47

This is my forty-seventh post.

That might not mean a lot to you. To me, it is pretty important. Not because of some blogging milestone or amazement at my number of posts thusfar. More like a special relationship with that number.

47.

If you watch Alias with me, you will probably understand this. For those of you who don't, watch this:



This post also beats my record for number of posts in a month, so yay me!

dream on

Ok, for some reason I am sitting in my room re-listening to the "dream" songs from Glee last week (the Joss Whedon one, people. Don't pretend that wasn't the best episode all season).

What am I saying? I know why I'm here.

My Uncle Larry and cousin Christian are coming to stay with us. They should be here any minute, actually. We found out sometime this afternoon, and if my mother's blog is any testament, we're kind of freaking out. Probably because when we go to New Orleans we always stay at their house and it's always really clean. Not that our house isn't.

Well. Maybe it isn't. But it's homey. My friends sometimes call it The Burrow. Which I consider a compliment.

I guess.

Anyway, we've been cleaning cleaning cleaning since I got home from babysitting (I drove home on 400 for 20 minutes with the parking break on. Eff up of the week.) and I have just come up to shower so I can sit on the couch (long story. Well, not really. We washed the slip cover today).

Except sometime in the shower I got the "I dreamed a dream" song stuck in my head and couldn't rest until I listened to the Glee version. We totally called the Idina-mommy storyline, btw.

And here I am. I am probably needed downstairs soon to greet the guests. More later.

leopard shorts

Can girls be hipsters? -my mom

you tell me.

images courtesy of latfh.com

ghost goats

Would you rather scare a sheep or tip a cow? -Shane

I feel like I should respond to this question with some form of indignation and a plug for my crusade for animal rights. But I can't.

I love animals. Especially in barbecue sauce.

So, to answer your question, Shane, I would rather chase a goat. Not just any old goat, though. This kind:

Discovery Channel went through some kind of phase a while ago where this creature was on all of their shows. And by "all" I mean Dirty Jobs and Mythbusters. Which are the only shows that really matter, anyway. From my TV viewing expertise, I learned that these goats stiffen when frightened and "faint." Shepherds typically include one or two of these babies in their herd so that if the flock is ever chased by a ravenous wolf or other such beast, this guy tips over and bears its wrath. This is also where the term "scape goat" comes from. So there you go.

I hate goats. Their eyes are bulbous and penetrating and give me the feeling that they are simultaneously peering into my soul and staring at a fly on its own back. Creepy. So any chance I could get to tip one over would be extremely satisfying. Except it would mean actually entering a pen of goats. No thanks.

qna

It worked!

What exactly is your job going to consist of? How do you like your eggs? If you could go anywhere in the world dressed like any animal, where/what would it be and why? -Jenna

wow. That is a actually quite a few questions. Which I deeply appreciate. You have accomplished this assignment beautifully, Jenna. I am going to respond to these one at a time, instead of all simultaneously (if you are wondering, THAT answer is "donknscsufinlhare." Which just doesn't make any sense).

• My job- well, isn't that a mystery. I will know more after our orientation tomorrow morning, but for now, my understanding is that I will be supervising small children skip through a cavalcade of glorified sprinklers known as a "splash park" at a city park, hopefully while wearing an important-looking t-shirt and sporting a whistle around my neck like all the pros do. And I will also get to sell concessions out of an air-conditioned hut and disappoint approximately 12 kids per hour with the response: "no, we don't sell Dip n' Dots anymore." Oh, and I get to run birthday parties!
  

• eggs. An important issue. I like my eggs scrambled, usually. My dad makes them with bacon pieces cooked inside sometimes. This is delicious. He originally called them boyscout eggs, because apparently when you're camping (like a boyscout) it's easiest just to cook everything together. Sometime between brownies and junior girl scouts I convinced him to change the name to "scout eggs" because it was a gender neutral term and therefor less sexist. Sexism and breakfast are not a good combo. Like Oreos and orange juice. Or country music and 80's-style workout montages. Just doesn't work.

• Final question! I would stay far away from Tokyo, I'll tell you that much. They have those weird furry fetishists... Hmm. I would disguise myself as a bear and hide by the Vienna sausages at the grocery store. And by hide, I mean just stand there. Can you imagine how many people I could save by scaring them away from such a hideous processed meat project? At least 8.

What Star Wars planet would you most want to live on? -Marca

• According to Tom Scott's Star Wars weather forecaster, it is currently "like Tatooine out there!" Big surprise. I would definitely not live on Tatooine. Two suns? REALLY, Tatooine? Also, I don't look very good in oatmeal/sand colors.
  

