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Gettysburg College

We had on my college campus, Gettysburg College, a coffee shop called Uncommon Grounds. I always thought this a really clever name whose meaning held more than just that of an on campus mini-mart. Nestled in a corner of our College Union Building, I often met my friends there for lunch or a quick cup of coffee between classes. During finals, I plunked myself in a corner booth and faded into essays about the Bronte sisters’ impact on English Literature.

I loved to spend my time there; it was a safe little haven where I could decompress. I people-watched all the different groups of kids who passed through…listening to rehashes of parties and regrets mingled with stresses about tests and rigid professors.

Everyone stopped at Uncommon Grounds through the day…our stereotypes distinguished by clothing in Madras and flip-flops, Black and fishnets, sweatshirts and jeans all had similar scattered thoughts as they waited in line or rushed by in a dash to make their 1:10.

This space was the first thing to spring into my mind yesterday when a g-chat box popped up on my computer screen: Did you hear what happened at Gettysburg?

I hadn’t.

A girl was stabbed this morning off campus…*

Another email pinged in whose subject line have you heard? was all I needed to read. All Facebook status’ updated to thoughts and prayers with Gettysburg. I read a press release, caught links to MSN as the story spread, a little wildfire through the small town. No names had been released.

I called my mom to see if she’d heard anything as she still lives in Gettysburg, my hometown. She’d only just seen it on the news…and didn’t know anything additional except it was on Carlisle Street, a road I’d run down on afternoon jogs, driven through since I first got my license at 16.

Murders don’t happen in Gettysburg – sure we have drugs and robberies, peeping Toms’ and domestic violence, but murders are pretty rare. And this is the first one I know of that broke through the Gettysburg College bubble, that invisible film over the pristine campus community that separates the students from the townies.

Yes – it can happen anywhere – but its effects are equally as trying and devastating when their 5,000 miles away as when they’re in your backyard.

More came to light through the day – I realized when the names were released that the parents probably had to have been notified, one set called to break away from their mundane daily routine to identify their daughter’s body at morgue. The other set called to a jail where they’ll look upon the child they raised for the first as a murderer. Can you imagine?

It was her boyfriend or ex-boyfriend who stabbed her multiple times in yesterday’s morning hours. “Hands were involved,” I read in one statement. While I did not know either student, and will not presume to know motivation, action, choice, I cannot help but wonder how someone can so brutally drain the life from another person. Does he comprehend he’s responsible for this girl never, never graduating, getting married, having kids? Do you think he gets it yet in today’s newly dawned light?

As the afternoon became evening, students were called together in our CUB, walking by familiar solaces like Uncommon Grounds into the Ballroom to hear developments.

Our college president sent this out to students:

April 9, 2009

Dear members of the campus community,

As most of you know, a tragedy occurred earlier today involving two Gettysburg students, and our very tight-knit community is grieving for a loss that has deeply shaken us all.

Until an official statement was released by the Adams County District Attorney at a press conference this afternoon, we had very limited information that we were able to confirm and share. Details from the press conference are now available on our web site.   In short, District Attorney Shawn Wagner announced that Emily Rachel Silverstein, 19, a sophomore anthropology major from Roosevelt, N.J., was found dead early this morning at 524 Carlisle Street, an off-campus College-leased residence. Kevin Schaeffer, 21, a senior history major from Oley, PA, surrendered to police at the scene without incident and was taken into custody. The District Attorney announced that the tragedy was a domestic homicide and that at no time were other individuals in any danger.

As I requested when I gathered the on-campus community together this morning, please keep these students and their families in your thoughts and prayers.  In addition, I would also ask that you reach out to one another, share your thoughts and your tears, listen to and console one another. Our counseling staff is available to the campus community all day today and in the days ahead at our Health Center. If you would like to talk with a counselor, please stop by. If you have friends who are having a particularly difficult time, please suggest that they speak with a counselor as well. In addition, I would encourage you to respond to all media inquiries by directing them to our Office of Communications and Public Relations.

This loss affects us all. We are a strong, caring community, and in the days and weeks ahead, we will find solace and a source of healing in our communal strength. We will plan an appropriate campus gathering in the near future to help us begin the healing process.  For now, I ask that you reach out to one another with great compassion during this difficult time.

