Instagramification: Death By Squirrel

I wear my green pants a lot.

I also eat a lot of peanut butter and jelly.

Quiet often, both at the same time.

I had to go to The Hill on Friday to renew my press pass (I’m a Capitol Hill reporter, didn’t you know??), and though windy, it was a much-needed break from the office shuffle. I honestly don’t take advantage of our proximity to Washington, D.C. enough. It really is such a beautiful city.

OK, enough about that. I was almost eaten alive by squirrels.

Do you have any idea how ambivalent the D.C. squirrel community is to human danger? They’re positively mad, I tell you! There I was, taking a sweet shortcut through a Senate park on my way to Dirksen when I came upon what can only be described as a town meeting – of backwoods murder squirrels.

A strange, unfamiliar fear washed over me. I said to myself, “Brit, walk through the squirrels. They will surely scatter. You’re giant and human!” I took another nervous step forward when one (let’s call him El Jefe) looked me straight in the eye (NOT A HYPERBOLE)… and walked towards me. Like, “Walk, away lady. Walk away,” but with a Jersey accent.

He was holding a juice box. And a small serrated plastic knife. (POTENTIAL HYPERBOLE)

Oh, the droves of oblivious people all around me! They had no idea the danger they were in – making the fact that I turned on my heels and sprinted out of the park that much more comical.

I called Steve at his office, panting, squeaking inaudibly about how there was “NO WAY those were normal squirrels, right!?!”

I shake as I type this.

The goods news is I made it out alive. The bad news is I look like a deranged graduate student with a propensity to stalk male professors and set houses on fire in my new press pass picture. It’s all in the eyes, I think. And no, I won’t show it to you.

The great news is I came home to this awesome new Elephant Shirt sitting on my doorstep. It comes complete with Elephant Dance, but that’s more of an “in person” thing. Just ask my co-workers. 

At what point have I gone overboard with the elephant stuff? Oh, now? Noted.

I know we are already almost halfway through this week, but I hope you had a nice relaxing and squirrel-free weekend.

-Brit, Amateur Squirrel Hunter

Nuggets Of Wisdom by Yours Truly

A friend asked me an interesting question today involving time travel: At which age would I return to, knowing everything I know now, and start all over again if I could?

With almost little to no hesitation at all I said, “17 – my last semester of high school.”

My reasons for that answer could fill a book, but essentially I made that decision based on two general facts:

1. I was such a weird child/teenager. No matter how much I’ve learned since then, I can’t ever go back to those years with even a morsel of confidence.
2. I was the worst grown-up for like, 6 years. I have genuinely obsessed over some of the mistakes I made in early adulthood. I would love nothing more than to go back and break up with that one guy do it all over again, knowing what I know now about life.

The point is, I’ve clocked a few miles on the old body speedometer, and I’d like to think I’ve developed a few valuable nuggets of wisdom along the way. I’ve even been told a time or two that I give some pretty legit advice.

This is my attempt at imparting some of it.

[I set out to make this one long post, but it got entirely too long. So instead, I’ve decided to make this a sort of series. We will see how it works out.]

Nuggets of Wisdom From A Twenty-Eight-Year-Old Who Knows Almost Nothing

Nugget #1: The “binge drinking to black out” just isn’t that cool anymore (was it ever?).

To be fair, without it, I wouldn’t have broken into a public pool with my future husband. But seriously, have you ever been friends with a 40-year old woman who hits up the bars every weekend? Exactly. The answer is no because gals like that rarely have friends who know how to read (a fact I have deduced about you by the simple fact you are reading this blog right now – btw, thanks!). The whole “What happened last night??” just isn’t funny anymore. Maybe it’s because if that happened these days with my friends it would be more like, “Where is my kid? I totes blacked out last night. Why are the cops here?”

And by all means, get drunk every now and again – I’m not trying to wet blanket you to death. Go to brunch on Sundays hung-over with your family. Take shots and freak dance with Grandma at a wedding (just not mine, ok?). Have fun.

But part of growing up is learning to drink responsibly. It’s about knowing your limits, pushing them once in a while (like at Christmas when it becomes downright necessary), and having the sense to know when to GO HOME. Like for example, when all 5 of your friends (really just 2, you’re wasted) are begging you, “Don’t you think you should go home???” It’s because you probably should.

Oh! And always have the foresight to prepare for a ride home. Unless you already are home, in which case, bottoms up!

And if shame and embarrassment aren’t your primary concern, just remember that alcohol will make you nice and fat if you aren’t careful. A glass of red wine averages 125 calories; a bottle of beer, 200, and there can be upwards of 250 calories in a whisky and Coke.

