required but strongly recommended.

2. On a less complain-y note, my friend Ashley's (you met her on vacation) long-awaited EP finally came out!!! Exclamation points! You can listen to it on her bandcamp page here! You should go click on over and check it out! Right now. Seriously, why are you still reading this...high quality literature? Do you really have that much time on your hands? Annnd probably the best part is that you can purchase the whole album for less than the cost of replacing your smoke detector batteries! Let it go, Chey. Ash is one of those top-notch people and I feel like the luckiest that I get to call her a friend. I mean, she's an incredible musician (have you listened yet? Go.) but she's also an all-around wonderful person. What you see is what you get with Ash. She's unique and talented in a very genuine way and (to make the rest of us pale even more in comparison) to top it off she's completely down-to-earth. You can also take a little wander through her website. Again, making the rest of us look bad. Go show her some love. I have listened to the whole album multiple times while writing this post and it gets better every time. I'm having trouble picking a favorite song, but "Crazy For You" and "College Town" are in serious running.

3. I also made a few design changes on this sad excuse of a blog. (I know you're giving me those sarcastic jazz hands with an accompanying "ooohhhhh you're playing 'dress up as a blogger' today, aren't you" because, well.......can't say I'm not giving myself sass about this one right now). No guarantees that it's any better, or even as good (gross exaggeration) as it was before, but at the very least it's slightly different, so... I've got nothing.

3.2. Somebody added an "about" page. Direct your eyes to the top of this page for the button. Or don't. Probably not. 

3.3. I hopped on the Bloglovin' bandwagon. So far I like it? I appreciate that I can actually see a blog's design when reading posts (which is not exactly a plus for when you're reading this particular blog, but I'm sure you'll appreciate this feature for all the prettiers). I also like that it fades out the posts that you've already read (but you can still click on them if your little blog-lovin' my dad-jokes have gotten out of hand lately. too bad you're not getting any apologies from me heart desires). Both of these features are nice for my geriatric self who has been opposed to getting any sort of blog reader because what if I want to waste even more of my life and re-read posts? And what about all those nice-looking blogs? I want to be able to see that. Because it's clearly not happening on my own. Anyways. In the off chance that you want a more-than-occasional dose of my awkward life, you can follow me there by clicking the button below, or to your right. I'm pretty sure that you need to sign up for bloglovin' first, but I'm also pretty sure that you don't need to have a blog to do so. I'm also very certain that you don't need to link it to The Big Bad Facebook (and can just use your email to sign up instead) because NO THANK YOU.

4. I was perusing through the aforementioned 'book and came across this gem from Halloween circa several years ago. Any Office fans? No? I mean, I know it's fizzled out for roughly the past four years but I just can't quit it.

Kelly, Mose, Dwight, Angela, Pam, three-hole punch Jim

I probably shouldn't mention 

that I'm dressed more fashionably as Pam Beasley c. season 2

than I am on pretty much every other day.

5. This week I made really last-minute travel plans for the first time in my life to go visit my "twin" Sarah for her senior recital next week. I feel strange calling her my twin, especially around actual multiples (identical or otherwise), or really anyone above the age of six months. We've been friends since first grade (this fact deserves some witty parenthetical aside of its very own) and she is one of those people that seems to have it all. She's beautiful, smart, compassionate, can befriend pretty much anyone right off the bat, etc. etc. I could go on for a few years here but for your sake I'll cut it out. She's also an incredible flautist and I cannot wait to hear her play in person (that hasn't happened in roughly a decade, so I can't even imagine what she sounds like now. Although I heard her teaching a beginner lesson a few years ago and was completely blown away by the little bit I did hear). Her family moved 500 miles away when we were twelve years old (which at that point felt like the absolute ennnnnnd of the world...apparently my level of over-dramatic has not subsided since my middle school days) but we've managed to stay in touch over the years. Back to the twin bit, our first and second grade teachers allllways got us confused because we supposedly looked alike. Naturally, we started calling each other up weekly to coordinate outfits and even occasionally switched seats. The nineties were good to us.

