Wednesday.

This is what happens when no one wants to employ you.


I don't do a lot. Mostly I sit around and then decide it's naptime. This blog actually might be the most productive thing I'm up to these days.
BUT.
ON WEDNESDAY...


...I WASHED MY CAR.
Half of you just gave the screen a questioning look.
The other half gave it a very firm, confident look, and kept reading.
(I hate the word firm.)


I know car washing is lame, but regardless of its attractiveness, it's highly necessary. And I'm not going to write a blog about napping. The reasoning behind it started way back when in all the early car making days, when Henry Ford realized, "Dang, I'm going to have to clean this thing, aren't I." This happened in 1903, which I know because I moved to California in 2003, and before I moved here I stayed at my grandma's, and since the only way to hold us rambunctious grandchildren down was to make us watch TV, I saw the Ford company's 100th Anniversary Savings Event ad during every commercial break for two weeks. But MY car washing all started last semester (not the one that just passed, the one before it), which is probably the last time I washed my car anyway. And I realize that that's kind of really disgusting, but it really does make the experience that much more satisfying in the end.


That and my dad made me because some bird pooped on it about a thousand times.


The adventure started with a lot of senseless rummaging through the garage to find the supplies, out of which I procured...a bucket. I decided (was commanded) to walk to Albertson's, where I purchased car-washing soap, because lo and behold, Dad threw the old stuff out. I also got green tea, again. I have a problem. All the sponges they sold there were DUMB so I had to go home and rummage some more for the rags. But then I was done. Soap, rags, and a bucket.
Two hours.


I moseyed (did you know that's how you spell moseyed?) out into the driveway to begin the process, then walked back into the house and into the backyard and all the way around the side of the house to turn on the freaking hose. I returned to fill the bucket with the soapy cleansing goodness.


Now comes the moral of the story.


Regardless of how helpless you are when you are washing your vehicle, or how tired you are of holding up the fort yourself, or how much he claims he's trustworthy, you


never


EVER


let your brother be in charge of the hose.


After you are thoroughly soaked, you have to soak the car as well. And you can't let the car dry before you put the soapy ish on it, because it leaves water spots, and you can't let the soapy stuff dry, because it leaves soap spots, and you can't rinse it without being prepared for drying it yourself, because it leaves more water spots. And you have to allow for twenty minutes while baby brother decides which hose setting he wants to use. It's a complicated process, especially when you've used all the rags to wash the car. I chose to demote the Tweety Bird bath towel to non human duties, and there was much grieving.
Oh well. Rinse, wash, rinse, dry.

Whenever I clean, I suddenly have these weird spurts of compulsive germaphobia (newsflash: that's not a word, and neither is germaphobe) that make my job intensely more difficult because I add so many more steps to the process, but also make it way more fun because the crazy part of my brain decides that I suddenly enjoy housework. Carwork. I can't explain it; all I know is that one second, my car was perfectly clean as it was, and the next I was Windexing (that also is not a word, but it should be) the crap out of it. Including the seats and dashboard (and the proof of insurance...woops), which may have not been the original intent of the product. Get over it. And I realized two things:


1.I have been driving everyone I love around in a biohazardmobile (that is a word) for over a year.
2. (nerd problem) If I were to swab the steering wheel of my car and create an agar plate of the collected bacteria, not only would it create a thriving little colony of bacteria, the colony would probably decide to secede from its homeland and bring forth a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all germs are created equal.
And then everyone would die.
3. I lied. Three things. I'm still not sure who drew the heart on the windshield on the passenger side. I think it was Matt or Jeremiah. Someone also drew an arrow through it and wrote "Mom," but that was almost definitely Jeremiah. Either way. If you did, you should tell me, unless you don't want to, and then you shouldn't tell me. The end.


The last step of the super fun filled scrub a dub dub project (which I realize you're probably glad about, because this post...lacked...) was to clean out all the stuff that I and my father and mother and siblings and friends have left in my vehicle over the past...9...? months.
And they were:

• an old ESPN magazine, complete with blatant insult of A-Rod on the cover.
• dead leaves of various shapes and sizes.
• a dead bee (which means that not only was there a bee in my car, it was there long enough to die...so like a few days, unless it got heat stroke, then maybe like five seconds).
• my big little brother's athletic clearance form.
• a note from my mommy.
• the lens that fell out of my sunglasses.
• Lord of the Flies.
• three water bottles, unopened, in case of emergency in desert.
• a sweatshirt, long forgotten, in case of emergency in arctic tundra.
• an umbrella, in case of emergency in rainforest.
• a purse that looks like a trout, in case of emergency white elephanting.
• the ball pump we've been looking for since my senior year of high school.
• a wheat penny from 1919 (probably Henry Ford's), which is worth $1.10; I looked it up.
• double sided tape.
• all manner of useless paperage.
• empty water bottles from past desert expeditions.
• a notebook I was supposed to use for biology.
• plastic bags, conveniently provided in case of mass trash exodus.
• a supes ghetto tarp.
• more empty water bottles.
• an extra windshield wiper...?
• a golf ball, for the beaning of enemies.
• a cardboard model of my car, don't ask.
• flippity flops for the haters of barefootedness.

