Told you!!

See?!! Suspenders are IN!! I think these outfits are so cute!!


And the suspender skirt on the right is on sale for $28 at Urban Outfitters right now!!




Bottom Line: Suspenders RULE! Suspender haters DROOL!!!

What if I bite my nails forever? Actually, "bite" isn't even an appropriate term anymore. I'm so far past that. Destroy? Annihilate? Wage war on? But it's not my fault- I am 100% addicted (drug addicts and alcoholics out there, can I get a "HELL YEAH?!") If it doesn't gross out the five of you that read my blog, I'd like to attempt to describe the thought process of an CNB (Crazy Nail Biter). It's as if my mind is independent from the rest of my body...like it's me and my nails against my mind. I honestly don't even think my teeth want to be involved, but unfortunately, they're a key player.

Nail biting takes up way more of my time than I'd like to acknowledge. When can't do it, I'm thinking about doing it. Interviews are the worst, as most companies frown on barbaric intervals of nail-gnawing in between "I'm the most professional person for this job" affirmations. It's not like they can't see my handiwork, though, so most of the time I end up sitting on my hands. Tough, since I'm big on gesticulation, and wind up substituting my head for my hands, Stevie Wonder style, as I chat. Bottom line, I am counting the minutes until I can be in my car, chilling out (that's code for "bite the living crap out of fingernails"). Honestly, not much relaxes me more. I've never had Valium, though...I smell a new addiction!

Every morning, I wake up with the same exact thought: Today is the day I will not touch my nails. Don't need to. Certainly not on the T (gross, right?) and I'll probably be working too hard to have time to do it during the day (uh, okay) and then it's the evening and I'll just have dinner and go to bed (suuuuuure).

Here's what really happens: I stare at my nails while I'm getting ready for work, biting maybe one or two to get my fix for the day (told you it was weird) and then bite them the entire T ride, as I'm reading my book and rationalizing, Okay it doesn't count until I get into work. Once I get to work, I study them and figure out which ones are going to be the biggest offenders (aka most attractive) that day. Those get the Band-aids, a la Michael Jackson. My thumbs are always bandaged, as they are the most satisfying, and my middle fingers rarely get touched (they're boring). I once had a very logical conversation with a four-year-old fellow nail biter, Jack, and he asked me which was my favorite nail to bite. Not wanting to condone the behavior, though pleased that someone had finally asked, I said I didn't know and asked him what he thought. "The thumb," he replied matter-of-factly and without hesitation. "It's got the most angles." My thoughts exactly, Jack.

I have to leave the Band-aids on while I work out at the gym (my nails ain't safe while I'm running or taking a class, trust me) and then end up battling the biting urge for the rest of the afternoon. If it's slow at work, forget about it-- type a sentence, bite my nails, take a phone call, bite my nails, read 48 Hours mysteries online, bite my nails. The T ride out is usually worse than the T ride in, as I've most likely given up.

The nighttime is usually where Mark steps in. If he sees my hands anywhere close to my head, I get a soft "Hey, don't do that, babe" which I find absolutely infuriating. I usually respond with a mature, "HEY! You are NOT the boss of me!" or "MY nails are NONE of your business," met with only a sigh and "I'm only trying to help you." In my defense, I really need my hands near my face... it's a comfort; I don't know why. In his defense, I cannot be trusted, he really is trying to help, and my nails are a pretty significant embarrassment to all that know me. I used to go into the bathroom or bite when he wasn't looking, but I'm really trying to stop now, and while I'll probably still keep acting like an adolescent, the reminders are very helpful. BUT, you are still not the boss of me, Mark.

For anyone who cares, I have identified the times when I am at my worst: When I've had too much coffee, when I'm lost in the car, when I'm working on schoolwork, and when I'm really, really, really bored (like the kind of bored where you fantasize about destroying the person/thing boring you).

I am at my best: With gloves on (WHAT?!) or when I'm out-of-control excited. Unfortunately that's it. Sometimes when I'm eating...but not always :(

If you see me biting, let me know. I can't tell you how to approach me, as I'll most likely rip your head off or lie and say I wasn't biting, but give it a go, okay? Since I've started writing this, I have only bitten my right pinkie twice. I was going to get hypnotized, but maybe I'll just blog more?

One final thing: Last week I told Mark that I wanted to start wearing suspenders. He got mad and said that he didn't propose to Paula Poundstone.

I've Let Megan McCafferty Down!!

So, as some of you may know, I have a slight (okay, insanely huge) obsession with author Megan McCafferty's Jessica Darling series. It all started on Christmas day 2001, when I received the book Sloppy Firsts (shut it, Sarah) as gift. I read it in, like, a day and a half and have been in love with this woman's style of writing ever since. There have been three other books in this particular series, Second Helpings, Charmed Thirds and Fourth Comings--all of which I have bought on or around their release date because, hi, I NEED to see what happens next.

