Nothing more depressing than re-knitting.

Imagine you've been working on a project for several weeks. You really want to finish this project so you can move on to the next project. You work diligently to finish and you finally get to the end........only to realize you made a significant mistake and have to redo half of your project. That's me and my sock right now. I was so focused on finishing that I forgot to include the increases that make the damn thing fit over my calves, so I had to rip back all that knitting to redo it. It's like the sock did this on purpose to make me feel bad about wanting to be done with it quickly.

The continued adventures of being an addict

I realized that I need to do something about this coffee drinking I've been doing. A small "Wild" drink at Caribou comes to $4.12 a pop. While I can certainly afford to spend $4.12 a day on coffee, I feel pretty freaking bad about doing it. I decided yesterday that I'm going to start making my own candy-flavored coffee drinks at home on the cheap. I went to World Market to look at their flavored syrups, and I was quite disappointed with the selection. Really, no marshmallow? Peppermint but not plain old mint? I selected the Honey Vanilla, because it tasted somewhere between marshmallow and nougat in flavor. A few shots of that, some hot cocoa mix, and a cup of coffee made a pretty tasty beverage. Not quite Caribou quality, but hey, if I wanted Caribou quality I'd pay for it.

We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto

Today, I opened a different store in our franchise that was desperate for an opening manager. It was quite an experience. To put it politely, that location is run a bit differently than mine. It reinforced my gratefulness for being placed at my location. To put it politely. When my co-worker, who used to work at the other location, texted me to ask how it went, I replied "I survived and so did the store. They all say hi."

Also, I bought two new pairs of sunglasses, cause I love me some cheap sunglasses.

Stunt Boyfriend

Amy is my stunt boyfriend - she is always there to hang out with me when the boyfriend can't. I didn't come up with this term, she and Kerida decided upon it, and I just go with it cause they could beat me up easily if I get too sassy.

One day while driving with Amy, I had my iPod set to play some David Bowie because I was in that kind of mood. After a song and a half, Amy says "I don't really like Davie Bowie, can I switch it?" I figured that it's a shame she's not into Bowie, but I figure we all have our likes and dislikes. She then proceeded to pick tracks by the Beatles, ALL OF WHICH SOUND LIKE BOWIE*. This strikes me as odd. "Amy," said I, "this sounds just like Bowie. Why do you like this and not Bowie?" We then proceeded to have a short pointless argument, which has yet to be resolved.

Cut to today, driving again: Young Americans came on the radio. I blasted it for a bit and sang along, and then lowered the volume again to tell the other passengers about Amy's Illogical Bowiephobia. You know that line in Young Americans, basically the best in the song: "Ain't there one damn song that can make me break down and cry?" I freaking love that line. So powerful. So of course, I had to turn the radio back to 11 and ask Amy at the top of my lungs: Ain't there?

She gave me the finger.

*The Beatles are the be all and end all of music. If I say this particular album sounds like Bowie, what I really mean is that the style and sound is similar to that of Mr. Bowie, and that the Beatles came first and made it possible for Bowie to be Bowie.

Maybe Twitter is a better medium for my nonsensical thoughts.

I am willing to drive 15 miles and back for a piece of ice cream cake.

I managed to close the store successfully last night, even though I was worried I had totally biffed it.

Watching lots of TV = knitting lots of sock. Maybe when this is done, I will actually start on a blanket instead of yet another pair of socks.

The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert is a stunning masterpiece of cinema.

Folding laundry sucks. I don't mind the sorting, the washing, etc., but folding can bite my shiny metal ass.

I have to go eat my ice cream cake before it melts.

Some disconnected thoughts

I was working on cleaning my room, but then I picked up something that related to my computer, so I sat down at my computer, so now I'm on the computer.

I just put gemstones on my box cutter, rendering it even more awesome.

The house smells like hamburgers, and while I like hamburgers, I wish the house didn't smell like them.