Sincerely,

Janet Morgan Riggs ¹77
President

Strangers, acquaintances and friends sat side by side in our CUB and listened to the tragedy of one of their own. It didn’t matter if they knew the victim.  In moments of sorrow and loss, things like that are no longer important, you come together as one to support, grieve, and heal. You stand beside each other and cease the frantic rush through your day. You don’t brush by people without thought, you don’t focus on that test, last night, tomorrow. You’re in one moment and in that moment, no matter who you are, you end up finding that common ground and clinging to it.

*MSNBC

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Neh-Ne-Neh-Ne Boo BOO

So you may have noticed I’ve been a little MIA lately. I’ve had blog-block. Funny, random and awkward things keep happening, but I have no clue how to sort them into coherent thoughts to share with you all. After receiving a slight onslaught of complaints for my inactivity, I’ve finally sat down to write something…

Like many of you, I spend close to and sometimes more than 8 hours a day at work. Though I don’t particularly like blogging about my job, mainly because I would like to keep it, sometimes it’s impossible not to since so much of my time is spent in the office. I’m lucky that most of my co-workers are laid back enough that if they read any post where I mention them, I think they’d just laugh. At least I hope they would.

A few days ago, I popped into my co-worker’s office. She has two little boys, so we often swap stories about her kids and my nephews. Mainly we laugh at them and their antics. This is how we digress and refocus our eyes from the blurried distortion Excel spreadsheets cause.

I shared with Co-Worker a fact that many of my close friends and family know about me and a trait most of them hate. I DETEST being teased. I do not take it well AT ALL. With that being said, I dish it out quite liberally. People seem to think that because I can hold my own in a battle of sarcastic will, I should be able to accept the same treatment in kind. I just can’t do it. But in all fairness, I am working on it.

Co-Worker commented that her oldest son, at 7, is much the same way:

“Thing#1 hates to be teased too and the other day at daycare some girl came up to him with a Cootie-Catcher (*Editor’s note: I had no idea what this was and thus asked her to explain). A  Cootie-Catcher is like a fortune teller for kids.”

cootie_partyAfter you go through various hula-hoops, you end up with a fortune. In the case of Thing#1, his fortune was his future occupation. He picked a color; LittleGirl spelled the color. Then he picked a number; LittleGirl counted the number. Then, she told him to choose the number 3 to reveal his life’s path.

It said: HOBO.

He was devastated.

She probably liked him, right?

I felt for the little guy. Heart hanging there on his sleeve as he blindly chooses a fate doomed to living beneath an underpass with nothing to keep him warm but malt-liquor in a grody brown bag. Teasing sucks. Love hurts. And so it goes…

Cootie-Catcher (I personally think this sounds like a disease — and not a pleasant one) reminded me of another fortune game I used to play with my elementary, middle, and yes probably high school friends: MASH.

Ring a bell?

M- Mansion

A- Apartment

S- Shack

H- House

My friends and I’d sit in the back of the bus and script these letters at the top of our 3-ring notebook paper. From there, we’d pick categories: Husband, Car, Money, Occupation, Pet, Bridesmaids, Color, Relationship Status, Location.

I’d get to pick one of the boys for husband, but for the most part the FortuneTeller (FT) fills in the selections under the categories. FT’d then draw slashes until I said stop, count them up and begin to run down the list for my future life. Then, when the magic number was hit, FT’d cross through everything until 1 item was left in each category. At that, my future was set:

KT will be a waitress living in a House, married to PerfectBoy in Hawaii. He’ll be a lawyer. They’ll have 2 kids, a boy and a girl (sometimes we’d give specific names to imaginary children). V will be her bridesmaid and wear blue in her wedding. PerfectBoy and KT will have a Golden Retriever and drive a Range Rover.

And I’d believe it to be so…it’s funny how when we’re young, we put so much stock into these silly games. I would have rather died than to end up with TL (the whiny kid who picked his nose in Music class) and who would actually desire to become a hobo? We’d spend hours on the playground trying to act grown up, and when someone would show us a future we didn’t want to see, we’d throw a fit.

As I’ve grown-up, the tantrums have faded, but I still remember the effects of those pastimes – how I’d cringe in anticipation of my future and how absolutely shattered I’d be when it didn’t come out “cool.” The other kids would laugh that I was marrying TL and we were going to spend our days in a Shack. And I’d remember their laughs long after the bus ride ended.

