reading

David Marcu, Upsplash

The Other Women: Lean Cuisine

*The Other Women is an original short story series, with inspiration from Naomi Wood’s fiction novel Mrs. Hemingway.

The cafeteria smelled like Chinese food again. A lot of women in my office were notorious for bringing soggy leftovers, stinking up the entire room with the smell of chicken and MSG. Any other day I could stomach it, but today it wasn’t going to happen.

Marci and I always ate lunch together around 12:30 p.m. Brandworth, the small marketing firm where we worked, allowed us an hour for lunch, and she was the only person that I would want to sit with for a whole sixty minutes.

Besides the low-pay and obnoxious reminders to clean out the refrigerator every Friday, I enjoyed my job. It helped being able to talk to someone every day. Marci helped me stay a little sane – in between paper filing and the occasional inappropriate back pat from a corporate executive. Today was another day in the office, only instead of hitting the lunch truck outside of the building, I was brown-bagging it and Marci was heating up something frozen.

“Lean Cuisine?” I asked her in between the beeps that told her the meal was ready.

“Yeah, Justin wants to go to some riverside camping trip so that means I gotta lose the extra baggage,” said Marci as she stirred low-cal microwavable pasta primavera. “If I have to spend a whole weekend with his nerdy college buddies and their dull girlfriends, I at least want to have the body of a bombshell.”

“You’re right, if someone sees you shitting in the woods you’ll want to make sure you look nice and toned,” I smirked.

“You’re so annoying.”

I looked down at my own food, a pathetic sandwich and potato chips that was leftover from a budget luncheon last Wednesday. I had yet to go grocery shopping, probably because this week was the first week that I had actually been hungry. I heard breakups do that to you.

“What are you eating?” Marci asked, mid-bite mushrooms and noodles.

“Uh, peanut butter and jelly.”

“What are you, twelve? Did Mommy make it for you?”

“Screw you,” I got quieter, noticing the old women from finance were looking over at me. “Sorry, it’s just all I felt like eating.”

“Sarah, if you need some help you know you can just ask me. Justin’s mom is always bringing me over casseroles, which leads me to believe is the reason I’m on a temporary diet,” she picked up her plastic fork and let the contents drop back into the plastic container. Drops of reduced sodium sauce splattered onto the table.

“I’m fine. Just not all that hungry,” I munched slowly on a few stale potato chips to convince her.

The problem with breakups is not just the loss of an appetite. When you’re the one left, you just wander around and wonder what you did wrong. Then, you realize how much your life revolved around the other person. Everything reminds you of them. Street sounds, movies, commercial jingles, the weather—even a crappy last minute lunch shared over a work-break with your friend.

“You know what my ex used to do with potato chips?” I smiled a little, hoping that talking about him would make me get over the breakup.

“Hmm.”

“He would put his potato chips on his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I always thought it was so gross but once I tried it I thought it was genius.”

“That’s childish, and a perfect example as to why you shouldn’t be with him,” Marci pointed her fork at me, and more sauce dribbled onto the table.

“I don’t get how that matters,” I looked woefully at my sandwich, deciding if the stale chips between the white bread would make me feel any better. “Do you know he could only eat the crunchy kind?”

“Is talking about his favorite foods really going to help you feel any better, Sarah?”

“Probably not, I guess” I finished the last bite of my sandwich, feeling, remembering our last minute trips to Trader Joes to pick up peanut butter and the bread pickles I used to eat. Thinking of him only drew me closer to the gaping hole somewhere in my heart.

“Chin up, buttercup. He was boring and he deserves to get hit by a bus,” Marci scraped the rest of her primavera into her mouth and wiped up the mess she had made.

We packed up and headed back to our cubicles. Marci and I sat next to each other, with thin walls separating us, giving each employee a small and drab space to work their eight hour shifts. The first time I had spoken her, she had poked her head over the cubicle to mutter, “Hey new chick, ease off the Chanel, it gives me a headache.”

I thought about how we became instant friends, wondering if nostalgia would cheer me up, but even though I had Marci I still couldn’t help feeling as if a part of me was missing. I was spiraling into a dark place known as depression, although I lied to myself as I opened up my email, and blamed the pit in my stomach on the lack of sustenance of my lunch.

*

Ralph had ended it about a month ago on a steamy August morning, not long after I finished up the dishes that had been piling in his sink. The roaches in his city apartment would have a picnic with leftover Ramen noodles and buffalo sauced chicken wing bones, and yet he never seemed to mind the mess, or the bugs.