And, at the very bottom, I found, crumpled underneath all of the other junk I had placed there for so long...

• my dignity.

fin.

Circumstantial pomp.

Yesterday, at EIGHT THIRTY IN THE FREAKING MORNING, I delivered my big little brother to football practice, and after a sitting behind a Chevy Suburban with a Ferrari license plate cover for a while (yeah, you're cool), I pulled into the parking lot and dumped him unceremoniously on the asphalt because I saw, sitting in the parking lot, another fellow older sister who I consider to be particularly exceptional.
Surprise friend in the parking lot at the old high school. We squealed a little. Hug sesh.
Typical.


I ended up staying for the length of practice to keep her from being eaten alive from boredom, like the saint I am. It was by far a more productive morning that I would have had anyway. (i.e., talking [usually] > sleeping) And it was one of the least awkward post-college classmate encounters I've had yet. But the conversation we struck up inspired me to write this post.


I'm really bad at the whole, "Oh hey, how's it going?" ish, because the phrase, "Oh hey, how's it going?" is most people's, including my own, trigger phrase for forgetting the English language. But after reading this (or writing it, if you're me) (that made sense), maybe we can all avoid the 39,857,934,247 awkward silences that exist within these high school graduate conversations, and help us start acting like the mature, intellectual college students that we are.


Debriefing yo' fellow alumni/chit chat with your homecats.


-Phase 1: The Recap Phase-


1. Start off with an evaluation of the university.
Ex: "So was MIT any good?"
This provides you a little time to get your conversational bearings, because not only are you full of opinions concerning all aspects that your school involves, but you've already been asked this question every day since you got home, so by now, you should have an answer. Use this time to think and talk simultaneously. (A word of caution: for some of you, that may prove very difficult.)


2. Question their status in their major.
Ex: "Are you still... [major]?" 
Ask this tentatively; possible flunkage may have occurred and brought disappointment and frustration, and bringing this up can incur a reinstated depression, which has a tendency to make conversations real sucky. If they are still in their major, pretend not to know anything about it and question them intensely about what it is, interjecting "so good" and "how great!" into every sentence you possibly can.
Note: If they still are in their major, and you happen to be in the same one, start comparing classes and trying in subtle ways to convince them that yours was harder and your accomplishments were more significant, even though their GPA was three points higher than yours.


3. Ask them about their roommates.
Ex: "How was your roomate situation?" (I realize most of these questions are pretty self-explanatory and I didn't need this subheading. Oops.)
This alone could take up half an hour of conversation, because one out of every two roommates is weird. (I had two roommates. Let me rephrase that.) One out of every two living situations is uncomfortable. Statistically. Ish. 
My standard reply is: "I loved my roommates; one was a feisty Mexican and the other was my little Tessa! She still doesn't understand why I call her that." (Tessa. The other one makes perfect sense.) In that case, I would have to rely on the other person in order to provide me with weirdness. If you both ended up having weird living sets, don't start dumping your weirdest stories on them. Use a few, but keep a good one in the back of your mind so you can one up them in an emergency effort to get them to shut up.


4. Ask them what classes they're taking next semester.
Ex: [...you can figure this out.]
Something interesting about colleges is that none of them are the same. (Duh.) So when you say you're taking Philosophy, for example, they might be confused, because that's not a required Gen Ed where they are. Or if they say they're taking New Testament Survey, you might be surprised because your school offers that as an upper division elective for Biblical Studies majors, whereas you know that the person you're speaking to is majoring in Early Childhood Studies. You shouldn't let that bother you. You should keep in mind, though, that the more units they're taking, the worse you're going to feel about yourself. Try bringing up the fact that you're taking Organic Chemistry eleven times. That might help.


-Phase 2: The Reminiscent Phase-


5. Use a common factor in your current lives to remind you of a shared memory.
Ex: (for choir geeks) "Remember when we were freaking sopranos?"
This should get you into all of your high school memories pretty smoothly, and by then the conversation is rolling. And no. I was never a soprano. Don't make me hurt you.


