Books I Might Write Someday: Volume III

Volumes 1 and 2...soon to hit a Hypothetical Book Title Bestseller List near you.


"I'm Just a Girl, Texting a Boy, Asking Him to Love Her": Dating in a Digital World

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Developing An Editorial Eye-Twitch: What They Don't Tell Aspiring Writers on High School Career Day

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You Don't Wanna Know What's On My Mind: A Collection of Facebook Statuses I Deleted Before Posting

Finish Your Goddamn Sandwich: A Collection of Angsty Open Poetry to a Commitment-Phobic Male Generation

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Books I Might Write Someday: Volume II

You can read my first foray into literary endeavors here.

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Anxiety & Dating: If the Overthinking Doesn't Kill You, the Text Analyzing Will

From Real Estate to Rat Traps: How To Survive as a Single Twenty-Something

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"Seriously Though, Enough With the Bunnies": Tips for Raising Coping with a Spirited Dog

Becoming a Professional Bull-Shi++er: How to Write About Things You Know Nothing About

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"So You're Allergic to Potatoes?" and 14 Other Things You Don't Freaking Understand About Gluten Sensitivity

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Things I Suck At, Part 2

While my first Things I Suck At post was born of a crappy week, this one is a result of moving to a new city and overanalyzing myself to a cellular level.

Only kidding, sort of. These are things I've observed about myself, but have somewhat managed to brush off with a laugh. I'm evolving, people.

• I can't for the life of me master the hummus-to-vehicle ratio so that all my bites get equal hummus love. Either I'm left trying to jam 2oz of hummus onto my last two rice crackers, or I'm eating 7 naked baby carrots.  I prefer my baby carrots modestly clothed in a savory blend of tahini and chick pea puree.

• Still can't manage to make a phone call while people are listening, at least not without a heart rate of 150. I've managed to become quasi-comfortable using my professional voice for work-related calls, but I still have to excuse myself to make personal calls. Apartment hunting in a cubicle environment next month ought to lose me at least 5 pounds with the amount of times I'll be shuffling out into the hall.

• I really suck at taking compliments without turning into a giggling fool. "Thanks, he he he he." Shut UP, girl. Shut up. "Thanks." And if you are feeling in the affirming mood, "That's nice of you to say." Period. You are not five.

• It really sucks to have to switch bank accounts, but after three months, I still can't remember which bills I've put on auto pay and which ones I left to manually pay. Trust me, it only takes one time double-paying your student loan to make you stand up and pay attention...and make a freaking spreadsheet. (I did this once with my mortgage, too. Ouchity ouch ouch.) I hope to have this part of being an adult down by, like, age 36. I will kick you in the shins if you remind me that that's in 7 years. Mind your own business.

• Sometimes I focus so much on remembering to ask people "getting-to-know-you" questions, that I forget to listen to their answers. I need to Google tricks to remembering names/details. Though, I think the trick is DON'T BE SO SELF-CONSCIOUS, no one is thinking about your hair/last answer/facial expressions, GET OUT OF YOUR OWN HEAD. I think.

• Painting my nails. Oh my god. I need to find my old copies of YM and reteach myself. If they offered Girl 101 courses, I'd totally enroll. What was I doing during my formative years? I mean, besides cutting out pictures of JTT and Andrew Keegan while watching Camp Nowhere on repeat?

Except both kind of look like the right.

Topcoat, schmopcoat.

 

 

 

A Racing Mind

Remember what I loved so much about rowing?

No? Well allow me to quote myself: "...what struck me is how mentally engaged you need to be. I swear, when I am on the boat, I am too busy thinking about where my hands should be, whether I’m keeping up with the pace, or where my oar is to think about anything else. Two hours where I’m not thinking about work, relationships, money, responsibilities, world peace, or the apocalypse? Sign me up, Sally."

Some of my friends talk about how meditative a run can be for them. That is not what running does for me.