I had always called him “Alphie” because it sounded cute and fit the soft-spoken man who had a love of Star Wars collectables and spearmint gum. He never seemed like a “Ralph.” In fact, the name reminded me of a wire rimmed glasses, fifty-something year old man with graying hair and a pedo-stache. Not something you exactly want to be moaning under a knitted afghan.

And who knows, maybe this had something to do with my inability to be serious and my desire to find something in men that just didn’t exist. That thought left my mind quickly. It definitely was about not wanting to have sex with a guy named Ralph.

Something had been up with Alphie for about a month, I could just tell. He was as readable as a children’s pop-up book. But this time, he was as readable as a map in Spanish; I was hopelessly lost and the only thing I could say was, “Te amo.”

We didn’t live together, so I guess it was easier for him to become distant and make excuses during the final weeks of our relationship. Our after-dinner phone calls became scarce and my text messages would go unanswered for hours. How did I not see this coming, I had thought between the hot tears as he sat there — the bearer of bad news — stone cold and without any hint of sadness or regret.

That’s what angered me the most, besides being dumped and having no one to turn to but a co-worker and a bottle of cheap vodka. No one prepares you for that moment where you are left dumbfounded and alone, scraping your brain for an answer to try and realize what you did wrong.

Then, when you find the answer, you wish you never did.

*

“Hey Alphie, I’m going to be stopping over just to pick up the last of my stuff, so um, I’ll leave my spare key in your mailbox, and then um, that’ll be all. So um, thanks and maybe I’ll see you later. Okay, well, bye.”

Voicemails had never been my strong suit, and then again, neither were breakups. I only had one more box left of my things at his place—a sports bra, a Nicholas Sparks book, bobby pins, and three half used shampoo bottles—and then I would have no reason to speak or see Alphie again. I decided that after I stopped by his apartment I would hit the liquor store for a rebound date with a handsome man named Jack Daniels. Or, maybe even a ménage à trois with a chaser of Mr. Samuel Adams.

Marci had volunteered to go with me to Alphie’s apartment, but I decided it would be easier to go by myself. Plus, I was afraid I would start bawling and get snot all over her blouse.

Walking up to the apartment alone only brought up what little bit of sandwich and stale chips I had that afternoon, but still I managed to jiggle the key into the lock and enter a place that I used to spend time with him in, holding my breath as if smelling where he lived would bring back every memory we ever shared.

The door opened and I saw my box of things in the corner of the living room. I didn’t even want any of it; it was just another part of the process that everyone was telling me about. This process involved crying late into the night and packing on foundation early morning so people at work didn’t know you were an emotional wreck. It involved deleting pictures off of your Facebook page and changing your relationship status to private so no one would know that you were single, even though everyone would figure it out. It involved what I was doing right that moment, sitting in your now-ex’s apartment with a box of shit you didn’t even want, but you had to pick it up because it was part of the process of getting over him.

I sat on his couch and brought my knees up against my chest. The couch embraced my weight, its worn upholstery inviting and familiar. If only there had been one other imprint next to me—the way that felt normal to me.

As if to interrupt a forbidden moment, Alphie’s door rattled and someone was rapping three soft times. Startled, I knocked over the box and the shampoo bottles hit the ground with a hard thud. The stranger on the opposite side of the door heard my clumsiness and called out, “Hello? You there?”

My stomach dropped and my palms began to sweat. The voice that called out belonged to a woman. It sounded sweet like a soft church bell. Knowing all of Alphie’s neighbors, none of which were this angelic voice, I felt a pang of jealousy thinking maybe he had found the company of another woman.

I was overreacting, but I scrambled for the items that I had dropped and threw them back into the box, shoving it under the end table by the couch. I could have easily stayed silent and pretended no one was there, but I had to see her in case she had an intimate relationship with Alphie. Why else would she be at his apartment at 8 p.m?

Behind the door she was standing with her back towards the entrance, looking off down the hallway. She turned around with a lit up face, as if to see someone familiar. Her face dropped when she saw me, and she pushed up her dark square-rimmed glasses.

She seemed confused and scared, to see another woman in his apartment, especially one that looked like a homeless person with red eyes and business attire.

“Oh, I um…?”

“Oh uh, sorry to startle you. Um, Ralph isn’t here.” I was surprised I could even speak, all I felt like doing was vomiting.

The woman walked cautiously toward me as if I was an unleashed Rottweiler. Two women now stood near Alphie’s apartment—one ex lover, and one most likely, current.