So I guess this is how I developed my hatred of being teased and later the defense mechanism to dish it back in force.

Co-Worker ended our little chat with, “As Thing#1 and I drove home that evening, I told him he needed to get thicker skin….that the little girl was trying to play a game with him, that she was joking. But he just pinched his arm and said his skin was thick enough as it is.”

I will be writing a longer post later…but I couldn’t resist telling what just happened in my office corridor a few minutes ago. For my co-workers who read this, don’t report me…just smile and nod. Thanks.

After spending a few seconds arguing the proper way to say “bow chica bow wow” (one co-worker thought the actual pronunciation was “bow chica bow bow”), our conversation naturally progressed or descended depending on your point of view.

Me: “Do you guys remember when you were younger to figure out your porn name you’d put your first pet with the street you grew up on?”

Yes folks, I said this to my boss and some other colleagues. Sometimes words just fly out and alcohol isn’t even a factor.

Here were my co-workers responses:

“Mine would be Macho Sunflower” (this falls under more of an alternative lifestyle porn name)

“Let’s see…mine would have been Fritzie Waxwing.”

“Fluffy Lumkin” (blond Marilyn impersonator with bad wig)

Slim announced, “Sassy Grey Colt.”

All excellent names.

And mine…

Drumroll please…

Wait for it…

Chaucer Belmont.

Cymbal Crash.

Silence.

Gag.

My mom was an English teacher who loved Chaucer (could have been Shakespeare)…so thus my hot and tempting pornstar name would have been Chaucer Belmont. What’s worse is if I go with my “real” first pet…it would have been Fish Belmont. Fish Belmont. Ew.

What would your’s have been? Do share!

 

 

 

 

In other thoughts, today starts March Madness. I am in two pools…we’ll see how it all plays out. But BInLaw pointed out something I wanted to share with everyone who sits at a cubicle all day and doesn’t want to be caught watching the games.

It’s called the BOSS Button.

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It’s a button that you push when your boss is looming over your shoulder.

So when he/she appears, click that little man in a suit over-top of the screen and this spreadsheet appears:

boss-spreadsheet

Thus, it actually looks like you are still working…and when he/she finally walks away after discussing nonsensical gibberish, you click your mouse anywhere on that spreadsheet, and you are immediately streamed back into your game of choice.

Round One: GO Terps!

The WHOOPS I Love You

telephone1My job consists of constant interaction with Excel and Outlook and limited interaction with people. Occasionally my phone rings and I answer it and speak for a few moments. I repeat this once or twice a day. Most often it’s Boss or Colleague. They call for two reasons: one, to cover daily tasks or two, to tell a joke at my expense. Other than that, I plug formulas into a tiny white cell and hope my answers are correct.

My office has no windows, so I have no idea what the weather is outside. On days where my cup is half-full, I assume it’s sunny and beautiful, and thus I mope accordingly because I’m stuck in a windowless office where my only light is the artificial twitting of a fluorescent bulb.

Because I have minimal socialization throughout the day it’s quite possible that I will flub up the conversations I do have. For various reasons, I am unable to multi-task while talking to people, especially on the phone. I can walk and chew gum, drive and apply lipgloss, write and watch Chuck. But I am completely incapable of chatting on the phone while on the internet, driving, or eating, the latter for obvious reasons. I have to devote my full attention to the person on the other line and who they actually are and what they’re saying, otherwise…something disastrous may happen.

There are a few people in my life I talk to on a daily+ basis; Sis and Mom, sometimes Bro and Dad. We ring each other at least 2-3 times throughout the day…sometimes more. The calls are usually no more than 5-10 minutes as we’re often busy doing three other things. Whenever I’m ready to hang up, I say “okay, love you, bye.” And click off quickly, without much thought.

A few Mondays ago, Colleague called me when I first came into the office. While he rattled off some tasks for the day, I turned on my computer, logged onto g-mail, read an email, im-ed some friends and produced affirmative grunts to whatever he was going on about. After a few minutes, we rapped up the chat. I spouted, “ok…loo..long day it’s gonna be right?”

Panic. Shit. I almost said Love You TO Colleague!  Did I cover it well enough?

“Yeah…what else is new?” he asked.

Whew. Covered. I think.

“Heh heh heh…yeah typical Monday.”

