blueberries for sal.

Buckle in, folks, it's going to be a long one!

I'll start by apologizing for my absence. I spent the weekend in Maine and was so busy keeping up with my wonderful family, that I barely even had time to think about my blog! (Not true at all, considering HOW many people are actually following this now.) So for those of you who have commented on my absence from cyberspace (ciderspace, mom?), I'M BACK!

I survived my first week of 9-5's. Who would have ever known or expected this from me? Certainly not my younger brother, who exploits every single opportunity to has to comment on my laziness and inability to get a job. Holler at you, little brother, I'm going to keep proving you wrong.

Probably the most significant thing I learned last week is that...rain sucks. And unfortunately for me and the rest of New England, there's nothing but liquid sunshine in the forecast for us for the next ten days. I'm trying to learn how to deal; I was lucky enough Friday to be wearing these beautiful linen (I think?) pants from The Limited that were, however, just a tad too long even when paired with heels. The ends of them dragged in puddles in the morning, during lunch, and after work, but this fabric, apparently, is fabricated by Madam Malkin (Harry Potter reference? Anyone?) because they dry SO quickly. I wasn't stuck in wet pants all day long, which made my day a bit more pleasant. I have learned, however, that a lot of Boston is a lot like southern Maine; you cannot escape sand regardless of where you are located, which creates a gritty, muddy texture that coats flip flops or sandals. Not so pleasant.

I now know what it knows to be like Steph Eckelkamp. I conquered a box of Kashi GoLean in four days. One box of cereal, one me, four days. Be impressed.

So I went upta Maine for the weekend, and on the way there, I had a mini-epiphany; I live in the most beautiful place in the world. I love my home more than anything; I love the scenery, the names of places (Cobbosseecontee, Falmouth, Katahdin, Calais, Allagash), and the people. I drove from Boston to Maine as the fog started to settle along the coast, and it was seriously so cool to watch. I'm enjoying the city, but I miss the country. A few pictures from my recent trip to Deboullie in the Northern Maine Woods...

It's pristine, it's untouched, and it's so easy to take it for granted. I'm lucky enough that while I forget that it's there, I appreciate it when I return. I hope I never lose that. More thoughts on my hiking trip when I really need to feed the goat. (Holler, Newhouse, I did learn something.)

Tip: If anything ever happens to your iTunes library and you lose all of your purchases from Apple, they offer a once-in-a-lifetime re-, free download of all previous purchases. All you have to do is email them, ask politely, and they are more than willing to do this for you.

Also, seriously Syracuse?! Has anyone else in the Whitman program looked at the requirements for completing an internship? There is so much paperwork, journaling, analyzing, and thought required in the process. Unnecessary.

Amidst an economic recession and numerous airlines teetering on the verge of bankruptcy, this new airline thinks they can make it work... Duke and Moe would never survive.

In further attempts to prove how cool I am, I went to bed at about 10:15 on Thursday night. I seriously was dead to the world, regardless of the fact that the boys who live in the apartment above us were throwing a full-out rager (or blowout, a new vocab word I learned this weekend). Music was bumping like crazy above me, people were yelling and screaming, and yet, I slept sounder than Sleeping Beauty. Funnily enough, around 1:30 am, a couple of very giggly boys came into my room for a visit, watched me sleep for a moment or two, and then shut my door. As the kid who used to sleep through the fire alarm at home, I didn't even recall such visitors until about noontime on Friday. It's fine. After living next door to a boy freshman year who had subwoofers and speakers chest-high (and not to mention a large screen TV that the bank (I think) eventually took back) and growing up with a father who could snore through my bedroom floor, I've grown quite accustomed to sleeping through it all.

Speaking of fathers: HAPPY FATHER'S DAY, DAD! Thanks for occasionally picking up a tab or two, putting up with all of the hard times I give you, being so proud to wear your "$45,000 Syracuse shirt," and for working so hard so that I can have everything I could ever want. I hope that someday I possess a quarter of the work ethic that you have. As your daughter, I have seen first-hand how incredibly important it is to pursue a career in something that I love, and I remind myself of this daily. I know that there isn't anyone in this world more proud of me, and I love you more than you'll ever know for that!

Yes, I know that's not me, but sadly, my mother doesn't love me quite as much as my father, and for this reason, I haven't been on a family vacation in a number of years now. And since such trips are basically our only prime photo opps, it's been close to a decade now that I've had a picture with my dad. So thanks, Mom.

And to my Grampy- Happy Father's Day to you, too! I know I can't write much without you crying, so I'll just leave it at: Thanks for being so supportive and for loving me unconditionally. I'm so incredibly lucky to have you as my grandfather!

And to all other fathers out there- thank you for everything you contribute. If you're not yet a fan of PostSecret, today's a great day to begin following that blog. You'll find a secret you can relate to; maybe you'll even find your own secret.

I'm starting to worry about the quality of person that I am. On Friday, I saw a man keeled over in front of Dunkin' Donuts near my office, looking like he was ready to throw up. Like everyone else, I stared and just kept walking. Does that make me a bad person?

So, the big news of the weekend...I took a coach bus for the first time ever. I learned a lot of things on this trip. Firstly, there are severe differences, I think, between people who fly and people who ride the bus. People who fly understand that there is only so much space and they should confine themselves to what is allotted to them. Those who ride the bus, on the other hand, feel absolutely free to make themselves as comfortable as possible, with no regard to anybody else. For example, I watched a woman on Friday recline both of her seats as far back as they could go so that they were literally resting on the knees of the poor couple sitting behind her. The man sitting in front of me today tried to keep reclining his seat, and he consistently found resistance. The source? My knee. No way is anyone going to invade my already cramped personal space. And the boy sitting near me on the way back to Boston today? Apparently he wasn't aware that you can put your luggage underneath the bus or in the overhead compartments. Instead, he kept everything directly in front of him. Therefore, he apparently thought that this meant he was entitled to MY leg space. I braced my knees and thighs (thanks for those monsters, Mom) and did my best to maintain my leg space.