“Um, can I ask who you are?” she was playing nervously with a dark hair strand that had fallen in front of her face.

“Oh, I’m just here to uh, water his plants,” I lied. “He forgot to so he asked me to stop by. I’m just a neighbor.”

“Okay, I was just knocking to see if he was here. I had a key anyway, but thanks for letting me in. His door is always jammed,” she giggled.

I eyed her up to see what Alphie might like more in this woman than myself. Her hair was decent, straight how he likes, but her glasses made her eyes too-huge and forehead small. She had a tight button-down blouse that buckled around her breasts, and a long brown skirt to pair with her oxford sneakers.

“I just came to pick something up I left last week, so I’ll be right out,” she said as she walked towards Alphie’s room.

Thinking quick, I moved closer towards his room and waited until she emerged, a sweater in hand. She jumped upon seeing me moved, and gave me a weak smile.

“So, you his girlfriend?” I asked, adding a smile to make me seem somewhat sane.

“Oh, no,” she laughed. “We’ve only been dating a few months, I don’t think it’s anything serious, yet.” She gave another weak smile.

My heart thrummed in my head, but something seemed weird about this relationship. I kept trying to get more information and hoped my casual conversation seemed not-so-creepy.

“Like actually dating? Or just friends?”

“Well, we met in May and have been dating since then,” she said, still twitching with her hair in her hand. “I just didn’t want to rush it because he seems like a great guy, you know?”

The woman stared at me because I hadn’t answered her question. I hadn’t said anything because I was doing mental math. In a minute, my fists started to clench. I’m sure my face was red, my eyes welled, and maybe I even looked like I was going to kill her. I’m not going to lie, it crossed my mind.

This chick had been dating Alphie since May, but so had I.

As if my life didn’t already suck, sure enough the doorknob turns and in walks Alphie. Really? Is this a sit-com where everyone is laughing at how pathetic the protagonist’s life is?

There he was, the simple man with simple tastes, decked out in his usual jeans and a button up shirt exposing a goofy t-shirt with a cheesy graphic. What does a man do when he is presented with his current girlfriend, his ex-girlfriend, and the act that both of them know he is a good ol’ cheater?

He says hello, or, at least that’s what Alphie did.

“Hey guys, uh what’s going on?” he tried to put on a smile, but I saw right through it.

“Well Alphie, I just met your new friend here. Did you tell her about me?” I was getting angrier. Alphie looked sweaty.

“Um, well Sophie. This is my um, ex-girlfriend Sarah.”

I started getting snippy. Sophie looked way too calm and collected and all I wanted to do was dump my box of shit on Alphie and then set him on fire. He wasn’t going to get away so easy.

“Yes Sophie, and I have a question for you, how good at little brain games are you?”

Sophie looked confused. “Um, pretty good I guess.”

“Well Sophie. Alphie and I broke up in August. Officially. And you and him started dating around May. Do you know what that means?”

I have to say, I had to give this chick some credit. She was totally unaware that she was the other woman, hell, she probably didn’t even want to be the other woman. But when she found out, you could say she didn’t take it lightly.

“What’s going on? Why didn’t you tell me you had a girlfriend?” Sophie’s voice cracked.

“Yeah, Alphie, I must ask the same question,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell  me you were cheating on me?”

Alphie looked at the two women in front of him – and then turned to look directly at me. I had hoped to see some sort of regret, some torn look realizing what he had done wrong. But when he looked at me, I saw his eyes narrow as if he was disappointed in me. The same eyes that used to look at and whisper “I love you’s,” and the eyes that used to look at me lovingly. Eyes that I adored and now these eyes looked right past me to this other woman. The one he really wanted to console and hold and love was her. It hit me hard but I knew right then and there that it was over…as if the whole cheating thing didn’t seal the deal for me.

Sophie huffed, red-faced and darted down the hall. Alphie, of course, ran after her.

“Sophie wait! Don’t leave!” I had never seen or heard him so enthusiastic and desperate. I was pissed.

“Alphie you asshole get back here!” I screamed as I ran down the hall.

They were too fast though, and Sophie was already halfway down the block by the time I ran down the stairs trying to catch Alphie. He had already begun crossing the street when I reached the corner.

I darted out into traffic dodging a taxi, and screamed. It wasn’t because of Alphie, though. A bus came to a screeching halt right in front of me, and like they say, I saw my life flash before my eyes. Can’t say I was happy to see that I had such a pitiful life, but at least I had something before I died a slow and horrible death.