Ten minutes later. BInLaw calls ready to leave. Most of you know I work with BInLaw. He sent me the job description that set in motion my move South. We are now co-workers who commute together 2 days a week. Sis packs our lunches. It’s all very cute.

“Yo…it’s 10:30. Can we leave yet?”

“Haha…no. Let’s wait until after noon today?” I typed away at an email, updated a spreadsheet, etc. as we talked about Perez Hilton’s latest gossip until he announced,

“Okay…I have actual work to be doing KT.”

“Like I don’t…”

“HA. I mean real work…not that stuff you do. Talk to you later.”

I tapped at my keyboard and distractedly said…”K, lovv…lunch time. See you at lunch time. Bye”

Shit. I did it again.

…And so it goes until I’m so conscious of the fact that when distracted, I almost say I love you to ANYONE with whom I happen to be on the phone that I’ve been forced to actually contemplate not answering. Too bad Boss sits in the office next to me and can hear my clicking as I type this, so when he calls, he probably expects me to pick up the phone.

Have you ever over-thought a conversation in the midst of one? You weigh and measure every word.

A. It’s exhausting.

B. You end up making even less sense than normal.

3. You forget what you said 15 seconds before because you’re too busy trying to come up with the next line so that you don’t say something stupid or embarrassing like, I love you.

While this is mostly a problem for me via the telephone, I have almost made the same mistake through the written word…i.e. email. Occasionally during lunches, I’ve been known to watch an episode or three of whatever current TV show with which I happen to be slightly obsessed.

On this particular day, I was watching The Bachelor. As you know, I religiously followed Jason as he searched for true love on ABC. While watching Jason explain to a heart-broken Jillian (I think it was this episode), I was simultaneously drafting an email to Boss.

Jason- “I just think there’s something missing between us. That we’re better as best friends and aren’t able to make that leap to the next level.”  (or something like that…Jason was always way verbose)

Me- typing email to Boss – Hi, Attached is the draft for the March efforts. Would you mind taking a look over it before I send it off? I just want to make sure there’s nothing missing between us.

 

Yes. That’s what I wrote. Thankfully, I proof my emails before I hit send. In a panic of nervous energy that I had just almost sent that email, I called BInLaw.

“Dude…listen to the email I just drafted to Boss.” I read him the email, “I was watching the Bachelor and Jason had just said that line. Clearly my subconscious found what he said important enough to type out.” (BInLaw knows who Jason is…so luckily he got this story without much prompting.)

“Oh man KT. That would have been rough. Imagine if last week you had actually said I love you to Boss and then this week sent that email. He probably would have had to go to HR and been like…I think I have a problem on my hands. My direct report is in love with me.”

BInLaw laughed at this.

I did not.

Lesson Learned: Do not multi-task when on the phone or drafting emails to your employers, co-workers, relatives or anyone with whom you would not end a conversation with “ok, love you, bye.” Click.

Guess I’ll Go Eat Worms

Living with my sister, her husband and my 3 nephews (LittleMan, Cue-ball, and Pea) spells chaos but it’s probably the best part of my decision to leave NY for DC. I battle them with a Storm Trooper helmet balancing precariously on my head (the helmet is child’s size) while they beat me with their light-sabers. They run me over with their Lego spaceships. I’m forced to watch the same SpongeBob episode after dinner that we watched that morning, the day before, and last week. I’ve learned the words to Drake & Josh’s theme song and actually think ICarly is pretty good.

If you don’t have kids, especially boys, the above may not make much sense, but trust me when I say…being part of it all is a blast! So when Sis asked me to go with her to a birthday party last weekend for one of Cue-ball’s friends, I said sure.

slide_no_background_21

The party was here, an hour twenty minutes away from where we live and we sped to get there on time. Pump It UP! sits on a stretch of business park buildings and looks like a warehouse from the outside. Inside, it’s color-coded in a basic Crayola scheme. We were hurriedly ushered down a hallway into the “romper room.” Five inflatable moon-bounces jiggled as 40+ four-year-olds hurled themselves up and down blown-up slides and against castle walls. Cue-ball dove over a little girl in pink to pound his way up the ramp. Survival of the fittest, and in this case, most agile. At the top, in a king-of-the-world stance, he propelled himself down the slide landing on his head before leaping off to do it again.

