Charlie Brown Syndrome

It's official: I have self-diagnosed myself with 'Charlie Brown Syndrome.' I have good intentions, but I justtttt can't seem to be a normal person. Ever.

Last Wednesday my work softball team's game got rained out, and we decided to 'hold practice' at Hill Country DC. Luckily, Wednesday night is karaoke night, and given my last singing gig, I felt confident enough to take the stage with one of my co-workers. Alas, our bacchanalian softball revelry ended in failure. We didn't even get through one verse before the band sounded the fog-horn of death; signaling the end of our performance. Never have I ever been booed off of a stage in my whole life--not even that time I dressed up as Buzz Lightyear for Halloween. At least I didn't go down alone (Hi Lupe).

I suppose it was a life lesson. I learned that no, I do NOT know all of the words to/one cannot simply wing it for "Bille Jean," and I also learned that it is really, REALLY hard to follow behind the woman who brings the house down with a soulful rendition of "Movin' on Up" -- beknownst to the general public as the Jeffersons theme song. We later decided that getting thrown off-stage was a rite of passage, and that we should be grateful for embarrassing moments so that maybe we can appreciate our victories more. That comforted me for about five minutes until I realized I've publically embarrassed myself with alarming regularity since the moment I learned to walk. Are moments like this really that rare for me? After a few anecdotes, you be the judge:

2006. What was supposed to be a routine high school track meet quickly devolved into an unintentional burlesque show. It was my junior year, and it was rather cold outside so I was quite bundled. I was having a bad day, and so instead of warming up I sat grumpily on the benches with my arms folded, probably listening to 'SOS' because Rhianna just gets me, you know? When it was time to run I was not paying attention, the gun went off, and about 150 meters later I realized that my teammates were screaming at me "Allison! Your shirt!" 

Now, just so you know, not having your uniform visible for the officials timing the race is a violation of NJSIAA regulations. Not wanting to disappoint my coach I decided to try and take off the shirt (while running..) and finish the race without the officials penalizing me. I ripped it off, took my whole uniform with it, and threw it away from me. Everyone got a face full of me, and to add insult to injury it was windy and the shirt flew back and hit me in the face. So, not only did I get disqualified, but I was ALSO left standing in the middle of the track without a shirt. Pretty sure that scene did not make it into the yearbook.

2006. Two of my sisters, my Dad, and myself took a trip to Jamaica. One day we were swimming in the ocean near one of those floating ocean trampoline contraptions when I suddenly felt a searing shock through my right leg. I was paralyzed in the water and my sisters had to pull me onto the trampoline. An Australian couple in a boat came out and took me back to shore and offered to pee on me. Not having seen the Friends episode, 'The One with the Jellyfish' I replied with a firm 'hell nah' because I thought the last thing I could have wanted to happen during my final moments on this Earth was for someone to piss on me. Didn't seem helpful. I was taken to the hospital where I received a shot on my ass and had to wait for a few hours for some suspicious pills that my Dad ultimately didn't let me take. All the while there was a bag on the wall that I highly suspected held urine. Apparently I was stung by a Man-Of-War Jellyfish. They have no independent means of propulsion, and so the only logical explanation was that I swam right into it's path..good vacation.


1995. I wanted to win my first grade spelling bee so badly that when it was down to myself and one other person (who ate crayons) I cried and told the teacher my mom would be mad at me if I didn't win--thinking that I could somehow sway the results. Like the boss I was, I swayed those results rull well. The teacher declared that there would be no winner, but rather "co-winners." Needless to say my opponent (who, again, ate crayons) was pretty pissed that he wasn't given the chance to really win--and I walked around like:

The embarrassment came a little while later when I realized that there's absolutely no glory in a tie--and even LESS glory when you cry/lie to force the tie to occur.


So, what do you think?

Swagger Like Me

Moving day is almost here. That's right--I will be living without a roomie for the very first time in my whole life. Kinda nervo, but I'm ready to try it. Eh, let's be serious.. I'm mostly ready to live in a building with a pool.

Unfortunately, this is me trying to organize me clothes:

I admit (begrudgingly) that I am similar to most first-world girls in that I am constantly wailing about my lack of clothing whilst I drown in my own closet. I have an inexcusable surplus. So--I'm going to auction off some of my extra items so that I may not only pack successfully, but also so that you, the reader, can potentially have swagger like me. You're welcome.

Stripes and Labor Day Chic

Can someone explain to me why I have 22 different striped items? Shirts, Dresses, and everything in between.  Similarly, why do I have 3 Gap "Favorite" white long-sleeved tees? WHY. I know I have a hard time committing to solids and my risk-averse nature steers me away from over-the-top patterns, but there's no excuse for this. There must be something in the middle (that ISN'T stripes..)