*

I was being a bit dramatic. I didn’t actually die a slow and horrible death. I just figured that sounded better than, “I almost died chasing after my ex who was cheating on me and chasing after his other-woman in the middle of traffic.” The doctor laughed when I told him that. I however, wasn’t chuckling, due to the fact that three of my ribs were broken, I had a black eye and broken arm and leg. And a broken heart. There was no cast for that, the doctor said. Just Prozac.

Surprisingly when I awoke from too much pain medicine, the nurse told me someone wanted to see me. Alphie came walking in and for a brief moment, all I wanted was for him to hug me again. He didn’t though, just awkwardly stood at the foot of my bed.

“Hey,” he mumbled. “How are you feeling?”

“Which part of me? My heart that was smashed into a million pieces or the several bones in my body that now need mending?”

Alphie’s face looked hurt for a brief moment. I wanted him to feel bad even though I knew he really didn’t care about me or my feelings. Or my broken bones.

“I’m sorry Sarah. Really, and I know it’s not going to mean much but I think that maybe once you had some time we could be friends.”

“Is that literally all you have to say?”

The nurse came back in with a tray of food. I felt like throwing up and I didn’t know if it was the smell of something frozen or the thought of Alphie and I remaining friends after our disastrous breakup.

“Think about it,” Alphie said, and he gave my casted foot a tap before he left.

The nurse walked over with the tray and plopped it down on the table next to me.

“Here sweetie, you should really try and get some food in that body so the pain medications won’t zonk you out again,” she said.

“What is it?” I poked a fork around.

“It’s kinda like a Lean Cuisine, you’ll like it.”

I leaned over the table and puked.

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Halfway There

This past Friday was officially the end of my sophomore year.

My mom drove me to the train station on Thursday and told me, “Can you believe you have two years of college under your belt?” And later, on Friday, my friend said, “Madi, you’re technically a junior!”

Oh my, I really can’t even believe it myself! Those people who warned me to enjoy every bit of college were right, it does go by so fast!

I’m trying to absorb everything about college and sometimes sitting down and writing about it really helps. Actually, it’s rather hard because I have to think of all that I have done and what I’ve accomplished.

I was really hoping to make honors and the Dean’s list this year. Last semester, my Trig course brought my GPA down. Let me be frank, I understand I need to be a well-rounded student, but please tell me what journalist ever used parabolas and radians to conduct an interview?

Miraculously, I got all A’s (well, one A- and all A’s) and I am so happy! This hasn’t happened since middle school! Not to mention, most of my classes require a hefty amount of reading and writing, and on top of that, I work about 30 hours a week. Thanks for letting me take a nice break from blogging, WordPressers, you can give me a virtual pat on the back if you would like!

This last semester has been great, but difficult all at the same time. Thankfully, almost all of my classes were major-related, so nothing was a worthless GenEd course (except for Modern History of Western Societies, sorry Prof.!).

The literature course I took was extremely difficult for me. I’ve never been that good at figuring out themes, analyses, or applying outside knowledge to the texts. I’m more of a “give it to me straight” kind of girl. The course, overall, was mostly fun since we got to look at graphic novels and the theme of heroes and villains. You would think it’s all, “Oh yay Batman!” but the course really gave me a whole new perspective on comic book agendas and heroes in general.

I had a news reporting class (seriously, how cool does that just sound to you!) which gave me the chance to meet some fantastic friends in my major. I have convinced a good handful of media and communication students that we should all start working on having a school newspaper, and this summer our advisor and myself will be working towards just that! I do believe my willingness to get this going should make me some sort of editor, what do you think?

Speaking of my advisor, this year I had the chance to really get to know him, and he could probably say the same thing about me. I didn’t want to be another face in the crowd, so I’ve really been reaching out to try to improve things at the college. Our major is really unappreciated, and while I sense a lot of exciting things will eventually happen, it’s hard to keep your head up in the meantime, knowing a lot of people at the school don’t really think of your department as important. That being said, what does keep me going is knowing that all the professors in the English and media and communication department care so much about the students. When I say they care about the students, I don’t just mean they occasionally stay in their office a bit later, or they wait after class for me. I mean they let me text them with final exam questions at 11 p.m., they read my blog, they hand me jobs for working on campus, they mentor, teach and act as a guiding hand towards my success.

Alright, now you may just be thinking I am trying to sweeten them up for a good grade (did it help??) but I’m being completely serious. Sometimes I think about transferring to a school in the city. I really want to try something new, and I think some of the schools in the city are great for just that. But, when I think about leaving the faculty, I just can’t bring myself to do it. Without them, I’m sure I would be having not only a miserable time at school, but I wouldn’t be the student I am right now.