This is what my first round of intervals sounds like in my head:

Okay, doing good. I love running. Chest up, shoulders back and down.
Am I putting equal weight on my right foot? I think so, but I can never tell.
Remember to breathe. Breathe in, in, in. Out, out, out, out.
Seriously, that was only 30 seconds?
Don't look at the time.
I'm bored.
Think about something else.
Think about shoes. Think about clothes.
Play that game where you think about the prettiest dress ever.
I'm hungry.
I'm sweaty.
My ear phones are going to fall out.
I really need to send that email first thing in the morning.
I should stop and set an alarm to remind myself.
Shut up and run.
Ugh. Seriously. Only 1 minute?
I wonder if I'm a super loud runner. I wonder if everyone can hear me running?
I think I can hear myself running.
That guy is going 5.8, so I'm pretty much beating him.
Yeahhhh, 50 Cent. I like this one.What up, gangsta?
It would be so like me to start rapping out loud right now IF ONLY I COULD BREATHE.
Breathe in, in, in. Out, out, out, out.
I think I'm running really loud right now?
I want a margarita.
I want a cupcake.
I bet I could make a vegan cupcake that tasted like margaritas.
What kind of flour would I use?  
I should buy a book of riddles to read before I run so my mind is occupied. 
I'm bored.
Oh man, that guy is going 7 now. He's totally beating me.
Screw you, guy, you and your stupid man metabolism and man quads. 
I like your t-shirt, though.
Think about something else.
Do NOT look at the time. Seriously, Bobbi Marie, do not--
okay, only 2 more minutes left. It could be worse. 
Oh shit, it's definitely 3 minutes left.
I think I can do it.
You know you can do it.
I'm thirsty.
I should probably buy new running pants to reward myself. 
I like Target. Maybe I really should open up a store account. 5% off running pants every day!
Shoulders back and down. 
In, in, in, in. Out, out, out, out.
This is my reward. I feel excellent.
I feel like I'm going to die.
I think I need to stop.
I need to stop.
Keep going. I'm totally fine.
Oh seriously Eminem, a freaking slow beat NOW?
[Trying to hit Next whilst running] Oh, I'm going to die, I'm going to fall and die and 7 man is going to laugh and point.
Yeahhhh G Unit. 
That's the perfect beat. Thanks, Pandora. 

Propaganda

OWWW my shins.
60 seconds more.
WHY DID YOU LOOK!
Think about purple skinny jeans, think about Jake Gyllenhaal, think about Europe. 
My hair is falling down. It's falling. down. now.
Try not to think. 
What else is there to think about?
Freaking 30 seconds, seriously whose idea was this?
I hate this. Freaking 5k my tush. I prefer the couch.
15. more. seconds. 
In, in, in, in. Out, out, out, out.
WHY ISN'T IT VIBRATING!!!
C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, Australian Lady. 
I'm dying. And my hair is falling dowwwwn.
[Vibrates. "Walk," said in the calmest Australian voice ever.]
FREAKING FINALLLY. Down down down down aahhhhh 3.5. 
My calves are so TIGHT.
I am the queen of the world. I conquer all. 
Even walking sucks.

Of course this repeats and I only become more more neurotic as the intervals go on.

This is all to say that "training" is going as well as can be expected. My body is keeping up and my mind, well, my mind is winning the race.

Open Letters I Have Half a Mind To Send

Do you guys read McSweeney's? I'm sort of obsessed, particularly with their Open Letters. Though infrequent, many Open Letter posts have found me nodding enthusiastically or doing the pee-pee dance, particularly this one, this one and this one.

So, for the past few months, I've been keeping a list of letters I'd like to release to the world. If I could boil this stuff down to under 140 characters, I might just start using my Twitter account to get it off my chest. Well, start using it for more than just stalking Chris D'elia and 27 of my favorite bloggers, that is.

An Open Letter to Those Who Comment on My Meal Choices: 
I realize that when I walk in with a mason jar filled with brown-ish/green-ish sludge, your interest (and possibly gag reflex) is piqued. And mostly I don't mind answering your questions--usually I'm happy to ramble on at length about my newest obsession. But please have some manners. If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it. Because in the future, if you do, I may just give you the real run down: In addition to a dozen other health benefits I found by eliminating 432 foods from my diet, I eat what makes my bowels less angry. That means that anyone with functioning olfactory capabilities gets to enjoy clean, neutral smelling air when blessed with my presence, and I get to have less painful/impossible potty-time. It really is a win, win, you see. It is in your best interest. So shut up, or pass the cheese and beware. P.S. The brown-ish/green-ish sludge is the most delicious superfood smoothie you could ever imagine and if you're nice to me I might share. 
In health and happily shared spaces, 
Bobbi Marie