6. Obvious segway into discussing memories you shared with other people.
Ex: "One time, when we were looking for prom venues, our adviser told the manager of a restaurant that I was an alcoholic!"


-Phase 3: The Gossip Phase-


7. Discuss those other people's current lives.
Ex: "Let's list all the couples from our class that are still together! Go!"
Every adult I know is going to get on me for this because "gossip is bad." And then they're going to tell every other adult I know that I'm turning into bad seed. So I'll clarify.
You don't have to hate on everyone you graduated with for this to work. See the example? There. Good things. Talk about funny stories you've heard. Ask about people that you know they keep in contact with that you don't. What they've done, who they've met, where they're studying abroad. Cover everyone. And make sure, in the process, after discussing every boy you've ever liked, that you say, "Remember when I liked him? Oh geez...MISTAKE. Oh I'm so embarrassed; what will I ever do with myself. Blah blah blah blah blaahhh..."


8. List all the partiers. (or, if you are one of them, the nonpartiers, though that could get boring.)
Ex: "Fred, Mary, Fernando, Guadalupe..." (it's hard to come up with names my class didn't have.)
I'll get judged. You'll get judged, too. And everyone in your class gets judged. Judge judge judge.
Basically, just judge people.
I probably will get judged for writing this.
...I'm having that problem where judge doesn't look like a real word anymore. Judge. Judge? It looks like "joodgay."
Whatever.


-Phase 4: The Wind-down Phase-
(for your conversation and apparently my brain)


9. Talk smack about each other's colleges.
Ex: "HARVARD SUCKS."
This can be done in very subtle ways, like comparing recordings of your choir, talking about how many of your high school's current graduating class will be attending your college the next year, listing off hot seniors, and discussing sports and the fact that if they played each other, your school would definitely nail their school into the ground like a sledgehammer of athletic excellence. Have fun with it.


-Phase 5: The Grand Finale Phase-


10. Bring up the fact that despite all the promises made to you over the past four years, your high school still doesn't have a gym.


fin.




-Minor blurb for cheesy gratitude-
It is true that this post was inspired because of a conversation I had with a friend, but its immediacy is a different story; first of all, I have literally all day to sit around and do this, and second, on Tuesday, Meaningless Mumblings got to two thousand views (cumulatively, not just in one day), and I didn't know what else to do besides saying
THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU
or write a new post. And this made it seem like I had my emotions a little more under control.
Also, at the time I started writing, I had put way too much Tabasco sauce on my taco and needed a break from eating and breathing.
I love you all and have a marvelous almost weekend!

Hockey yoga.

This one ought to rub everyone the wrong way.


As many of you know, earlier this week, the Los Angeles Kings received the Stanley Cup. For those of you who didn't know this, now you do. For those of you who don't know what the Stanley Cup is, then you shall know that as well: it is the highest award in all of American Hockey (the Winter Olympics would be considered international hockey, and I don't know if people care as much about it). For those of you who don't know what hockey is, tada! Hockey is what happens when you combine golf and boxing, drop it on a soccer field and freeze it.


Now that everyone's up to speed, I shall restate what I said earlier. The national champion of this American (but really Canadian) golf soccer is the team from Los Angeles, California.
Cool, right?


Well, that's what I thought. I grew up with hockey because my dad is from New York, and he used to flood his back yard and let it sit overnight in the winter and then play on it the next morning. Now, he is fulfilling his "dad" role well, sitting in the living room and yelling loud enough at referees for our friends on the front lawn to hear him clearly. Middle school was kind of traumatizing. 
Speaking of my daddy, he's on a plane right now, and I CAN TRACK HIM.

THERE HE IS. HIS NOSE IS IN ARIZONA.
I don't think this image is to scale.


Oh. Hockey. Um. Well...okay. I'm happy for the LA Kings, because you don't just float to the Stanley Cup. So...der you go. Snaps for you. You go, Glen Coco.
Now I know that there are a lot of people in New Jersey who are very grumpy, because the Devils (the other team, not actual devils) lost the finals, and now they don't have the Stanley Cup. And I know a lot of people don't like the LA Kings, so they don't care. And I get that too. What I FAIL to understand is all the fans of the other teams who not only don't care, but have some obligation to let everyone know that the Kings suck, and that their team is better, and that the Kings suck, and that their team won the cup first so no one should care, and that the Kings suck.