The social interaction of four-year-olds is an interesting dynamic to behold. There were kids everywhere while parents stood either with cameras flashing or arms crossed honing their radars solely on their own child. See, it’s their responsibility to make sure their kid and their kid only is having a fantastic time. But with all these children running in every direction, I was struck by how very little they actually interacted. For the most part, they did their own thing independent of one another. Watching Cue-ball, I quickly realized he was totally fine with playing alone. Grant it, he was surrounded by pre-school tots, but he bounded over and through the blow-up-obstacles without really paying attention to anyone around him. I leaned over to Sis, “You know…I was a lot like Cue-ball, wasn’t I?” She just smiled tolerantly at me…I took that as a “duh.”

Growing up, I was as content by myself as I was when playing with others. My response when asked why I didn’t want to go and play with them was just a simple shrug, “I’m okay over here.” “Over here” being alone by the blocks or with a coloring book. Mom tells me I used to say, “I don’t need friends.”

But occasionally for some, they need to feel accepted and know when they’re not even at that young an age. As Sis and I stood off from the group, we observed a little girl crumble, sobbing to her mother that “nobody at the party liked her.” She walked over to a little corner, bent her head to her knees, and cried. Then as we watched, she ran into her mom’s legs and glanced up at us. Her mom confided, “T (the birthday girl) didn’t say hi when Em (her daughter) and I got here. I told Em that everyone is here to see T and so she’s very busy today, but…”

moonbounce_slide

I looked down at poor Em, “Hi Em, I’m KT. It’s nice to meet you…have you tried the slide yet? I hear it’s awesome.” She hesitantly smiled and nodded. “Can you show me?” She looked up at her mom and raced off. As she bobbed up the ramp, her mom leaned over, “Just because T didn’t say hi, Em thinks no one likes her. I don’t know what to say…what do you say? They don’t understand when you tell them it’s not their fault…You don’t want to make a big deal about it. But she’s so conscious of being liked and if she’s ignored, she assumes nobody likes her.” I waved up at Em, and with a gap-tooth grin, she catapulted down the slide. “I guess she’s fine now,” her mom announced. And that was it. A five minute spell and Em had completely recovered, grabbing the hand of another girl as they climbed up and over the bouncing apparatus.

Maybe it’s because I’m twelve years apart from my nearest sibling and so was kind-of an only child that I was satisfied when it was just my Barbies and me. Or maybe I had some serious social issues, but clearly as I’ve grown older, I realize the value of friendship. I love my friends and the support and camaraderie we share with each other. But in many ways, I’m still the same kid. I’m totally comfortable alone. And it always surprises me to hear people say they could never sit at a coffee shop or park by themselves, that they would most definitely need someone across from them. Because to me alone is okay and quiet is okay…so maybe, I haven’t changed that much after all.

Thunder Thumbs

Weighing the odds has never been my strong suit. When I try to rationalize, naturally I’m biased toward what I want the outcome to be whether or not I openly admit it. I find this attitude trickling down into all aspects of my life. Sometimes it’s a big deal like moving from NYC to DC while others, it’s something small and often ridiculous. This post covers the latter.

Technology occasionally drives me nuts. I hate being utterly accessible to all people at all times.  I want to shout, “What did you do before there were cell phones…you realize sometimes people would go DAYS even WEEKS without talking and that this was normal?”

Now, don’t get me wrong…while I feel this way in sporadic bursts, I remain unlikely to smash my phone into the side of a building. That said, I am often amazed that people can reach me through many different avenues, and thus get mad at me if I don’t reply in due time (aka 45 seconds).  While you all know how I feel about “He’s Just Not That Into You” (see here), I do think that the writers got a few things right.

Drew Barrymore plays the “techie romantic” in the movie (no I cannot believe I’m referencing this film again, but bear with me) and she says one line that clicks things into place perfectly for me, “I had this guy leave me a voicemail at work, so I called him at home, and then he emailed me to my BlackBerry, and so I texted to his cell, and now you just have to go around checking all these different portals just to get rejected by seven different technologies. It’s exhausting.”

It is exhausting Drew. And as I sat with my DC girls on Sunday morning, re-hashing the events of Saturday night, I felt that familiar weight of technology’s force and the events didn’t even happen to me. The night wasn’t spectacularly different from any other Saturday. We went out, had a good time, came home, passed out and of course Sunday brunch brought out eggs, smoothies, and a detailed account of everyone’s opinion of the previous evening’s events, no matter how small-seeming or trivial.