Ugly Shirt from Girl I Don't Like from High School

I don't have a good explanation for why such a shirt continues to follow me around. That's right--I'm not taking responsibility for still having it. The shirt is following ME, not the other way around. I don't like it, I have never have liked it, and I should have taken this gift as a sign that my friendship with this person wasn't sustainable. Someone please take this off of my hands--but buyer beware. The shirt is potentially haunted. I won't post a picture because it could turn you to stone.

"Bitten" Pants

Just who did I think I was buying Sarah Jessica Parker pants anyway? These are horrible. Bitten's mantra is, "It is every girl's inalienable right to have a pulled-together, stylish, confident wardrobe with money left over to live." Okay, SJP, the term inalienable is a little dramatic and suggests that my right to your mom jeans and baby doll pseudo-preg tops is akin to my right to peaceably assemble. Carrie, it's because I love you that I'm going to tell you that I hate my Bitten pants. They're grey, lack personality, and are completely unforgiving to your short-torsoed clientele. You can do so much better. 

Weathered Jeans

Fixer-uppers! The pair in the forefront are from my BAJ, or 'Before Ankle Jeans' era. I have now come to fully understand how important it is for me to buy the "short" or "ankle" version of any jean if I wish to protect the hems from sidewalks, streets, or the corrosive, salt-coated streets of Syracuse. The pair in the background are only 2 years old, but the jeans suffered a nasty demise when I decided to race home from the bar and I ate it on the sidewalk. The hole on the upper thigh (not pictured) is unbecoming for me, but suitable for anyone who's into that easy-access type of thing.

Proceeds go toward paying my rent! 

Start Spreading the News

I was on a 10 day long work trip to NYC for a hearing last month. Do you understand what the preparation for this was like for me? I hate NYC! It's just too much of everything. The cupcakes are too big, the people are more plentiful, and cab drivers don't scold you for not having cash. It simply isn't natural. I actually saw a bird die on the sidewalk the day after I got there. A crash landing, pitiful attempt to keep moving, and then eventual death. I was really, really upset about it. I thought it was an omen that I, too, was going to die in NYC.

So, where does this city-mosity stem from?

Although I grew up in nearby New Jersey, NYC was for Broadway plays and Broadway plays ONLY. I dabbled in Washington Heights a bit with the Dominicans--but other than that I wasn't sold. I like breathing, my personal space, and green areas on which to run (Central Park doesn't COUNT). New York City offered me none of those things. 

Regardless--I was able to appreciate a few things about NYC while I was there this time: 

I can live off of 3 hours of sleep per night for 10 days
Spending extended periods of time in the city that never sleeps is an issue for the girl who loves her sleep. I can be out at a bar with friends having anywhere from a decent to swell time, but when the clock strikes about 1 I am totally ready for my bed and a trash mag.

Thanks to NYC, I learned that some of life's most magical moments can occur late at night. If I hadn't made the decision to continue my night out with co-workers, I would have never been able to sing a raucous version of "Summer Nights" from Grease with my boss and Kathy (Hi Kathy) at this piano bar. In that moment I was famous, and thanks to NYC I now treat everyday as if it is the day that I will finally be discovered. 

Visiting H&M can be an enjoyable, even memorable experience
Okay honestly--H&M is my go-to place if I have 10 minutes and $20 to get myself dressed to go out. I've completely forsaken Forever21 because midway though 2010 I reached a fork in the road of my life and Forev decided to bear left toward ghetto-fab whilst I bore right toward mostly-clothed. One time I actually told a window display to chill out. ANYWAY..

So during my last day in NYC I had 3 hours to kill, and I decided that my time would be best spent wasting money that I don't really have. That day seemed like as good a day as any to throw caution to the wind and head into the big H&M on 5th Ave. (I was headed to see my Grandma so I obviously felt like letting loose/doing something crazy). 

I walked in, closed my eyes, and for a moment I felt like I was back at Syracuse at a frat party ankle-deep in Natty Light.  The beats were plentiful (there was a DJ and my mind was blown) and the people were boisterous. I knew I hadn't been transplanted to 'Cuse because very few people were crying or throwing up--but I still felt that I had the best of both worlds. I browsed and ended up buying nothing--but I left the store with an extra skip in my step and the urge to shake my tail feather with strangers. I really appreciated H&M in that moment--thanks to NYC.

Hangovers in NYC are easily treatable. 
So although I had an awesome time making my aforementioned pseudo-debut into the Broadway world, I woke up pretty busted and "late" for work (when you're at work for 20 hours in a day the term 'late' seems harsh.) It happens--but I'm finding that my ability to bounce back after a night of drinking is dwindling in my old age. It is with this medical reality that I had to hand it to NYC--this grilled cheese was, no IS, the best hangover cure in the history of hangover cures. If you live in the NYC area, do yourself a favor and get to Melt Shop. 

So..I no longer despise NYC. I admit it has redeemable qualities. Regardless, I was ecstatic to return to my DC homebase and normal cupcakes.