Neither of us really think that we look a whole lot alike but then things like this happen. She was back up in New York visiting extended family shortly before my high school graduation so we squeezed in a quick visit (it was no more than a few hours long). We hadn't seen one another in a couple of years (and really really hadn't seen because this was pre-skype, so it was all hand-written letters and phone calls for us)...

...and we showed up with the same haircut, glasses, and outfit.

She's the more attractive one on the left.

All that to say I'm pretty excited to see her. 

And her family.

And hear her play her flautist heart out.

Maybe I'll remember to bring my camera like the blogger I pretend to be.

So that I can document, and then inundate you with travel pics.

It's fine if you totally disagree on the twin thing.

Like I previously mentioned, I'll be living here in Delusionville, 

of which Single Town is a small hamlet.

You are more than welcome to join us.

***

A list of randoms, for Saturday. Maybe this will become a regular thing. We'll see. Not holding myself to any list length requirements because that is asking for it. As it currently stands holding myself to Saturdays is already probably a stretch.

Much love,
C

Sloooowly losing it

I appreciate that our smoke detector chirps to let us know when the battery is about to die. Helpful, so that when our toaster nearly sets this apartment on fire we know something's up. I do not appreciate when it starts this loud charade in the middle of the night and continues upon removal of said battery. I am not about to run to the store at three in the a.m. for a replacement, so if this home catches fire I guess we're outta luck. Also, I know that in my senile ways I tend to forget things but even for me the reminder coming every twenty seconds seems a bit excessive. 

I just youtubed "obnoxious smoke detector beeping" so that you can join me in this insanity. Came to my senses and decided to not torture my two readers and fifteen spambots. I did find, however, that there are a surprising number of videos devoted to explaining how to change a battery in a smoke detector............................ which, hopefully you are aware, is the same as changing the battery in...everything else.

I hope you appreciate all of these thrilling tales and complaints. Because nobody has ever experienced an chirping smoke detector before, and I know you were all curious about how that plays out.

Update (because clearly you care): I walked alllll the way to the grocery store to pick up a battery, installed the replacement, and it's still squawking at me faithfully every twenty seconds. My ear drums and being pierced and sanity diminished in twenty second intervals. I tried installing the battery the other way (because the smoke detector doesn't indicate which way it should go and clearly the first was not correct) and now the little battery compartment is stuck in the half-open position and I can neither open nor close it. Doesn't stop that little...effer from squawk-chirping at an alarming decibel. I'm this close to throwing the whole contraption out into the hallway.

Updated update: Threw it out in the hallway. Still piercingly loud, every twenty seconds. I might need to sleep in the library tonight... (How's that for some public napping, Emily? Driven to it by way of insanity.)

Insomnia

Sometimes I get on little insomnia kicks. Like right now. I tend to turn into an over-sharing PiTA. And I start to concoct some crazy plans that I will deem completely illogical and irresponsible come morning.

hello, superb posture.

But tonight I decided to go reaaallly crazy and try to spruce up this space for my one reader and twenty-six spam-bots (they almost feel like family at this point. But I'm 100% certain those bots check in more than my own mom, so.............).

I am committed to spending lots and lots of money on intangible pretty. (I mean...we've explored my commitment to tangible beauty, so this obviously and naturally follows). I decided that my blog header could use just a smidgen of work, so I hurried over to hit up the one-and-only Google for free blog headers. I left scratching my head. Why are all of these glorified scrapbook pages? Did I miss something? I mean, if scrapbooking is your thing, then by all means, eat your heart out (never using that expression again, until I do, you're welcome in advance). And I know this blog screams SCRAPBOOK-WORTHY what with its heartfelt anecdotes and sentimental photos, but {I know I'm about to throw down the shocker of the century right here} I do not come from scrapbooking stock and those scrapbookers are of a hearty, hearty stock. My very next thought was something along the lines of choosers and beggars. And then I circled right back to "why is every single one of these of the tacky  and vom-worthy scrappy-esque variety? whyyyy?" and then circled right back my lesson on begging and choosing. And around and around and around. Until I got bored of that and looked for something to occupy my (clearly already over-worked-with-important-tasks) mind with something to bide my time while waiting for the I-feel-like-I-drank-a-9pm-cup-of-coffee to wear off.