I'm pretty jazzed about the new blog layout - much prettier. I'd be more jazzed if I weren't the only person looking at this.

I had a laugh at someone else's expense - yay schadenfreude!

I love my comfy yoga pants. They are so comfy.

Seriously, I meant to clean, but then I don't know what happened. Computers are evil.

Drain Bamage

I used to hate roller coasters. I would go on the little bitty dragon coasters at the county fair, and I would scream so hard that they'd stop the ride for me. So I always wonder what happened to change my mind so completely. Nowadays, I absolutely love roller coasters. I did an internship at an amusement park last summer and I got free admission with my work I.D., and boy did I take advantage of that. This summer, I got a season pass to said park because I'm so used to riding coasters regularly. But I'm starting to worry about the effect of the regular coaster riding. I don't do many of the upside-downy coasters, but between those and the particularly rough wooden coasters, I think I may be scrambling my brain. I've had the slightest headache all afternoon, not enough to warrant painkillers, but just enough that I notice and I worry. I'd better be careful not to drink and ride coasters on the same day, or I'll be putting my neural health at serious risk!

"Sibling" is a relative term

I am the youngest of two girls. My sister Katie is pretty much the greatest person who ever lived. We have been close all our lives, even though we'll fight to the point of not speaking to each other, we will still always be womb-mates.

In the past couple of years, I've managed to acquire two new siblings: my little brother Kerida and my big sister Tim.

Kerida is a friend that I met while working at camp. While cleaning out a storage room, she found yellow plastic overalls and proceeded to put them on. Between the overalls, the backwards baseball cap, and her overall adorability, she looked like a little boy, and I told her as much. Henceforth, she became my little brother.

Tim is a good friend of my sister Katie, and then later of mine as well. When Katie left the country, I said that I would need a surrogate sister to take my late night phone calls and give me life advice. As it so happened, Tim fit the bill perfectly. Not only does he field my calls asking for advice, he even gives me his hand-me-down clothes. What else do you need in a big sister?

I don't want to become a drug addict

For several years now, I've been avoiding drinking caffeine. I don't drink coffee, and I prefer decaf herbal tea, and I stick to sodas like root beer and lemon lime. This serves me well on the days (or nights) when I do grab an energy drink (http://www.bawls.com/ Shameless promotion! Be my sponsor!) because the caffeine hits me harder than someone who is used to the stuff. It also means that I can get up and go about my day without needing a cup of coffee, followed by a soda, followed by another soda. Seriously, caffeine is one hell of a drug. My boyfriend gets the shakes when he hasn't had enough Diet Pepsi (Product placement isn't dead!), and my mom can't make it through the day without endless cups of icky black coffee. I have always been glad that I avoid the stuff, in the same way that a vegetarian feels superior for not eating meat.

But then I woke up feeling like I had gotten in a fight with an Autobot in my sleep, and I thought "I'll get something small from Caribou just this once." Not being a coffee drinker, I didn't know what they would have to offer. You know what they have to offer? Campfire lattes. That's right, a latte that tastes like a s'more. I'm a Girl Scout, s'mores are their own food group to me. I got a small and I only drank about half over the course of my 9 hour shift, but I was wired and happy about it. How can you not be happy when you're drinking a s'more?

I know that I have an addictive personality, so I make a concious decision not to stop at Caribou this morning. Unfortunately for my wallet and my health, my friend let me taste her White Chocolate Turtle Frozen Latte. It has crushed Snickers on it, for goodness sake! How can I resist candy drinks? Candy is my favorite thing to eat!

You win, coffee culture. You've finally beaten me down. I'm going to try to limit myself to every other day, just so I don't keel over from pure sugar shock.