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An Open Letter to the People in My Life Who Are Mourning Their Favorite Sporting Team's Loss and/or Are Frustrated Over A Strike: 
There, there now. I'm so sorry you're sad/frustrated. This must be really hard for you and-- Oh, who am I kidding? I quickly show signs of Asperger's Syndrome when confronted with this. I don't know what to say, or how to look you in the eye, and I'd do anything to conjure up some empathy so that I might know how to cheer you up/pacify your angry outburst/make the crying stop. I basically have no idea whatsoever why this might be so important to ANYONE, and I do not understand how in the world the implications of someone missing a pitch can make you turn from Mister Rogers to Abby-the-4-year-old-NPR-fan in under 5 seconds. I just want my friend back so we can talk about things I understand. But, yeah, I hope you feel better soon...? 

Fondly, 

Your biggest fan

Source - but you should really check out the site. Funny stuff.

An Open Letter to the Bully Spin Instructor who Singled Me Out in Front of the Whole Flipping Class in 2010 and Made Me Do Jumps Even Though I Explicitly Said My Knee was Injured: 
Thanks for cranking up the resistance... on my willingness to brave group exercise, you Nazi you. You're mean and I get the impression by the size of your biceps that you might feel the need to prove something to the world. If you're looking to have impact that is in line with your skill set, might I suggest applying to be a coach for the WWE? Basically, I'm still traumatized by our encounter almost three years later, and I think you might be a little too intense for the YMCA. 
Signed, 
Still seething

An Open Letter to My Right Quadricep: 
Okay, look, I'm sorry that the Spin Instructor was mean to you when you were at your most feeble. And I'm sorry that the stubborn discs in my back are pinching off your nerve/life-source. But can you find a way to muster up some freaking enthusiasm? After all, the rest of my body has had just as much time on the bench as you. Show some commitment. Learn to get along with your neighbors. Give my right knee some support! Get in the game! 
See you on the field, 
Coach Bobbi

An Open Letter to the State of Michigan:
Thanks for going blue on this one. I'm really proud of you.
GObama, 
A Yooper Democrat for Life

An Open Letter to The Bald Man Who Swore At Me Because He Thought I Cut Him Off At The Light Outside My Office: 
Dude, you were in the TURNING LANE. According to Michigan Intersection Signage Law (or something like that), you were supposed to be TURNING after pausing temporarily for through traffic. The right lane, that I was in, is the through-traffic lane. YOU were wrong. Should you have calmed down from your Britney-in-'07-style temper tantrum and found the good sense to want to apologize, I work in that building over there in Suite 207. Bring Skittles. 
Peacefully yours, 
The innocent brunette in the red Jeep

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An Open Letter to the Girl in the Sparkly Dress at the Nursing Gala on Saturday Night at The Landmark in Marquette, MI: 
You go, girl. (This post is turning into Missed Connections...)
Cheers, 
The jealous girl in the corner on her 4th dirty martini who will never have the chutzpah you had when you put your heels on and walked out the door

An Open Letter to the "Doctors" That Provided My "Care" circa '10-'12: 
I'm gonna assume you know what this one would say, and on the off chance that my grandmother might suddenly get an iPad and read this blog, I'm going to leave those expletives unsaid. 

Things I Suck At

Do you ever just have one of those days that are full of things you suck at? And you're like, come on, DAY, include something that is a slam dunk for me! I need a good win for team morale! (Yeah, I'm talking about Team Me.) Today I am finally back to doing tasks I excel at, like running 12 errands on my lunch hour and making hard-boiled eggs.

The rest of this week, however, was full of DAYS:

• I feel like I might never get the hang of cash flow. Never fails, I feel rich at the beginning of a pay period and by the end, I am Mother Hubbard trying to figure out what to do with the eight cans of beans I bought last week because they were on sale. There should be an iPhone app that pays all your bills for the month and then divides up the remainder, doling it out evenly each week. I would pay for that. Which might just highlight my ineptness in the wallet department.