Enter: Cowbell* (she’ll probably hate me for this nickname, but I gave her fair warning…it’s not my fault she was too hungover to give me possible alternatives). I probably will not do justice to her story, but I’m going to try my best in her no-nonsense style.

Cowbell met a guy in a bar a few weeks ago. They went on a date and had a really good time and suddenly she found herself sucked into a cellphone’s keypad. She had to learn to master…textual relations.

When we’re single women, the early beginnings of a relationship are often the biggest hurdle. We (if this is just me, I’m going to be slightly embarrassed) over-analyze EVERYTHING. We try to out-play, out-think, out-smart the opposite sex. We crave the upper hand in communication, and think that to get it, we have to forfeit initial contact in favor of waiting…and waiting…and waiting…No matter what the self-assured feminist says about “old-school courting practices,” I believe that they still get the second-guess jitters when it comes to who makes the first move.

Do/Should I becomes a powerful mantra. Our friends say no when he hasn’t texted us or if he has, we have to wait at least 15 minutes before responding so he doesn’t think we’re too eager. Is 15 minutes the new cut-off point between over-zealous and aloof? These ponderings become our textualizations (pardon the play-on-words).

But there is a soft spot for many girls…a weakness, one point where all of our over-thinking can be erased, when we can no longer resist those urges to text on pure principle.

It begins with a vodkacran.

What earlier in the night was no I will not text him tonight suddenly seems far too harsh. It gradually fades into well maybe I’ll just see what he’s up to…no big deal.…so it goes.

Cowbell* had her Grad Program Formal on Saturday night. She may not have made the declarative statement to not text 3B (yes a double negative…do the math), but she is a pretty typical girl. And after a few drinks she found her phone in her hands and her thumbs tapping,

“SO I’m OUT.” (insert Long Island Mental-accent). She shared with us on Sunday that this was what she came up with after several failed attempts…all of which ended up in her drafts folder. I’m not really sure why she thought she would lead with this phrase.

“Cowbell, you realize that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. What’d you expect him to say? Congrats?” I asked.

She just shrugged sheepishly, “OH it gets better.”

Here flows the highlights of the typesation as I heard Cowbell tell it with her Sunday morning reactions inter-spliced as (*):

3B: haha yeah? Where?

Draft: Homn VA

CB (actual text): Yeah..i’m in YA. zip you were her.

3B:  ? zip

*Cowbell took this to mean zip code. As she told us Sunday, “How am I supposed to know the zip code for Arlington, Virginia? I live in DC.” And apparently she didn’t respond fast enough.

3B: Dónde Está? E va?

*JuniorMint interrupted, “Dude, did he actually text you in Spanish? He knows you don’t speak it, right?”

Cowbell answered, “Well yeah, I think it was a mix of both, but he knows I speak Italian…maybe that’s what he was going for?”

And I chimed in, “Yo, he probably thought it’d be funny for you to try to figure out what he was saying.”

“Yes, real funny KT,” Cowbell said.

CB: I’m in Clarendon.

*Sunday Morning CB declares, “I have no idea how I managed to get that out and spell it correctly at that.”

3B: I’m out too…in Baltimore.

…and so it went…ending suddenly a few texts later. No goodbye, good night, good riddance.

I concluded, “You know…since the texts ended so abruptly, for all he knows you could be dead in some alley in Y-A. You should text him….SO I made it back in one piece to the DC zip code.”

JuniorMint announced, “No…you should say Bitch, you know I don’t speak Spanish.”

Cowbell’s saving grace as she sees it is that he has to know she was extremely intoxicated and it was only casual texts. Thankfully, she didn’t declare her unwavering love for all things 3Be. She didn’t beg, plead, or profoundly utter that he had changed her life (none of these are actually the case by the way)

She hadn’t heard from him when we talked Sunday morning.

As such, we have no clue if she will…but we still sat around a dining room table reenacting the entire line of textual communication because that’s what WE do.  When we measure whether it’s a good or bad idea, when we agonize over to send, what we sent, how we sent it, we think we’re being rational because we took the time to weigh through all of the outcomes. We’re not. Sometimes we just need to let go and loosen up like good ol’ Cowbell. Her declarative, “So I’m OUT” put her out there and she’s totally okay with that. Meanwhile, the rest of us like Drew are exhausted. But all in all, my bet is he will text her again…maybe not until a few days from now, but he will. And at some point after that, there may even be some time for make-up texts.