Mo' money, mo' problems

As of last month, I became a member of the "real world." I don't feel like I'm a full member, I think I'm more like a pledge. I have a good job, but I live with my parents and my car technically belongs to them, so my only expenses are gas and cell phone. On the bright side, having no bills means that I have heaping piles of cash dropped into my bank account. But you see, I like things. We are living in a material world, and I am a material girl. It would be so easy for me to burn through my week's pay on candy and fancy lattes. Last night, I realized that I could buy my boyfriend the flat screen TV he's been ogling for months with only one week's pay. So my life has become a constant struggle: allow myself to things, or save my money to buy things later. I wrote a little poem to express my feelings:

To buy or not to buy, that is the question,

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The time and waiting of saving a fortune,

Or to pay cash for a sea of goodies,

And by possessing go broke.

To save, to spend no more

'Tis a situation devoutly to be wish'd.

Why my boyfriend has the nicest friends

I try my hardest to be a good girlfriend , and not a batshit crazy girlfriend, but sometimes I wonder if I actually am the crazy girlfriend and people just act like crazy is normal. Frequently I will try to call my boyfriend and the call won't go through because his phone hates me and turns itself off when it knows I'm calling. This is frustrating because it happens at times when his phone wouldn't be off, like the middle of the freaking day. So I call back a few times to see if maybe the first time was a freak accident, and then I start to worry. I am a champion worrier and I start thinking that maybe the phone is off because the boyfriend was killed by an ax murderer who turns off his victim's phones. At this point, I decided to contact the boyfriend's friends, starting with the person most likely to be standing right next to him. But then I worry that by calling his friends looking for him, I will seem like a crazy stalker girlfriend, and the battle between "dead missing boyfriend" and "people will think you're insane" begins. Usually, dead and missing wins out, and I start calling or instant messaging his friends and roommates. The part that always surprises me is that they are all perfectly willing to help me locate him. If he is in the room, they get him for me. If they know where he is, they let me know so I can call someone with him there. If they don't answer their phone at first, they call me back to help me in my quest (Seriously, Jamie, that was awesome.) Every time this happens, I can't help but wonder if they are just nice people, or if my boyfriend has warned everyone: "Listen, guys, she gets really worked up when I don't answer my phone, so if she ever calls you to find out that I'm not dead, just roll with it."

"There's a contagious disease at the Bau Haus. It's called Enthusiasm!"

Back when I was younger, I was far less bitter and jaded. I focused my happy, bubbly personality on being an awesome camp counselor, the kind of counselor I loved to have when I was a camper. At one point, my boss was complimenting me on my enthusiasm while leading the girls in camp songs. I replied, "Well of course, enthusiasm is my middle name!" As with most things at our camp, this became somewhat of a meme for the summer. The subject of a staff training skit was that the Bau Haus (our arts & crafts building, which I was in charge of) was infested with a terribly contagious disease...enthusiasm! When a Scottish counselor dubbed me Weenie MacDougal, she was corrected and told that my full name was Weenie Enthusiasm MacDougal.

Why I am who I am

From the age of 9 to the age of 19, I spent my summers at Girl Scout camp. All of the counselors at this camp have “camp names” which they choose or are given to them, and a lot of time and effort goes into convincing campers that these names are in fact the counselors’ real names.

The first day of my counselor-in-training program was spent like most first days are, having forced “get to know you” time. We were discussing movies, and several people expressed their preference for horror movies. I hopped into the conversation, saying “I’m such a weenie, because I will watch a scary movie and laugh about it, but that night I'll be in my bed with the covers over my head saying 'They're going to eat me! They're going to eat me!'" At this, my counselor (whose camp name was Animal, a la the Muppet Show drummer) burst out laughing. "Weenie, that's hilarious, that should be your camp name!" In one swift move, my future was decided. From that moment on, I was Weenie.

It's not like I was playing outside, but still

The other day my dad was elaborating the benefits of the new TV service he bought. "You'll have cable in your room, and you can DVR four shows at a time, and it'll record every episode of that show for you." I turned to my mother and said, "Remember way back when you would encourage me to read books?"