• I would live on Alderaan. I know what you're thinking "WHAT? That place BLEW UP!" I know. Hear me out. It was apparently very beautiful and peaceful when Leia lived there, you know, before it was blasted by the Death Star. They also had some spunk, rebelling against the Galactic Alliance. Plus, I would place a bunch of bets on how long the planet would last and then win all kinds of money because I would escape with all the rich people before the planet blows up and point and say "See? 5:00 on Wednesday. Cough it up." Then I would move to Naboo. But I would stay the eff away from the Gungans because they are all super annoying.
  

This was fun! More questions, please!

mom, this is a hipster

Mom,

this is what a hipster is:

http://www.latfh.com/

?

I really want to write today, but I have nothing to say. Not that that usually stops me.

It's at times like this I wish I had a huuuuge readership and I could just say: "I have nothing to say. Post some questions in the comments and I'll answer them."

So I'm gonna try it anyway.


I have nothing to say. Post some questions in the comments and I'll answer them!


Oh, and in the mean time, do read Ask the Bloggess and enjoy.

praying mantis

This morning, I woke up early. But that's not important.

I was going to my youngest brother's graduation from fifth grade. After fourteen years with at least one DeBuys at our elementary school, we were finally saying goodbye. But that's not important.

It was raining, which completely destroyed my idea for an outfit. I really wanted to wear these brown leather riding-style boots with a cute dress, but it's a monsoon outside so leather is a bad idea. Anyway, I decided to just wear some jeans and a top and really high wedges to keep my feet away from the water. That's not important.

The point of this story is that my mother told me I looked like a praying mantis.

I took it as slightly insulting (a BUG. an ugly, man-eating, monstrous, green thing). She insists it was a compliment(because she thinks they're "elegant" and my legs are long[which she also insists is a compliment and not some comment about the abnormal proportions of my body]).

Thoughts?

neutron star collision

ok, so my job doesn't officially start in full force until Memorial day. So...the blah is still here. For now.

Things making me angry today:

• I feel like a lump. par for the course.
• my book club book (which starts Saturday, so I gotta read up) Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut was $15. FIFTEEN DOLLARS. It's a paperback. AND the B&N lady wouldn't let me use my mother's educator's discount card. Because I am not my mother. Of course.
  
• apparently my text messages aren't actually sending.
  
• half priced Frappuccino happy hour is over at Starbucks. Like I need to spend the money anyway. Stupid book sucked me dry.

Alright, now. Things making me happy today:

• it's not so hot today!
• I have half a pint of Americone Dream in the freezer :D
  
• Muse's new single Neutron Star Collision!! I LOVE LOVE LOVE it. and I am listening to it right now. check it out here

Oh, one more thing making me angry:

• Muse's new single Neutron Star Collision was released because it is on the Eclipse Soundtrack.

Alright, this is making me mad simply because of it's connection to the Twilight saga, which is weird. I used to be a pretty big fan of Twilight. I read the books (multiple times. like, a lot of times.) and saw the movies (at their midnight releases. I know). I had the calendar, the soundtracks, and I even own a Team Edward t-shirt. Somewhere amid the frenzy for the movies, I lost interest. It's easy to get so wrapped up in the books, because they are basically romance novels for tweens. Once I was a bit further removed from reading them, the movies began to look ridiculous. I lost any attraction to R Pattz or Taylor Lautner. Kirsten Stewart is clearly regretting signing on. You can just tell how bored she is with the whole situation and that she's thinking back to when she first agreed to act in this seemingly indie-ish off-color "vampire" movie, wishing she could have done the "Heathers" remake or whatever else she was considering at the time instead.

I will probably see the next movie, though most of my friends here (as opposed to campus) made fun of me for reading them in the first place. Which is probably why I read them.

enjoy :)

frogs are loud too

My mother does not believe in air conditioning. At least that's what I tell people. In fact, the resistance to air conditioning that my mother puts up until peak days of summer is more based in finances than any odd belief system. Anyway. This means the first month of summer vacation is spent with all the windows open, fans at breakneck speed (I mean that literally), and sheets kicked to the bottom of the bed.

Every morning through my open window I am berated by a cacophony of horny birds chirp-chirping to potential mates and whist-whistling about the glorious morning sun. Some of them even start to sound like they're saying something: one bird says "GERmaneee GERmaneee" and about ten more will join in like cats in an alleyway.