Bonus! I remembered that I've had this lovely mac for several months and zero Photo Booth pics to prove it. Blasphemy!

Fear not, I remedied that sitch real fast.

Behold, a picture of attractive.

I know how much I enjoy taking a long peruse through a post chock-full of Photo Booth gems, soooo. yeah, these are the only two you're getting. Deal with it in your heart. I should probably start watermarking my photos. The combo of their abundance and overwhelming beauty is sure to land them on a t-shirt in some far away country aaaany day now.

-C

Story time

The other day I was studying on the top floor of my school's library when I noticed a woman who had trekked all the way up there, plopped herself down in an armchair near a high-traffic area, put her feet up and promptly fell asleep.  What?  I mean, I know I consider my jaunts to the top floors of the library and main academic building on my campus to be part the entirety of my exercise regimen (I mean...in each case I'm huffing and puffing up to the fifth floor (which if they were normal-sized would roughly equate to the eighth or ninth floor), so clearly that meets all of my exercise requirements for the week. Elevators, like umbrellas, are for the weak. Unfortunately this little display of pride routinely results in me walking as slooooowly as possible to my professors' offices as I attempt to catch my breath upon reaching the summit. I still manage show up to their offices red-faced, sweating and out of breath every time. I'm just...so in shape) but really?  She awoke from her little forty-five minute coma in a tizzy and opened up her computer for ten minutes before calling it a day and scurrying away to rejoin the rest of society.  I worked very very hard to stifle all of my laughs because that floor is supposed to be verrrry quiet. Tangent: Fear not, this does not apply if you're speaking in a language other than English, because English is the only disruptive language! Side. Eye. I give every single one of them the stink-eye when they walk past. My face is probably going to get stuck that way. Oh wait, it already has. Chronic b-face. End tang-rant.

The most baffling thing is that this is not the first time this has happened. Oh-ho-ho, no. Last fall, I was on one of the upper floors of the library when I noticed one of my friends pointing in my general direction and giggling with another one her friends. I was sure Ihadsomethingonmyface/ myhairwasstickingupweirdly/ Iwaswearingmyshirtbackwards/slashslashslash something else that was embarrassing that I couldn't even think of in that moment until we made eye contact and she pointed behind me. I turned around and--lo!--there was a guy (who had shown up no more than 45 seconds prior) who was out cold on a desk. This school is so normal. A bit later, he woke up, stood up, stretched, walked himself over to a couch, sighed as quietly as an eighteen-wheeler attempting a steep incline, and got reeeal comfortable.

Lucky for you, I whipped out my phone (of the not-so-smart variety so you're just gonna have to deal with this high quality picture of the phone screen that I nabbed with my trusty point-and-shoot) to snap a stealthy shot.

I do not understand.

Do you not have a home?
One of life's great mysteries.

Creepin',
Chey

Babies.

Oohhh, scandalous!
Psych.
No, I'm not preg.

Just a little throwback to one of my all-time favorite memories and head-nod to my fav movie theater.

It was right in the middle of finals before summer vaca, Ash and I were both losing our minds a bit, and she had the bright and spontaneous idea to go see a movie. Roughly nothing of interest was playing but we decided to give this little documentary a chance, not really knowing anything about it.

You've seen it, no? 
If not, you're going to want to make that happen, and pronto.