My advisor in particular is probably the reason why I haven’t lost faith in my future career/plans. Reporting changes whenever technology does. It’s more than just being able to write, and I don’t think I knew that until about a year ago. I always thought in high school that because I could write, that would get me the job. My advisor has taught me that yes, I can write, but the fact that I’m driven and I’m able to adapt is what people will want. He’s helped me at all hours, night and day, answer the question I wanted an answer to. His knowledge and experiences has helped me figure out what I need to do to be successful, and I can’t wait to make some changes at the school to make him and the department proud!

The other class I thoroughly enjoyed this semester was my Theory of Writing class. Never have I had a class where at the final exam, a professor would bring in chips and salsa and have us casually sit in a circle and read aloud a final paper. It seems like a fun time, but it was more than that. It wasn’t a professor giving us an easy way out. He wanted us to sit and express something greater than any 12 page test could do. The point of the assignment was to write a series of snapshots (known as crots) that would explain how far we have come with our writing (I will post my paper later!). These snapshots could be anything from theorists excerpts, short stories, poems, lyrics, letters, text messages, thoughts, experiences—heck, you oculdn’ve even used a fortune cookie message. We had about four or five students cry while reading their papers, and most of us were teary eyed listening. What they had written, what we had written, was so moving that only by reading it aloud could we see how expressive we all are. This is what the class had taught me. That through writing, you can do more than just get a good grade or become a person who “writes well.” You can make mistakes and still get your point across. You can say, screw the conventions, and just write a series of blurbs to make an essay come alive. You can make meaning of what you are writing. I did all of that and more with this class, and it’s one that I never want to forget.

"The definition of liable is..."

“The definition of libel is…”

My professor who taught that class is more than just some salsa-loving guy who wants us all to sit around and cry over our words. He wants us to do something greater with writing, and I think we all have learned that. He’s the reason I no longer write with some silly five-paragraph essay, and the reason why I try to write in my own voice and not someone else’s. He also asked me to be a writing tutor next year, and I’m so excited to be a part of that team! It’s great to see my development as a writer is recognized.

Overall this semester has been so many things, and I don’t think I can say it all in just one post. Technically speaking I can, but I think you all would start to get bored. I’ll just leave it at, sophomore year has been great but I am happy for it to be over with.

My summer is looking great. I have an internship at my college, where I will be working in the marketing and communications department. I will also be keeping my job at the library, I can’t leave the House of Books (as my friend calls it). So again my summer is working 10 hour work days, which is fine by me! I love to stay busy. I also joined a gym so you will be seeing posts about me actually being active. I plan on reading a lot too, and maybe I will even pick up a new hobby! Who knows, life is full of possibilities, and if I learned anything from this year, I can make things happen!

How about I put that on a t-shirt!?

Those Beautiful Numbers

It is finally here. The moment we, mainly me, have all been waiting for.

It’s taken quite some time, and now that it is here, I don’t know what to say.

But, I have to say something…

What is it that I am talking about?

Well, if you look over to your right, you will see something that says “Blog Stats.” Underneath that, you will see a five-digit number. That five-digit number means that I have finally met my goal of two-plus years: 10,000 hits.

Look at Zooey, even she couldn't control her excitement for the 10,000 hits!

Look at Zooey, even she couldn’t control her excitement for the 10,000 hits!

I don’t really know what made me want 10,000 as my goal. I guess it is just a good number to aim for. I think we like numbers that have zeros in them (as long as it isn’t zero by itself!) They just seem important.

I set these odd goals because I find joy out of every like, comment, question, or recognition that someone read my blog. The fact that people care enough about me, or what I write, to stop by my page means more to me than what I am actually writing.

I know it seems a little unnecessary to hope for a certain number of hits, or likes, or whatever you want to call it. I know I shouldn’t be hoping for a number on the right side of my page, but I can’t help it. Seeing the numbers go up, seeing the comments in my dashboard, and seeing all of the people truly caring about the words on this webpage is something that can’t be monitored without numbers.

So, this moment means a lot to me. It showed me that every time I posted my link to my page on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram; you name it, it was worth it.

Sometimes, because I want a lot of traffic on my page, I will try and go through my old posts and purge what seems outdated or boring. But, then I stop. I shouldn’t try and correct what is already “said and done.” I should move on. I should try and become more expressive with my writing and make meaning of what I am trying to say through my words.