Another difference? Hygiene. Put 150 people on a plane and yes, the air might be a little stuffy after a 2 hour flight, but after 20 minutes on a bus, I was ready to pass out. The mix of body odors and cigarette smoke had me ready to book it off that bus.

The interest-level of people who ride on the bus, however, is off-the-charts higher than attempting to watch people who fly. A couple of the characters I was able to check out:

• A very tall, young, lean man with a shaved head climbed on to the bus Friday afternoon. In one hand he carried his luggage, and in the other was his boom box. Like the ones that people held on their shoulders as they stood on the corner or walked down the street. (Granted, I don't actually remember such a lifestyle, as I grew up in northern Maine (see above pictures for examples) but I do recall Mr. Murray describing such machinery to us in the 8th grade, as well as on a number of TV shows.) Nonetheless, I was impressed.
• Today, I sat across the aisle from a young woman carrying a National Guard backpack who cleaned beneath her fingernails for the entire 3-hour ride. She was also eating Cheddar & Sour Cream chips and drinking blue Mountain Dew at 9:00 this morning.
• My personal favorite: the woman who reclined her seats so unconsciously against the squished young couple Friday afternoon. We had never met, spoken, or even made eye contact through the duration of the trip, but things changed when we made a stop in Portland. She got off the bus for a quick trip inside the station, she returned with a can of Pepsi and a KitKat. As we pulled out of the parking lot, she turned to me, located a row behind her and across the aisle, and said "Would you like a piece of my KitKat? I can never eat the entire thing." Such friendliness and sharing would never, ever take place on a plane.

Oh, and who knew that when the bus stopped to let me off in Brunswick that I would be dropped at the country's sketchiest 7-11? Word. I was expecting to arrive in a completely different location, so I spent about 10 minutes sitting on my suitcase in the parking lot, waiting for my cousin to roll up. During that time, a robust man in a bright yellow shirt, sloppy faux-hawk, glasses, and earrings struck up a conversation about me. He asked where I was coming from, how my trip was, and what I was doing in town for the weekend. Such camaraderie would never, ever happen in an airport terminal.

Nonetheless, I don't think I will be riding the Greyhound line again anytime soon. Just not my thing.

Want to see my mention on the NPEA website? Check it out!

I went to South Station for lunch again on Friday, and of course, there was no where to sit. I decided to be outgoing and asked an elderly woman with a plaid shirt and very kind eyes if she would mind if I sat at her table. She was more than excited to have me there, and we carried a light conversation. I like to think I made her day better.

In other weekend briefs, I spent time chalking up points this weekend with God, hanging out with my family member that is a monk. Brother Bobby is a big cheese at a monastery in Worcester, Mass., who rarely gets out on the town. His brother, Jimmy, from California, came out to the East Coast, and they, along with a number of my family members and other septa/octogenarians convened in Brunswick. Bobby and Jimmy are my grandmother's first cousins; I'm still not sure how that makes them related to me, but I still feel like I'll get some pull with the Big Guy. A number of Bobby's friends from the past joined us for a feast of lobster rolls, pizza, steamers, and appetizers/hors d'oeuvres like you wouldn't believe. I actually had lobster for the first time in my LIFE (I know, disappointing) and found it much more appetizing than I would have expected. I still don't understand all the fuss about it, but it's not bad. Unfortunately I was not paid for good behavior on this occasion (not yet, anyway, but maybe Kathy will compensate me tomorrow morning) but I still surprisingly enjoyed myself.

Dirty Dave, Grammy, and a tray of lobster rolls.

Holler at my motha.

Brother Bobby! :)

Me & Sam, straight from his orientation at CSU.

Thanks everyone for a great weekend! I even enjoyed the company of the woman who asked me and my cousins Samantha, Emily, and David the SAME questions over and over again. I even forgave her when she told me my piece of pizza looked good and was wondering if she could have it. Surprisingly and a bit sadly, I conceded my snack.

If you haven't read up on the new iPhone 3GS, do it. Frankly, if I wasn't going to be a US Cellular and eventually a Verizon customer, I would definitely considered making an investment in this new phone. The lack of BBM capability, however, will keep me a BlackBerry user for a very, very long time.

I also had the opportunity to see the new film The Proposal this weekend. A chick flick, granted, but the first solid one I have seen in quite a while. Get at it if you can.

Also, who knew that they now make spray-can cream cheese? Like Cheez-Whiz, but with cream cheese?! Something else I learned on the bus today, as the boy sitting near me was dousing CookieCrisp with this topping.

If you get a chance to watch The Fray's cover of Kanye's Heartless, do it. The vibe of the song is completely changed and 100% better.

I was actually hoping to catch The Fray this weekend in Mansfield, but a lack of company sadly prevented me from doing so.

I know that I'm spreading the "epic" movement. My mum found herself alone in downtown Fort Collins, Colorado, this past week, and was drawn to a local nightclub by the 80's tunes blasting out of it. She BBM'd me as she sipped her Diet Coke, filling me in on the details of what she was up to. When I asked her why she was even there in the first place (as a woman of her stature, age, and grace probably did not belong in such a joint) and she told me she was just trying to keep it epic.

Join the movement. Make each day worth living: make it epic.