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• Forgiveness has never felt natural to me. I don't know where absolving you of your sins ends and letting you walk all over me begins. 'Forgive but don't forget' makes no sense to me. 

• I'm always awkward when checking in at the doctor's office. Sometimes they want you to sign the little labels, sometimes they want to know why you are there, sometimes they role out the red carpet for you, and sometimes they act like you are bothering them. It's extremely inconsistent and it makes me so awkward. Add that to White Coat Syndrome and I'm pretty much at my worst in the doctor's office.

• We all know it takes heaven and earth to make me make a phone call. The fact that I have a professional job and tons of friends is a miracle because home girl SUCKS at the phone. Mercury has to be in retrograde and the stars all have to align for me to pick up and dial.

• I mean, we should probably just go ahead and put cleaning on this list.

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• I'm kind of scary with a knife in my hands. I'm really really bad at chopping things. I'm inconsistent, a little erratic and I may end up in the ER. Oddly enough, it's one of my favorite tasks in the kitchen. 

• If I had a nickel for every time I forgot to charge my flipping iPod, I could bribe my gym to play 50cent on repeat with a hint of J.Lo and Ludacris over the loud speaker. It's hard to stay motivated when your iPod dies 10 minutes after you get to the gym. I need my Fitty, but I can't manage to remember to plug the iPod in when I get home.

• I'm really bad at being nice to people when I'm too warm. 

• I realized the other day that I have completely forgotten how to do long-division. Absolutely no idea. 

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Qualities I Want In a Dude; And Why I Don't Need Them

Sure, I have my deal breakers: No anger management issues. Emotionally available. No laziness. Must love dogs. Uses capital letters when appropriate. You know, the usual.

But the list of 'that'd be nice' gets longer the more time goes by. The more guys I weed out, more obscure traits come to the forefront and are labeled as questionable. These are qualities that are not necessarily deal-breakers, but we're not talking six-figure incomes or a six-pack, either. I'm picky, not shallow. Rather, these are those in-between things that would sweeten the deal and, in some cases, make my life a hell of a lot more convenient.

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So, for giggles, I started keeping a list of traits that would be nice in a partner, beyond my deal-breakers. By doing so, I kind of proved them to be obsolete. Here are some good, fun reminders that I'm doing just fine on my own terms AND that love is blissfully blind:

Would be nice: A strong back. Who will move a dresser if I drop an earring?? Someone to lug the groceries inside would be nice, too.
Why I don't need it: I've lived alone this long (since 2007). They make moving discs. I have a rockin' physical therapist who taught me my limits. And I'm learning how to ask for help!

Would be nice: Similar diets. The thought of cooking two meals each night kills me. And I've never cooked a steak in my life.
Why I don't need it: It's 2012. He can grill his own damn meat. And I'm fairly certain anyone can learn to love quinoa.

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Would be nice: No pteromerhanophobics or, in English, fear of flying.
Why I don't need it: I like car trips. And I have a mother and plenty of friends who'd want to hop a flight abroad with me. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, after all. Henley will love the company.

Would be nice: No sports fanatics. That all just seems like so much to learn! Plus, the downs in football have been explained to me 100 times. I only know that there are four of them. And right now I am definitely second-guessing that...
Why I don't need it: Maybe the right blue-eyed boy hasn't explained them yet? Plus, I kind of like Super Bowl parties. And the final four is pretty fun. And sports bars have vodka. And they probably make documentaries about athletes that are probably interesting. Probably.

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Would be nice: No pet mice.
Why I don't need it: Eh, go ahead and move mice-lovers to the deal-breakers column.

10 Reasons It's Awesome to Be Single

I don't care what they say about bridezillas, the ones who lose their heads during wedding season are the single girls. To paraphrase Sex and the City, sometimes one minus a plus-one feels like it adds up to zero.

It is a joy (and an honor) to celebrate with your girlfriends as they enter married life and commit themselves to the men they love (and the men you've come to consider family along the ride). And who doesn't love a party?

But the season itself can cloud an otherwise confident single girl's mind. You find yourself wondering, where did that twinge of insecurity even come from? Because it kind of stung when it bit me in the ass.