Here's the thing. I found out a few months ago that Megan was releasing Perfect Fifths, her fifth (duh) and final (gasp) book in the series. While I was super sad to hear that I would no longer be able to read about the crazy shenanegans surrounding JD and her on again off again boyf Marcus, I was also SO EXCITED to be first in line to purchase the book. Keyword: "was".

Somehow, and I don't know how, I COMPLETELY forgot that the Perfect Fifths came out today! Maybe it's because I've been sick, maybe it's because I made plans to go out to dinner with Kerry and my friend Anu or maybe it's because I was really focused on making sure all of my shows were DVRed for the night. Whatever the reason, I feel like a REALLY bad fan. Even in years past, when I could not get to a Borders or Barnes and Noble on the release date of one of Megan's books, I ALWAYS went as soon as I could! And I NEVER actually FORGOT that a book was coming out.

I just feel a certain loyalty to Megs because I met her last year in Doylestown. She was super duper nice! She signed Fourth Comings and let me rant and rave about how much I loved her and how excited I was that she referenced both Bucks County and Kutztown in that particular book. And she talked to Mom and I for a good 10 minutes! How could I simplyFORGET that Perfect Fifths, the conclusion to a book series that I have read over and over and over again, was going on sale today?!

I know I can buy it tomorrow. I know I can use the 30% off Borders coupon that was just emailed to me today. I know Megan probably could care less. (She's just so cool like that.) But I still can't help but feel a bit guilty for not supporting my favorite gal to the best of my ability. I hope she knows that I'm still her number one fan...even if I acted like her worst enemy today.

Also, my eyebrow hurts. WTF?

Mystic Pizza

Yesterday, I had to order pizza for the office for a birthday celebration (not that I can ever partake in the festivities, unless my office really wants to see my fake-baby-lactose-potbelly in full force), so I called and ordered over the phone. Uneventful- except that I got really flustered when the pizza guy asked if I wanted jalapenos on or off the pizza (it seemed more stressful at the time)- and I said I'd pick it up in twenty-five minutes. Twenty minutes later, I peaced out of the office, armed with my trusty "directions" that the pizza place was on the left side of the street...ummmm, that would be the same street I work on.

I headed out, like, eh, I have to pee, but I'll be back in ten minutes, I'm a trooper, whatevs. I walked up the street...kept walking...kept walking... and finally stopped as I approached the turnpike (not a joke). Unfazed, I obviously chose a foreign jewelry maker to answer my directional queries, met with only a "Up-per CrUST piz-za? Piz... ZA? This... jewelry."

Okay, thanks. Walked back in the same direction, until I could see my office again (too far!), and decided to ask a friendly Newbury hipster gal. She and her skinny jeans pointed in the direction I had just come from and told me that I would walk right past it. I was like, WTF? YOU walk right past it (unproductive thinking). Turned around and headed back in the opposite direction. Far. No Upper Crust Pizza. Now at this point, I naturally assumed that they'd gone out of business in the past fifteen minutes and felt pretty annoyed that no one had given me a heads up when I'd placed the order. More importantly, my peeing situation was escalating to a sheer desperation level at an alarming rate, and I was panicking.

I next asked a group of construction workers (they eat upscale pizza, right?) and they just laughed and said that there's one in Beacon Hill (thanks), and also that "Joe's wife" once said that she had eaten at an Upper Crust on Newbury Street (double thanks).

I'd now been out of the office for a half hour and was worried that A) I would never find it B) If I did find it, the pizza would be cold and C) I would collapse from an exploded bladder and the pizza would be irrelevant. Desperately, I approached a midget douche trying to load a giant box into his small Porsche, and he proceeded to direct me back the way I'd just come, tempting me to load him onto my shoulders to physically point this f-ing place out to me.

Let me paint you a picture: I walked up and down Newbury St, on the same side of the road, over five times and Could. Not. Find. It.

Severely sweating and trying to price out how much a public urination violation would cost me, I suddenly saw my final savior up ahead: the skinny-jeaned hipster. Clutching an organic coffee and staring strangely at my red face and wild eyes, she goes, "Soooo, it's right there." And I looked up...and it's right there.

Picked the pizza up in less than three minutes and told my whole office that the pizza guys had messed up the order and made me wait while they fixed it. I felt like a major creep too, because they'd given me THREE, not just two, jalapeno containers and held the door for me as I walked out. So this will serve as my anonymous apology to Upper Crust Pizza...Sorry (and get a bigger friggin' sign!)