Okay. I get it. I'm glad you're so proud of your team. And of course they're better than the Kings. Maybe that's why they did so well in the playoffs this year.


...


I just don't get how people can ride their self-esteem on a trophy that someone else is winning and someone else is playing for. This may just be one of those little pieces of life that I will never understand. Maybe because my hockey team is one of the eleven that have never won a hockey championship, I've devised a way of accepting it peacefully and finding enjoyment merely in its existence. I'm a hockey hippie.
So I have an idea. I know several of you could benefit a lot from this, and I really don't want anyone to try to burn down anything like what happened in Vancouver last year, so... 
This is a little post-Stanley-Cup relaxation exercise for all the Kings-haters, because you're all really wound up and stressed and upset. I devised it myself, but I'm pretty sure it will work. (I also will definitely not be held liable.)


Yoga for angry hockey fans.


1. Take a deep breath. Inhale and exhale without yelling (that's key).
2. Find a comfortable couch to sit on, one that is not directly facing the television.
3. Sit up straight. Now lean forward, slowly and carefully, to engage the muscles in your lower back that have atrophied from your week of slouching. I realize that your butt probably has atrophied too, but I'm not licensed to deal with that kind of issue.
4. Sit up straight again (slowly, don't jerk back up like an idiot, you'll throw out your kidneys).
5. Lift your legs up until they are parallel to the floor and at a right angle to your couch. Alternate between legs. Imagine you are on a rink, skating very awkwardly toward a winning goal.
6. With a great sweeping motion (isn't that an awesome phrase), swing your arms from side to side as if you are high sticking everyone on the LA Kings. In the face.
7. Oops, you broke a lamp. Vacuum up the pieces so no one dies. But do it calmly.
8. Slowly and steadily, reach behind you, to stretch and relax your shoulders and to symbolize the fact that all the Stanley Cups your team has ever won are in the past and no one cares anymore. I also forgot to mention you should be breathing deeply this whole time. Lots of deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Pass out from hyperventilation.
9. Close your eyes. As you lift your arms to the sky, imagine yourself throwing your arms up in victory.
10. Now stand slowly, as if lifting the Stanley Cup to salute your screaming fans. Make it triumphant. You deserve this. After all, you won it.
11. Carefully bend over as if you were touching your toes.
12. Oh, look. You dropped the Stanley Cup and everyone hates you.
13. So do I. Have a nice day.

Falalala! Falala...lalaLA! Dum de dum...

Because I know you're all so darn interested in my life (joke), and because I really want to post something but I hate everything I'm writing right now, I compiled something very short that I'm not going to put on Facebook but you should/could still enjoy. 


So say hypothetically, at this very moment (this is key, because today is the first time in a long time that I've felt very happy), I had to make a playlist of 20...heck, let's make it 30 songs and I could only use an artist once (except I can use Jason Mraz twice) and you couldn't judge me...

1. "In Christ Alone”; Owl City

2. "Hey Mama"; Mat Kearney

3. "Fix You"; Coldplay

4. "I Won't Give Up"; Jason Mraz

5. "Firefly"; Jimmy Needham

6. "Soldier"; Gavin Degraw

7. "Death in His Grave"; John Mark McMillan

8. "Shine"; Paul Stephens

9. "Barton Hollow"; The Civil Wars

10. "Oh My My"; Act As If

11. "Somebody Like You"; Keith Urban

12. "Big Yellow Taxi"; Counting Crows

13. "Helicopter"; Branches

14. "Rye Whiskey"; Punch Brothers

15. "Crazy Girl"; Eli Young Band

16. "Haven’t Met You Yet”; Michael Bublé

17. "The Cave"; Mumford and Sons

18. "Ours"; Taylor Swift

19. "Wordplay"; Jason Mraz

20. “Houdini”; Foster the People

21. "Cough Syrup"; Young the Giant

22. "Spaceman"; The Killers

23. "She’s Got You High”; Mumm-Ra

24. “Good Life”; OneRepublic

25. “Love, Save the Empty”; Erin McCarley

26. “Awakening”; Switchfoot

27. “The Song”; Sara Lindsay

28. “Two is Better than One”; Boys Like Girls

29. “Lucky One”; Allison Krauss and Union Station

30. “Something that I Want”; Grace Potter 


I know my roommates are happy that Mat Kearney is on this list.

Also, because I can... many of you have yet to discover grooveshark.com. It is full of greatness and you can find all of these songs and a lifetime more. (probably a literal lifetime, too.) For freezies. It's basically a homemade Pandora without the ads.


Have a nice week and hopefully I can get something up soon...!