I think that is why I look back at all those old posts because it shows how far I have come. I saw that I had things to write about, but it wasn’t what I wanted to write about. I wanted to write about loss, love, friendships, heartaches, funny moments, cats, coffee, and everything in between. I think that is one of the joys of writing. Anything is possible; you just need to right words.

This moment of recognition of making my goal of 10,000 hits is something that can’t be forgotten. As much as it seems like a stretch, it shows how much I have grown as a writer. Thanks to all my readers, you know I couldn’t have done it without you. Every writer needs an audience. I

I won’t stop writing. I look at Moore With Madi as an outlet to tell truth, share my stories, get people to laugh, and most of all, try to make it big with the written word.

Confessions of a Not-so-Teenager Twi-Hard

You know that one thing that you have in your life that you know is bad, but you love it anyway? Call it a guilty pleasure, if you must.

Well. I’m here to admit, no matter what I have said in the past, but I have a guilty pleasure, I know it’s bad, but I must come out with it: I’m a Twilight fan.

Let me defend my case here, before you decide you never want to read anything I write again.

I’m going to start by saying the movies have the worst acting, and the books are no literary works of genius. Yes, Edward sparkles and Bella is moody. Yes, their love story is stupid, predictable, and yet unrealistic. Everything about the movies, books, merchandise, you name it, it isn’t worth the time of day.

Bet your wondering why I just admitted to being a fan and then bashed it, right?

The reason I love Twilight is because it’s nostalgic. It reminds me of those painful tween-early teenager years where I didn’t fit in and all I wanted was a “true love.” Twilight stands for a time period of my life where I could read stupid novels and not be ridiculed, both publicly and privately. There was no worrying about whether reading a certain type of novel would damage your reputation, and you certainly didn’t need to hide the hard-cover editions and your poster of Taylor Lautner every time Jessica from gym class came over.

Me, 2010. Camping, somewhere north, maybe? In the height of my Twilight craze, here you can see me crouching as I hunt (I'm clearly a vampire).

Me, 2010. Camping, somewhere north, maybe? In the height of my Twilight craze, here you can see me crouching as I hunt (I’m clearly a vampire).

Truth is, why does anyone care how bad a novel is or a movie? No one is forcing you to watch it, or read it (unless they assign it for English 101). My point is, I’m tired of people looking at me like I’m crazy just because I like a corny romance that just so happens to include wolfish, shiny and/or pale faced boys. I’ve had people say, “You like Twilight??” Hey now, just because I enjoy The New Yorker, Earl Grey tea, and my go-to hairstyle is a coiled bun, doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy some poorly written vampire saga.

There are several confessions I’d like to make at this time. Yes, I had a poster of Taylor Lautner, shirtless (I had to take it down once I started dating Colin). Yes, I have all of the books, and I have read them cover-to-cover four times. And yes, I have Twi-hard merchandise, including a “Team Lautner” necklace and purse, and I have a tote bag with Bella and Edward on it.

Did you just lose respect for me? Well, you probably shouldn’t, in fact…you should gain some respect for me. The fact that I love one of the world’s most hated piece of entertainment and I’m not afraid to admit it is pretty gutsy.

I finished Breaking Dawn Part 2 (that’s the movie) and let me tell you it felt good. There were those obvious scenes that I rolled my eyes at, or mocked (Kristen Stewart’s angry voice and “Bella and Edward” having sex) but overall I was happy with how it ended. It’s a little bittersweet, having both the books be completed as well as the movies. Good news is, there is always Netflix or a rainy day for me to start it all over!

So, it’s okay to like things that people loathe. In fact, I think this is what makes us human. I stopped liking Twilight because it’s what everyone else was doing. I figured I couldn’t have people thinking badly of me, so I switched to more popular series like The Hunger Games or to authors like James Patterson. But, I’m a closet Twi-hard no longer. If this is what makes me, well, me, then so be it!

“Death is peaceful, life is harder,”Twilight 

An Award? For Me?

Well I knew I was going to write something tonight, but little did I know that it would be thanking the academy, my parents, and Jesus.  Oh wait, wrong speech…

I am thanking the one blogger who nominated me for this thing called the “Very Inspiring Blogger” award.  Blogger “B” from Rambles, Rants and Raves has awarded me this award.  This concept is new to me, but I am always open to receiving things like gifts, candy, back massages, and virtual awards.  Please check out her blog (I’m assuming she is female because there was one post of Ryan Gosling shirtless…..let’s be serious.) because the posts are witty and easy to relate to, and I love people that rant.