Now, in addition to the distant sound of cars driving along the road behind our house, I can hear a frog. A throaty, chirpy, froggy frog. Well hop on back to the creek, kid. I am not in the mood for your serenade.

fallen leaves down a creek

So far, my summer vacation (this past week) has consisted mostly of hours upon hours of television, even more hours of sleep, and a few interludes with a friend or two. I can not believe I have been home for less than ten days. It feels like years. In a good way. Or maybe not...

I know that if this were all I had to look forward to, the remnants of my sanity would begin to drift away from me like fallen leaves down a creek. Or dandelion seeds in the wind. Or helium balloons into the abyss. I know because even now, after living through one thirteenth of my vacation, I can feel it starting.

The GOOD NEWS IS that I start my job tomorrow. Or today, rather. I take on the exciting position of splash park supervisor/ concessions stand cashier. Huzzah.

I know that after a week or so of that, I'm gonna start to lose it again. And that, my friends, is when I pick up my quilt!

things grown-ups do

Since enrolling in college, I have found that I am expected to act like an adult and contribute to society. These new expectations can be exciting, but often I find I am not exactly ready to do all the things grown-ups do. For example, I don't exactly enjoy:

• filling out tax forms- this should be easy, but I feel like whoever designed the W4 or W2 made it complicated on purpose, probably out of fear of job security. He/she wanted to make it look like you can't just hire anyone to design a tax form, even though I'm pretty sure you can.
• paying taxes.
  
• "having it all together"- I find that as I get older, I am more responsible for myself, which usually means I have to be better at making up excuses for why I didn't do something I was supposed to, like completing my time sheets.
• being responsible for current affairs- I would be lying if I told you I got my news from sources other than Comedy Central or SNL's Weekend Update. Not only do certain adults shame me for not being up to the minute, there are a fair number of hipsters at school who enjoy feeling superior because they catch CNN as they are rolling up their blue jeans every morning.
• going to the doctor alone- a doctor's office is twice as scary when you are alone. This is a fact. This also brings me to my story:

Today, I was drug tested for the first time EVER! Exciting, right? No.

It all started when I woke up this morning, and participated in my daily routine: pee, wash face, brush teeth, contacts. Not very complicated. However, I realized a little too late that I should have saved my urine for the cup at the clinic. Crap.
I decided to stop by Dunkin Donuts to get an iced coffee, accessing the knowledge stored away from volleyball camp that caffeine is a diuretic, and would therefore fill my bladder and render it ready for bursting. I bought the drink (and some donuts, because, really how could I go to DD and pass up donuts? it's practically a sin) and meandered over to the used book store. I sold a few books, bought a Bill Bryson and a book-club read, and continued to gulp down my beverage as heartily as I could without procuring a brain freeze. I sat in my car, rolled the windows down, and cracked open the book. I waited patiently for the coffee to settle into my bladder and waited for the alarm-bells to start. Except, after chugging at least half of it, waiting patiently is not a valid option.
My attention started to wander, my hands started shaking, and I realized quickly, that in my attempt to pass a drug test I may have OD'd on caffeine. Smart, Claire. My gaze darted around like a squirrel and my anxiety-prone mind began to worry that I would show up at the clinic twitching and they would check the "Deranged! NOT suggested for hire" box as soon as I walked in.
They didn't of course. I passed my drug test, and actually had a bit too much :ahem: material for the plastic cup. Now I just have to wait for my hands to stop shaking. It's been three hours. How much longer could it take?

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY

My mother is Kathleen DeBuys. She works in a CBI classroom, she mothers four (awesome, sometimes awkward) children, and she is married to my goofy father, Rhett DeBuys.
She loves coffee and reading the newspaper, which she told me is because of the movie Working Girl with Melanie Griffith.She worries a lot, which can be scary, especially when she makes us practice what to do should the car in front of us lose control of the canoe strapped to the top of it.
She doesn't like to be referred to as she, which is why writing this is making me a bit uncomfortable. "who's SHE?" my mother would say. [Please forgive me mom, for all the shes in this paragraph.]
She likes blogging and reading and the color purple.
She likes painting the rooms in our house, but she never changes her clothes to do it. When she feels like painting, she just starts. New jeans be damned.
She doesn't mind if you're dirty or sweaty or wet from the pool- she'll hug you anyway.
She's always there to help with homework, read a term paper, look at a picture you've drawn, or read a blog post you wrote (even when they're not about her).
She is loving, compassionate, beautiful, magnanimous, courageous, lively, funny, patient, and wonderful. She is my example for everything I do. She is the yardstick with which I measure my life. I am so lucky to have such a shining example for a mother, even if she doesn't realize how true what I am saying is. I love her with all my heart, and I can only hope to be as good to my children as she has been to me.

I love you, Mom.
Happy Mother's Day.