All three of which I love, by the way.

I just practice more of a “time and a place” mentality with my drinking now (read: now). Best-case-scenario, I eat less at dinner, drink two glasses of wine, and cut a rug mom-style on the dance floor until the band asks me politely to leave.

**A smaller yet related, undeserving-of-a-entire-post nugget of wisdom: It doesn’t matter whether or not you have kids, once you hit 28 you start dancing like your mom. It’s terrifying.

-Brit, shaken not stirred

Next Up: Dress For Your Body (Also known as, “Are you sure about that tube top?”)

Flowers for “Brit Kern”

On Saturday morning I received this gorgeous bouquet of flowers as congratulations on our engagement. They were addressed to “Brit Kern,” so I assumed a grandmother sent them.

Turns out, they were just from someone who drives like one.

Shiela lives in Chicago now, but at one point in time, for six antic-filled months, we lived together. Both now approaching the big 3-0 (me just a tad faster), I’d like to think we have calmed down. These days, our friendship exists on phone calls with wine, a quick text, or even a nice quiet dinner when we are in the same city (made possible by Shiela’s “dual residency”).

As much as I miss those days, complete with diet coke & rum all-nighters, 4 a.m. tap dancing, and fake accents, it’s nice to know our friendship is making the trip to adulthood with us.

I wish I could say the truly memorable embarrassing moments lived solely in my memory, but sadly, the Internet totally existed in 2010. Pay attention, kids. This is what happens when you lock two girls in a room with rum, a full closet of clothes, and then tell them to be quiet.

“We’re going to Karma.”

Words cannot describe the hilarity of this night. However, if I find a moment sometime soon, I will most definitely try.

Speaking of Karma, I wonder if they do weddings?

Thank you so much for the beautiful flowers, Shiela. It was thoughtful and sweet. Nothing like how you are in real life.

“Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: “What! You too? I thought I was the only one.” – C.S. Lewis

– Brit AKA “Boots”

Just Jossin’!

1. That’s a Joss Whedon word play t-shirt.
2. Of a pun I made in casual conversation.
3. And then made into a shirt.
4. It takes a lot to embarrass me.
5. Yes, I wear those pants a lot.

I’m really excited about seeing this movie tonight. And equally as embarrassed about my t-shirt.

I honestly just couldn’t help myself.

Birchbox!

Birchbox is an exercise in patience. Hi, I’m Brit, nice to meet you, and I don’t have any.

First I was on the waiting list. Then I got my “You have 48 hours from NOW to sign up for Birchbox” email. Finally my confirmation email. And then, it shipped. That was an email too.

I think in actuality that all took about 2 months, but I’m going to ballpark it as feeling more along the lines of 6. Like I said, no patience.

Sigh. First-world problems are exhausting. (My iPhone home button has been on the fritz too.)

But today! Finally! My very first Birchbox was waiting for me when I got home.

I loved the idea of Birchbox from the start. But I was especially excited to find how tailored it could be to my tastes/needs. For example, I have enough hair for 9 people. I don’t need volumizing hair spray, dry shampoo, or thickening conditioner. You can safely add blue eye shadow to that list too while we are at it.

This weeks’ Box (the very first of its kind) included:

• exfoliating facial cleanser
• daily moisturizer
• hair serum
• fashion tape (One of the applications is “adjust jean length.” I’m confused. I thought it was just run-of-the-mill booby tape?)
• eye shadow
• and Juicy Couture perfume

You can cruise their website for the details if you fancy, but basically for $10/month (or two Starbucks lattes) you can sample all kinds of super expensive products before you buy. It’s a marketer’s dream and I wish I’d thought of it.

[It’s like they were listening every time I screamed into my pillow for spending $50 on some beauty product I couldn’t return. I’m looking at you, Clinique Wrinkle Serum.]

P.S. 

Birchbox is under the impression I have red hair. I, in fact, no longer have red hair.

[Weird how truly not myself I feel with my natural (as far as I know – I haven’t seen it since the 90’s) hair color. On the bright side, I can wear teal again. On the sadder end of things, strangers don’t yell “Hey, Red! Love your hair!” anymore.]

P.S.S.

1) Thank you Cara for introducing me to Birchbox. I can say with confidence we were on the upward swing of the movement. Which makes us hipsters. Hipsters!

2) I have a fantastic hair colorist. Slash Life Coach. Thanks for letting me show you how I can stand on the hair-washing station chair, bend my head over the sink, while letting you rinse me head from a totally different angle. That took trust on your part. And a good bit of balance on mine.

Holy Heck, is this week over yet?

– Brit