So, there are some rules to accepting this award.  I better follow them.  Whoever is nominated needs to:

-Thank the blogger that nominated you/gave you the award

-Put up the award on your blog page

-Tell the world seven wonderful things about yourself

-Nominate 15 bloggers.  Tell them that you nominated them and how to accept the award.

Decided to put a happy kitty picture (inspiration: B) to set the mood.

Kitty love!

I posted the award at the end of this post.  I just thought it looked better that way.

I need to say seven things about myself.  Well, what to say.

1. I love cats.  Like, if I didn’t have a boyfriend, I would be considered a crazy cat lady.  Actually, it doesn’t really matter that I’m dating.  I am still a crazy cat lady.  But I don’t care, look at my kitties and tell me you wouldn’t be crazy about them. 

2.  I have two jobs, which are amusing and busy for the most part.  I am a “librarian’s assistant” at a library, and at my college, I work in the Marketing and Communications department. Basically, I am surrounded by computers, books, and writing.  Three of my favorite things!

3.  I am trying to be a decent cook, so I have been collecting cookbooks and stashing them in my attic for when I move out.  I have made some pretty okay dishes like Fettuccine Alfredo and Butternut Squash Soup.  My all-time favorite book (that I want to buy) is Martha’s American Food.  Every single recipe makes me go, “MMMM.”

4. I always enjoy meeting new people.  I talk excessively and when someone talks back and shares the same interests, I dub them my friend.  Sometimes that works out.  I met this super spectacular guy at the library.  He always checks out Shakespeare books or classics.  He has a great personality and my night is not-so-terrible when he comes in to say, “What’s up.”

5.  I have a collection of Winnie the Pooh merchandise.  Books, mugs, stuffed animals, a kite, PEZ dispensers, and mini statues.  A.A. Milne would be proud.

6.  I’m sure most of you know the next fact…but I cannot live without my coffee.  House blend, dark roast, light roast, Pumpkin flavored, Hazelnut, French Vanilla, gas station coffee, home brewed, Keurig cups, Dunkin Donuts, Starbucks….you name it, I will drink it.  I typically spend half of my paycheck at Dunkin Donuts.  Caramel coffee with cream no sugar.

7.  When I do math homework I don’t understand, I get so worked up that I start to hyperventilate  which also includes me pulling my eyelids and yelling, “MATH IS STUPID.”

There are seven more facts you probably didn’t care to know but read anyway.  Now, for the people I nominate.  These are in no particular order either.

1.  Fed Up Food:  The best blog if you want to hear someone rant about food.  He rants, and gives recommendations about all kinds of food.  Some people don’t really care too much about what they are eating or where they are eating.  Some of his posts really make me laugh, and some really open my eyes to the important world of eating.

2.  Mae’s Beauty Reports:  I love doing art on my nails, and the best way to get tips on how to do so is on Mae’s blog.  She claims to be no professional, but her nail art looks like something you would have to go to school for in order to perfect!  Stop by her blog for great tips on nail art, makeup, and also accessories!

3.  Bucket List Publications:  You know when you sit around with your friends and say how much you want to travel and experience the world?  Well, this blog shows how one woman doesn’t just talk about it, she actually goes out and achieves her “wildest dreams.”  From rock climbing to skydiving it seems to me this woman has done it all, and the fact that she doesn’t plan on stopping makes me continue to stop by her blog.

4.  The Life and Times of Nathan Badley:  This was one of the first blogs I followed, shortly around the time when I started my own blog.  I love his writing because it is about random things that are both funny and relevant.  A recent post about cupcakes really had me “Lol.”

5.  Sarah Smiles Awhile:  Also another hilarious blogger.  I love her humor and her usage of lists in her about me section.  I too, love lists!  I think I always smile when I read her post, and I know you will too!

6.  The Urchin Movement:  I really enjoy reading the posts of the Urchins.  They provide a topic of conversation for any ordinary human being.  Their categories range from politics to art.  Stop by if you want something a bit more serious.

7.  Misanthropology 101:  First found this blogger because he had a post about his cats.  As you know from my seven facts above, I love cats.  So therefore, I love this blogger.  Okay, that’s a stretch, but his posts are amusing, and he writes about some of my favorite things (I am talking things other than cats).  Check out his blog because I feel like I am not doing his writing justice.

8.  Disphotic:  He uses photography and writing on his blog.  His writing includes a variety of topics, and I enjoy the fact that he is a photojournalist.  Stop by his blog and prepare to be amazed!