Well, on the way to the theater we managed to take after a certain animated clownfish {got ourselves very very lost}. As in we ended up on a dirt road (???) in the middle of this city. Still not sure what went wrong there, but there was no way her old car Rusty (may she forever rest in peace) was going to make it back up the hill that our (at that point very clearly wrong) directions were telling us to venture down.  I had to call my roommate to send up a smoke signal via the google maps to send us on our way. Eventually we made it there but were running waaaay behind schedule and ended up on a dead-end side street that did not lead to the parking lot. But we could see the theater and our relief at that moment was probably more than was called for so we hopped out, hopped a few barriers, and hurried on over. We somehow managed to end up coming in a back entrance. I remember a LOT of ficus plants in the lobby. So many that it took us a full four minutes to locate the ticket counter. We scurried on in just as the previews were finishing. That theater was packed, Bizarre, because it was mid-week.

Let me tell you...we couldn't get enough. For those of you who missed out {spoiler alert} it follows four babies from around the world (Japan, Mongolia, Namibia, and our very own U.S. of A.) for their first year. There is no narration, no dialogue. A pure 79 minutes of staring at babies. Glorious. Yes, every male excused himself at least thrice. We left with some serious baby fever {just no} and a hankering to visit Mongolia, spent too much time driving around hanging with our gal Katie Herzig. It was one of those warm, slightly drizzly, late spring nights where you know there is absolutely no going back to w*nt#r and you're all blissed out because halle-freaking-lujah. Sigh. Take me back.

Holy guac, I have been a bottom-less pit of nostalgia lately. I blame the end of senior year.
-Chey

I could pee on this and Jane Austen

My friend Cara and I have a longstanding semi-unspoken agreement (like since middle school. we go waaaay back) that we ensure that the other is taken care of on Singles Awareness Day. This year we were both a few miles behind the ball. Unlike me, she at least has a legitimate reason or five. Regardless, they ended up being more along the lines of the St. Paddy's Day/Easter gifts. 

These arrived in the mail and were promptly and proudly displayed on the fridge, like any fine work should be.

Normally not a big fan of the whole keep calm fad, 

"Come join and/or pity me in my self-afflicted stress" is more my speed

but for this I make an exception.

"You can have Wickham!"

I texted her "Dibs on Darcy!"

To which she replied,

"If you get Darcy, I call Bingley."

Done.

Fair enough.

I sent her this:

How perfect. An anthology of poems penned by the future loves of our lives. If only I can ever get over this pesky cat allergy. There is a story behind my discovery of this book. It's epic and maybe someday if you're fortunate enough I'll take the time to type it out for you little bloglings. Maybe. If you're lucky.

xo,

Chey

Jesus dub

My friends introduced me to these fine pieces of film a few years ago while we were on a church retreat. so pious. and I can't get enough. They never ever ever get old, ever.

Dubbed over Jesus videos. Have you seen? Either way you're going to want to carve out a little time because duh. I'm going to let them speak for themselves. So grab half a cup of tea and cuddle up. Probably find a friend to watch them with first though because they're less funny when you're by yourself.

This one is probably my fav:

Followed closely by this one, if only for 0:35-0:49. and 2:41-the end. gold. please don't encourage my dad jokes. they're gettin' out of hand:

"Thee before thou except after thine."

Grin,
Heathen C

Magical Mirror

When I was freshly a freshman in college my brand-new bestie slash roomie Ari and I took a super cliché pilgrimage to Everybody's Favorite Bullseye, where dreams come true and bank accounts go to die.  We purchased a super spend-y $5 full-length mirror. I'm convinced it should have cost at least twice as much because that thing was magical--magical--I tell you! It survived a bus ride home from Target, not one but two falls off the wall (thanks to dorm décor rules. foam tape is so strong.),  and hundreds and hundreds of miles of car trips between school and home. It was a real trooper. 