But, you know what? It doesn't scar. It's just temporary and it just requires choosing your thoughts and sprinkling them with a little bit of optimism and good friendship. Really, it just requires falling back in love with your (totally amazing) single life and delving back into it, full force.

But for those crazy moments, here, my friends, are 10 reasons it's awesome to be single. Sing it from the rooftops, sisters. RSVP for one and think of the possibilities. 

1. It is entirely possible that you will be able to have breakfast with Chris D'Elia one day.

2. Two words: Garlicky pesto. Pile it on, girlfriend.

3. Fortune cookies hold so much suspense. I will find love in the strangest places? Elaborate!?!?

4. You can stay out as late as you want. Feel like an impromptu swim with your crazy single friends at McCarty's cove "on the way home" from the bar? Jump in, chicky. Make a big splash in those boy shorts. Ditch your dress and shoes at the shore. You know what, take a hot tub when you get home. Who cares if it's 4am? You can sleep in tomorrow.

Via someecards

5. You can leave unfinished craft projects strewn throughout your house. One of the many perks of living alone is that the only person you can annoy is yourself. (Don't let this happen though.)

6. You can mercilessly flirt with the handsome banker. And the bartender with the eyes. And the shy but sweet guy who works in the bookstore. And the bad boy in line at the liquor store. And the... Oh, well, you get the picture. No regrets.

7. Girl power is pretty intoxicating. It feels deliciously fulfilling when you sign that mortgage/book that trip to Jamaica/send in your registration for a new class and know you made it possible.

8. You can buy the $40 mascara without caring where the receipt ends up.

9. You don't have to shave your legs as often. Awe. Some.

10. There's not a soul in the world who can argue against a bright pink closet.

So there you go. If you're ever feeling lonely, all you need to do is think about how much opportunity is in your life. You can go anywhere, be anything, and do anyone anything. And if you need comic relief, I highly recommend this book.

Books I Might Write Someday

My friend Allison and I recently took a spontaneous jaunt through Marquette on a Wednesday night. We ended up compulsively Googling on our phones under the table playing trivia at a local bar, while commiserating about how startlingly young the other trivia-players were. But earlier in the night, we stopped for a patio beverage, and then meandered on in search of food. While we indulged on chips with salsa and fries with mustard (me) and ranch (her), we talked about life: inspiration, body image, dating horror stories, family dynamics, health, regrets, and--in true fashion for two type-A gals--goals and lessons learned.

It was one of those conversation that never ends; it weaved effortlessly back and forth between her thoughts and mine, without interruptions, censorship or fear of monopolizing someone's time. I'm an editor by my very nature and it's a rare occasion when I can walk away from spontaneous conversations feeling like I've said everything I needed to say in the best way I knew how. But I am so myself and so at ease with Allison that I can edit myself out loud in real time. Quality friendship allows this. It's one of the many reasons I love the girl.

The conversation turned to writing and we talked about all of the stories we had to share, all of the stories that were still unfolding, and all of the possibility in our lives. We made lists of projects we should collaborate on: Where our interests, backgrounds and outlooks intersected, complemented one another or balanced one another out.

While one project is in the works (eeek!), I will save the other titles and topics we came up with for later because if there is one thing I know about Allison, the girl delivers her dreams. It's something I admire about her and I can only hope some of it is rubbing off on me.

But in hopes that I may one day ditch my filter, push aside my fear of losing acceptance at the expense of honesty and overcome my complex about getting every word just right, here are a few books I might write someday. Heads up for my byline, people. (And be sure to read the dedication page, where I only hope to adequately thank my wonderful friends for helping me see how funny this cruel, wacky world really is.)

He's Out There Somewhere: What Not to Say to Your Token Single Friend

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Doctors May Be The Death Of Me: My Journey To Fix My Back, My Gut and My Relationship with Health Care

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Everything Happens For A Reason and 42 Other Lame-Ass Things People Say When Life Hands You Lemons (And Why They're Usually Right)

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Type A-nnoying: Toning Down Your Perfectionism, Cultivating Patience and Learning When to Surrender Control (Tips For Happy Relationships) <---Obviously I'll be editing this one for a good long while. :)

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Kiss ALL of the Frogs: A Letter To Every Boy I've Ever Loved...If Even For a Hot Minute

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