9.  Canadian Hiking Photography:  They say a picture is worth a thousand words.  This guy has a passion for both photography and hiking, and you can see some pretty magnificent photographs, and even purchase some (which trust me, you’ll want to).

10.  Vintage Vicar:  Another thing I love is fashion.  I am always trying to find funky outfits to wear to school, or work, or for whatever! I really enjoy this fashion blog.  It is apparent she loves clothing of all kinds, and I like to look at her posts when I am need for something different to add to my own outfits.

I only listed 10 blogs instead of 15 because I am getting tired and I am lazy.  I apologize to the Blog Award Cops.  Please don’t arrest me.  Perhaps I will add on the other five at a later date.  My laziness reminds me that I really need to start blogging every day.  I am sure the bloggers I nominated above are more determined to post everyday, whereas I am not.  I use these bloggers for motivation when I am feeling down-in-the-dumps.  Sometimes you can’t look toward your Facebook friends for inspiration.  The true passionate people are the ones on WordPress.  They blog because they have a passion for something, whether it be fashion, food, writing, or photography.  Keep on writing friends, thanks for the inspiration!  And thanks again B for my first ever award.  I’m glad my goofy rants and attempt at motivational posts are good enough for someone (other than my cats)!

Hooray!

 

 

Staying Drunk on Writing (Somewhat of a Celebratory Post)

As you are reading this, you must know that it is my 50th WordPress post.

*Applause*

Thank you, thank you.  I have been blogging since March of 2011, which to me seems so very far away!  I have definitely improved as not only a writer, but a journalist, and an individual.  But, I have still kept the backbone of who I am and who I will always be.

I thought about what would make a great 50th post.  I know it’s only 50, but I started out with a meager one-post-a-month a year ago.  Now, 54 followers later, over 7,000 hits, a Twitter, Instagram and Tumblr account to boost my ratings; I’m fairly satisfied.

Without anymore stalling, I decided to celebrate this mini stepping stone, and to do so I will enlighten all with the many interesting facts of Madi (that’s me by the way).

Let us begin…

I was named after the movie Splash.

I used to not eat bananas because a girl told me the little brown parts in the fruit were actually spider eggs, and they would hatch inside my brain.

I have three Pillow Pets.

I have a huge obsession with Winnie the Pooh, which I show with a homemade “Pooh’s Corner.”  I have stuffed animals, cards, Pez collectors, all of the books, puzzles, mugs, snow globes and paintings (I’m really an adult, I swear!)

I snort when I laugh.

I am currently reading A Game of Thrones, Franny and Zooey, Martha’s American Food, Dare Me, Shiver, Peanut Butter and Jeremy’s Best Book Ever, A Brief History of Thought, and The Consolations of Philosophy. 

I commute to college, and work part-time (even though it feels like full-time) at a library.

I love to meet new people, as long as they aren’t going to potentially kill me, stalk me, etc.

Lists are my friends.

I probably should be diagnosed with some form of OCD.  I am always organizing things, especially Colin’s room (which he never keeps clean).

I LOVE KITTIES.

Pigs are my all-time favorite animal. And manatees.

I’m really loud, laugh a lot, and of course, talk a lot.

I am addicted to coffee, and to fuel that addiction, I have a collection of mugs from a variety of places (I’m over 50 mugs!)

I want to be a reporter, work for a newspaper, and write for as long as I live.

Before deciding I wanted to write forever and a day, I wanted to be a marine biologist.  Then I got a C in biology….that career choice defused quickly.

I hate constructive criticism.

I am a girly-girl.  I wish I could wear dresses everyday.  Although, yoga pants would suffice.

I love my boyfriend Colin with my whole heart!  And all of my very close friends who read my blog and put up with my shenanigans.

I wish I could sing, paint, take amazing pictures, and could solve a math problem without crying.

I think I’m amusing.

Fin?

“I’ll show you all that I am.”
-Rob Thomas

No matter where I go in life, I will remember these weird quirks and traits I have.  I think whenever someone asks me, “Tell me something unique about yourself,” I freeze up.  What do you mean unique?  What does that mean?  So, I tell the person what they want to hear, not the funny facts like I listed.  Some people are good at sports, others science and math.  I just think I’m a charming girl a majority of the time.  Someone who is always kind to others, even when they don’t deserve it.  Someone who loves to talk, and meet others who share the same passions.  But mostly, I’m a girl who loves to write, and even at 50 posts, I know I’ll never stop.

Cheers to those who have been here for me every step of the way.  I couldn’t do this without you.