After its second terrifying tumble from the wall we decided to play it safe and just let it rest on the floor. Here is where the magic comes in. It bent in juuust the right way that it made everyone who gazed into its depths seem significantly taller this is important because let's just say that nobody is confusing Ari and me for basketball stars. ever. and thinner than the truths spoken by Lady Reality she's kind of a b, no?. What?? How is that even possible? With the way it was bending we should have seemed like a little tea cup (short and stout. keep up bloglings). Magic. My inner feminist is running about, flailing and screeching about how we should not be striving for these types of things! Unrealistic expectations! Evil media! DOWN WITH BARBIE.

Normally I listen to her, but she gets a giant shoulder shrug and a "meh" on this one. I'll take that little extra boost of confidence any day.  We can go ahead and take a moment to legally change my middle name to Shallow.  

Sadly, the mirror shattered on the drive home from school last May. It was a bummer but if we're being totally honest here and honesty is, unfortunately for you, a policy over here, we were amazed that little gem survived so long. She was held together with quite a bit of packing tape and her frame was dented from the falls and transportation. She lived a good little encouraging life. RIP little magical mirror.

**This post brought to you by the letters C, R, A, Z and Y and the number cherylisbeingoverlynostalgic. Yooouuuu're welcome.

studying metacognition

Last year I took a cognitive psych class. The professor was a real gem. If anyone got up in the middle of class to use the restroom, she would stop speaking and stare them down until they made it alll the way out of the room and then she would repeat this little charade again when they returned, staring them down until they made it back to their seat. It was uncomfortable for everyone involved. She also was known to frantically scold us while she was lecturing if we happened to be taking notes and/or  glance at the power point that was being projected on the 15' screen in front of our faces. Not stressful at all. If someone fell asleep, she would stop teaching and tell someone sitting nearby to wake them up. It was a rather sleep-deprived semester for me and one day I just could. not. keep my eyes open, even though it was one of her more interesting lectures. I was so mortified at the thought of being called out that I kept my pen moving as I dozed off for morethanamoment.  My notes from that particular day contained several lines of random loops and squiggles. She is terrifying in the way that only an 85 year-old four foot-tall Belgian woman can be. Probably the highlight of the whole experience was studying metacognition. Thinking about thinking about thinking. No. aaand now I'm thinking about that. Cut it out, Chey.

Pretty sure that little brush with insanity led to a small portion of my soul dying forever.

Sort of like having to sit in a stuffy windowless classroom for hours on-end this afternoon, 

discussing hate movements

on the first truly warm and sunny day in several eternities.

Fret not. I spent some time this morning sunning myself on my friend's stoop.

Not unlike a lizard.

It was glorious. 

-C

Birthd-hey Part II

So I know this blog is usually chock-full of sarcasm (and more sarcasm) with a side of sass, but I need to get serious for a sec because my friends are the absolute top of the top. Just beyond. I wish they could be your friends too because they are that amazing.

Those awesome people threw me a surprise birthday party last Thursday. To say I was shocked would be an understatement. Leave it to them to party it up on a week night.

To start, I would like to say that I am glad I decided to get my disgusting self into the shower at 3 in the p.m. that day because for a while there it wasn't looking good. I'm also glad I was being lazier than I should have and did not hole myself up in the library all night as I originally intended. I was making them all nervous because I basically did not leave the house all day and turned down multiple offers to go out and meet friends for dinner. World's greatest social butterfly reporting for duty.

I finally caved and headed out to meet my friend Amelia for dinner in one of our campus' fine dining establishments. It was more crowded than normal so she asked if we wanted to head back to my place because it is quieter and cozier. Considering I hate walking home alone at night I was allll for it. Plus, I could sit on my lazy self on the couch in our quiet apartment instead of in a crowded cafe.

I came home to a dark house and was super confused at first because my roomies had both been there just twenty minutes prior. And then {insert suspense} everyone jumped out at me. I have no pictures  from the night because I spent the first full thirty minutes walking around with a shocked expression on my face, unable to form complete sentences. After I recovered from the shock I spent the rest of the evening enjoying being surrounded by all those wonderful people and catching up on life. It was one of the sweetest moments of my life.