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*A best friend from college who hails from CT via her Long-Island accent. She’s blunt, loyal and dedicated. And one time she learned the proper way to punch. She’s never forgotten it.

jason vs. flavorflav_m_tr_11064695_600

Lunch time yesterday I spent my hour in a reserved close-door meeting room with two co-workers. We scheduled this time to discuss the events of the 3 hour Bachelor Finale that aired on Monday night. We are part of the “closet watchers,” who don’t openly admit that they would willingly cancel plans on any night to watch The Bachelor.

I stared at the TV the entire 3 hours alone; my sister refuses to be sucked into the “will you accept this” trap. But I decided to wait to post about it until Tuesday’s 4th hour finale follow-up. And yes, as I watched the first ¾ by myself, I ranted, raved, texted Slim, Neever, my mom as Jason Mooseneck spouted about his “change of heart.” My fingers deliberately tapped each angry “ARGH” as he professed his torment in front of an awkward host, Chris.

And I must say, I felt a little betrayed by Jason. Here he is this great single father, burned first by his ex-wife (I’m STILL trying to find dirt on her…anyone else have any luck?) and then by fickle Deanna and all he wants is to find “the one.” Then, he comes on the finale and cries almost every scene as he soapboxes every single thought in his head. His stream-of-consciousness ultimately leads him to “the position” where he is “in love with two women.” Because that can happen, and we wouldn’t understand as we aren’t in the same position he is.

So to recap…In his “real life” journey to find “the love of his life” with whom he “could share the rest of his life,” he “takes down his walls” and discovers rather “shockingly” that it is possible “to be in love with two women at the same time.” Vom Jason, vom.

But still, as disgusted as I was with Monday night, I dove for the remote at 10 pm last night to tune into the final installment of the Rose Saga. And for what?

The first 15 minutes recapped the 3 hour finale. The next 5 were spent with Jason Muppetnick, then 2 with Molly where Jason talked over her, 3 re-capping their burgeoning love story, 1.5 on Melissa and her “high-road” response, 3.5 on Jillian being the next Bachelorette (the HIGHLIGHT of the evening), and 30 on commercials in between. It’s during times like these I would kill for DVR.

The only thing good that came out of this whole “real life experience” was Jason’s interview with Jimmy Kimmel (see here).

So instead of continuing with my REAL and TRUE feelings about the finale and spouting phrases I never want to hear uttered again (aka. “a life with no regrets,” “those eyes, ” “I never thought I would fall in love with two people at the same time”),  I have instead produced a Top 10 List of favorite quotes from the Jimmy/Jason interview, “It’s Like The Bachelor Meets Punked”:

*All quotes are from Jimmy unless otherwise specified.

1. “Earlier tonight our next guest proposed on National television to the love of his life and then an hour later dumped her to go out with the other love of his life.”

2. “He’s a fickle pickle if ever there was one”

3. “Is your arm sore from giving and taking back roses?”

4. Jason was on the show in January and he and Melissa were still together. Jimmy asks, “Did I do anything? Was it me?”

5. “Do you have the numbers of the other contestants in case you change your mind? The staff list? It is real life after all.”

6. “Look at Flavor Flav. He’s heart-broken every year and then he goes and puts on the crown. Have you talked to him? Maybe he can guide you through it. That would be a great twist…if Melissa hooked up with Flavor Flav. That’s ratings gold.”

7.      Jimmy: “If there is ever is a wedding will Melissa be invited to it?”

Jason: “If she wants to come…I think at some point her and I will be friends.”

Jimmy: “Oh no you will not. You and Melissa and Israel and Iraq.”

8.  “You’re going to get slapped a lot probably.”

9.  “Is there any chance you will dump him [Ty] for a blond child?”

10.  “I hope it all works out for you and the girls and the production staff.”

Let me just say if Jimmy Kimmel were to go on the Bachelor, I would audition. And Jason you may want to focus next on your grammar. It’s not “her and I.”

Thankfully The Thorn is gone and come May, I’ll have brushed off my currently strong feelings towards Jason in time for the season premiere of The Bachelorette with Jillian. So…there is a silver-lining to this “experience.”