Hope you enjoyed that brief blip of sweetness. We're sure to be back to our regularly scheduled saltiness tomorrow.  semicolon  close parenthesis.

Chey

{insert something witty about} Confessions

I originally wrote this about a month ago and then chickened out of posting it at least six or seven times, so it has been sitting in my drafts folder (along with no less than fifteen other half-thought-out posts). Grace once again put us all to shame with hers, so........ {insert logical transition here} I suppose I will take that little free-fall plunge and hit publish before I chicken out once again. I realized our posts have the same title (shameful, I know), but that's what I titled it a month ago and  changing it now would require more brain power and creativity than I currently have available. I am as lazy as I sound. Let's go ahead and consider that confession number top of the list.

***

1. I am the procrastinator to end all other procrastinators. I have spent an entire week putting off doing my schoolwork and am paying for it now. I mean, I know it's technically still my spring break, but I had grand plans of knocking out all of it in the first few days. Ha. Neverrrrrr. No, instead, I work on it for ten minutes, decide I'm bored, waste my life on the internet, and let it haaaang over my head all week long. And then stress. stress. stress. about it. I should probably be doing it right now, but my dad is napping right next to me in a sunny armchair and life is feeling extra cruel. Clearly this is none of my own doing.

2. I cannot wear nail polish without compulsively picking it off as soon as it dries. Why I even bother putting it on in the first place is a mystery. It is, however, less disgusting than my normal habit of absentmindedly picking at my cuticles. Aren't you so glad you're reading this?  

3. I am probably most definitely addicted to sugar. Am I doing anything about this fact? Nope. Update (or lack thereof): I wrote out a grocery list last week that would seriously cut out sugary foods. Then my mom sent me an Easter care package with enough sweets to turn at least six or seven people into Type II diabetics, so attempting to do anything about this little addiction of mine is off the table for at least three or four months.

4. I sometimes completely sleep through my alarm. I'll be good for a couple years and then allofasudden just don't wake up. I've tried different alarms, made sure that I've gotten enough sleep, go to bed at a reasonable time consistently, etc. etc. On a scale of one to deadbeat, we are leaning heavily towards incredibly irresponsible over here. Am I nervous for when I have to regularly wake up at a normal time? Not one minuscule bit. The most unfortunate part of this whole conundrum is that I actually really enjoy waking up at dawn, or slightly before (have you not yet realized my geriatric ways?), when I don't sleep through my alarms. plural. 

Feeling better about yourself? Hope so.
C

New Yorker PTSD

So when I was a freshman in high school, I had one particularly...beloved...teacher. He started every class by spending roughly the first twenty minutes of our forty minute period discussing topics completely unrelated to global history, including but not limited to his cats and his fantasy baseball league. It made me reeal thankful that I put in those countless hours to complete the summer coursework that they just "didn't have time to cover during the school year." Right. Upon returning from his spring break to "Constantinople" he graced us with a vacation slideshow that consisted largely of stray cats. He was a true diamond among the rough of America's high school teachers. 

He also had the habit of assigning us lengthy (upwards of 30 pages) New Yorker articles, on which he would quiz us the very next day. These quizzes always consisted entirely of open-ended questions regarding important and useful details such as "What board game was the prime minister of Syria playing?" My brain just does not handle rote memorization and unlike now at that point I still had some academic standards, thus these frequent quizzes became a regular anxiety-inducing feature in my adolescent life.

To this day my heart rate starts to quicken and not from excitement in case that wasn't crystal clear every time I see that typeface with the accompanying three column layout. One of my professors assigned two New Yorker articles to read for this weeks class and I had some serious knee-jerk agita going on and as a result had to do some serious deep breathing before I dove in. Fortunately, they were not as bad as I remembered. I'll still probably neverever purchase that piece of fine literary goodness, though, because I'll probably never fully recover from that kind of school-related PTSD*.

Another thrilling story from my life. You're welcome.

C

*Another groundbreaking addition for the DSM V? Thought so.